It's All My Fault

Beginning Of Hell

I had finally finished packing for my not so exciting trip to New York tomorrow, yes, the "big apple." Full of opportunities, clothing stores and way better cinemas than my small hometown, Rhode Island. The reason why I call this trip not exciting is because my parents are forcing me to see this new therapist, Regina Atwell. They think that I still have some sort of "problem" or "disorder", whatever the professionals call it, but I don't. I'm honestly way better than I was two years ago but therapy ironically degrades me from advancing to the next step: being happy. I knew that true happiness will only come if I step out of my shell and try to convince my parents that I don't want to go to therapy anymore. Well, let me rephrase that. True happiness will only come my way if I go against the desires of my parents and not go to my therapy sessions.

The thing is, my parents knew the real reason behind the cause of my "problem", they knew why I needed to visit a therapist in order to make me "normal" and get me back on track. Only my parents knew, not my bestfriend, not my boyfriend, not even the cliche nosy snob from high school knew about my disorder. My parents always told me if anyone at school asked about my visits to the therapist, my treatment or the shitty medication I have to take 24/7 to tell them that it's just an eating disorder. Yes, "just an eating disorder", and this has been my excuse since I was diagnosed in 2013. This excuse became such a routine that even I believed I had an eating disorder and not something else. You may be wondering what a teenage girl like me could be suffering from other than the typical eating disorder, but I'll reveal that later. I think the whole reason of me explaining this is because I want someone other than my parents to know the truth.

I'd admit that I was building some sort of anticipation for my trip. I love travelling, and fortunately I was blessed to have a wealthy family who could afford one of my personal interests. But, unfortunately, my parents seem to think that their wealth and material things can always win me over to their side. They think that their money could make me forgive them, but I'd never forgive them for what they have done to me. I would've preferred if I was going to New York alone in order to have a full first-hand experience, but with my parents accompanying me I know that they'd keep me away in a glass case. Everyone knows that I'm in a better condition than I was two years ago, but it seems like my parents are the only ones who can't accept that I'm no longer that monster they created. Maybe they don't want me to be better, maybe they want me to be that isolated monster forever.

Night was approaching and I decided that I would've gone to sleep early for once to make sure that I have enough energy for tomorrow morning. Although I'm usually a heavy sleeper, I was awoken by the scent of bacon from the kitchen, my favorite. I jumped out of bed and headed down to the kitchen, greeted my parents with the usual nod and fake smile and began to prepare for my hopefully interesting day.

The ride to New York was long and boring, filled with my parents faking to be happy with each other and trying to "care" by asking me questions about school, my friends and my well being and what's not, I'm used to it by now, our little fake happy family. Sometimes I wondered if they ever asked me a question because they cared about me or if all of their questions were just proposed as an addition to their evil plan of destroying my life completely. Either way, I didn't care and I tried to not let much negative thoughts spur in my mind as we were on our way to New York.

After hours of driving and frequent gas station stops, we finally arrived.

"Jodie, do you mind helping us unpack things from the car?" My mother questioned in cheery tone.

I grunted as I lifted two suitcases out of my dad's black SUV trunk. As I entered my hotel room the thoughts of how horrible this "trip" is going to be were illuminating my mind. Our hotel room was quite nice; they were two separated rooms to keep my parents and me from each other, thank God. I opened the door to my room and dropped myself on the soft king sized bed. My eyes began to close and my body was at ease, I let myself drift into a deep sleep preparing myself for the horrible day tomorrow.