The Problem is Me [EDITED)

Chapter 18

November, 2014

Do you ever think you’re completely insane because you see things so differently to everyone else? I do, I think that a lot.

And that’s above and beyond all of my other illogical behaviours, some of the things I’ve thought up in my head have really made me question my own sanity. Sometimes I feel like the thoughts are smothering me, and completely crushing me down to a pulp. Other times I feel like I have control of my emotions, like I’m not letting them control me.

Another therapy session was lodged down my throat again yesterday, isn’t it funny how I’m in therapy to learn how to deal with people who should be in therapy? It’s quite ironic if you ask me, and just a complete waste of money.

Giles kept bringing up my mom, and even started to side with her in the end. He said that he didn’t judge or disagree with her for leaving because, and I quote, “There is no way to remain in a stable relationship with someone who lacks a conscience. The only solution is to leave.” I mean, come on! I thought these guys were meant to take my side, not my problems side!

On the bright side, I think I’m getting closer and closer to being let go. They keep telling me I’m going through the stages of grief but I keep denying it, which isn’t strictly speaking a lie. I’m eighty nine percent sure that if I were grieving over Evan I’d be curled up in bed sobbing into my pillow.

But I’m not, am I?

I will admit that I don’t quite know what to do with myself anymore though; I usually spent most of my days with the kid so I feel a bit at loss now. The only real alternative to spending every day on my own is to go talk to Esme and fuck off do I want to do that.

Granted I could go and sit around with Aiden and Colton, but that isn’t particularly on my agenda either.

Aiden’s an okay kid, as is his other half of the sperm but Colton is just so energetic. On the rare occasion that I have spoken to him, he has laced his sentences with so much energy behind them that I swear to fuck the floor vibrates from underneath him. The only way I can describe him is that he’s got a Ferrari brain with Chevy breaks.

Since I was the last one to see dearest Evan before he popped his clogs, I knew the police and if not the police, the doctors would have to question me. I don't mix well with interrogations; they raise my anxiety levels to the roof.

The new doctor sat opposite me was relentlessly staring at me. He appears to be really tall from afar, but when you get closer, you can see that he is an average five-foot-something; he just appears taller because he has got that menacing look about him, the kind of look that makes you feel insignificant with just a twitch of his eyebrow.

 His narrow temples are dusted with a light grey, but the rest of his head displays a full, bushy, jet black mane. His face is rigid and rough with experience-life experience, crime experience, medical experience, military experience. He has that kind of face that suggests to you that he might be one of the dicky doctors, a criminal on the inside.

He smacked his lips together and took another look at his notes.

"So, Nathan McKenzie-" He began.

"Just Nathan, if you will." I corrected, I really fucking hate it when people use my full name. It sounds girly to me and the shortened version is the only possible way for me to be able to not physically cringe when someone says my name. Most people know to address me as Nate or Nath by now, but I guess the abominable gummy bear over here doesn't.

The doctor slowly and menacingly lifted his head up and clenched his jaw. He stopped the recording and dangerously but calmly placed his hand on the desk. The man flashed a sarcastic and slightly angry smile.