Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 1

"Knox, do we have a Knox?" A lady's voice called out. My mother rose out of the leather, cushioned chair. "That's us," She responded. "Please, Joseph, this way." The lady motioned me to follow her.

I bent my head back, not believing my mom forced me to send me to this disappointment of a doctor's office. I'd much rather be sent to school out of all places. At school, I'm appreciated. Here, I'm just another thing they have to diagnose.

I unwillingly got up out of the cheap, uncomfortable chair and walked towards the lady. Once my mother and I walked through the doorway, the lady shut it with a big click. "So," She began, "How tall are you?"

"I don't know."

"He's 5'9," My mother quickly answered. Here she goes again, answering all of my questions. Mother always had high expectations for me, making sure I'm doing good in sports and my classes. Luckily, I can manage that. When I don't know something, she'll quickly answer the question and give me the 'are you serious' look.

As we walked to the room, mother shot me a look. I ignored it. It's nothing that I'm not used to. "Alright, you're in room 20. I'll leave you be after you answer a few questions." I entered the small room, taking in the dull scenery. Blue walls, the doctor's instruments, counters, cabinets, a sink, and the uncomfortable blue chairs.

"When's your birthday?" The lady took a seat on the stool. "September ninth, 2001," I told her. She began to type the information on the computer. "Why are you here today?" She finally asked. "I don't know. My mom just decided to drag me in here for no damn reason." I complained. Both she and my mom looked horrified.

"The reason why he's here is that he's not been acting like himself lately." My mother's voice was cold and harsh. I could feel the anger radiating off of her. "Could you define that more explicitly?" The lady looked at us. "He's been locking himself in his room, never socializing with us, and when he does, it's only short answers like 'yes' or 'I don't know'." Mother explained.

"Alrighty then, I'll give this information to Doctor Matthews. He should be in here shortly." The lady quickly grabbed her laptop and speed-walked out the door. Once the door was completely shut, my mother turned towards me.

"You do not ever, and I mean ever, use that type of language here." She scolded. I only looked at her. My mind automatically filled with hatred. "Do you got that, young man?" She raised her voice at me. "Keep your voice down. These walls are as thin as paper." I kept my tone nice and calm. She stared at me for a moment before she raised her head, lifting her nose in the air. Stuck up son of a bitch.

"Keep your turtle neck up. I don't want anyone here to see your god awful tattoos."

I tugged at the neck of my sweater, pulling it up. "It's only tattoos." I asked, "What's so bad about 'em?" She looked at me as if I spoke a foreign language. "What's so bad about them?" She repeated my question. "Well, they look trashy, it's not very man-like, they will be on your body forever," She started listing off reasons. I soon got bored of hearing her high-pitched annoying voice, so I just stopped listening to her. "Are you even listening to me?" She asked. "No," I told her.

She threw her hands up in the air and started moving her mouth like she was talking, but she wasn't speaking at all. She sent me here. To me, it seems like she's the one that needs to see the doctor.

"You are very lucky that we're not at home right now." She said through her gritted teeth. What is she going to do? Beat the living shit out of me? She doesn't have it in her. She would never lay a hand on me, risking that I'd go crying to my friends, telling them I have an abusive mother. It'd ruin her reputation. To her, everything I do and the family does affect her. It's all about the looks.

When I got my whole torso tattooed, I thought I saw Satan himself come alive in my mother. She was livid. She would just look at me and scoff like I'm some disappointment or something. I still love my mother though. She tries to do what's best for me. Hell, if it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be getting full paid scholarships right now.

"Joseph, correct?" A man's voice spoke. I turned my head to see a guy a little older than me standing in the doorway. He had a black beard and his hair was slicked back. "That's me," I answered. "Wonderful." He walked over to the stool and took a seat.

"My papers say you haven't been acting like yourself. How do you usually act?" He had his pen in hand, ready to write down anything and everything I say. My mind reflected on last night. I remember writing that journal entry and how I wasn't able to control what I was writing. I didn't want to write those things, but I did and I don't know why.

My eyes flicked up towards Doctor Matthews. I clenched my fists, not knowing what to say. If I tell him what I wrote and how I felt, he'll think I'm insane, but I'm normal. There's no need to tell him those things. They'll all just go away soon. He'll just give me the medication I don't need.

"I'm usually social and really chirpy. Now, I'm always down in the dumps and I don't have the motivation to do anything. I can't fall asleep at night either." Everything I said was a big, gigantic white lie. "Alright, well I know exactly how to solve your problems." He told us. "How?" Hope filled my mother's voice. "I'm prescribing him escitalopram and prosom. Those are antidepressants and sleeping pills. Joseph, you should be back to normal in no time." He announced.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Did he just diagnose me with depression? A small smile crept along my face. I'm normal. I knew it. I'm normal!