annihilated. /mcr fanfic (pt. 2 of resurrected, completed)

chapter nine

the psychiatrist here has to be no more than two years older than me. he's a fresh new brain, just squeezed out of the bourgeois college machine. his lanyard, with a small plastic identity card attached, is branded by an expensive state college. I guarantee his college textbooks cost more than what i've consumed in food in the past 10 years. which, I admit, isn't much... whatever. you get my point. this guy, Mr. Dandy (I can't make this shit up), he thinks I should be on remeron to treat my depression and get my weight up. yeah right, asshole. you're just asking for one of the nurses to get bit. it's not happening.

he tries to negotiate. no remeron- just a regular antidepressant, prozac. but no klonapin, starting  in one week. he's proposing to quickly ween me off, which isn't desired, but my insurance company doesn't want me to be here for more than two weeks. god forbid the money we pay in health insurance goes to.. I don't know... maintaining or improving health. I shake my head. this is my third day here and I've finally got my hands on some klonapin. it's not very effective anymore, but it helps the headaches, nausea and biting irritation subside.

he is starting to get impatient with me, but he's remaining cordial. his short, light hair is gelled back lazily. his face is totally clean shaven, no scratches or scabs. he smells good. his bright white teeth are hidden by thin pink lips. he's not exactly handsome, but it doesn't hurt to look at him. he's a normal pretty boy who, I imagine, is the perfect, basic son, basic boyfriendfiancehusband. I'm bored with him. I'm unimpressed.

my stomach aches with gas. all of this food is fucking rearranging my intestines. I won't be getting my daily dose of klonapin until bed time but my stomach churns for it. I start tearing up.

he shifts in his seat and puts his hand on the dark blue dining area table in between us. "I understand this is a frustrating process. we have to get you off of klonapin before you leave here.   are there any antidepressants you've tried in the past that have worked for you?"

I burst into tears and cover my face with my hands. I don't want to talk to boring Mr. Dandy anymore. I don't want to do this "recovering" nonsense. not for my mom, not for me, not for anybody. mr. dandy is quiet for a few minutes. he tells me he will get some tissues and that he'll be right back. honestly, he probably just needed to step away from this mess for a moment, to take reality back in, to remain comfortable in his own shoes. that the thing about me. if you step too close, you might get sucked in and disoriented.

mr. dandy comes back a few moments later as I'm calming down. he puts a box of tissues on the table and sits back down across from me.

"I have to assess a few more patients before my time ends here. I'm going to go ahead and adjust your plan-" and with this, I start sobbing again, "-I'm sorry, we have to do this. klonapin is clearly an issue and we have to get you off of it. you'll have plenty of time here with the therapists to work this out. I know you're strong enough to handle this. we're going to put you on the lowest dose of prozac starting tomorrow."

I can hear his pen jotting things down on his clipboard.

"if you 'know' I'm strong, you don't know anything," I grumbled and stood up. he remained quiet, and when I looked at him after I approached the door, he stood up.

"maybe you're not strong on your own right now. but the strength of the team here will support you until you are."

I froze there for a moment and he came closer with a weak smile. he instinctively, lightly put a hand on my shoulder, but removed it after half a second. "time, patience and trust."

Rachel sat on the bed, writing very fast and hard in her journal. I plopped down on my bed on my belly and let all the tears fall out of my eyes until the well dried up.