Life at its Worse

Chapter 9

Emma's POV

I woke up with my "Mom" holding my hand, crying. I didn't quite recognized the place, but then I noticed I was at the hospital, in a bed with my "Moms" tears almost drowning me.

"Mom??" I said in the voice you make when you first get up, like a really tired voice.

"Honey!! Thank goodness your alive!!" She screamed in excitement.

"Yeah I'm alive so, I was always alive." I said. I completely forgot why happened.

"Do you remember what happened." she asked in a scared tone.

"Well I remember going to a party but after the party I completely forget." I said.

"Well we where in an argument and I guess you got upset and cut yourself." she said sadly.

"Oh" I said disappointed in myself.

The nurse came in and they told me about how they found the cuts on my wrist. She said I would have to go to a therapists. "CRAP!" I thought. I hate therapist they make me feel uncomfortable. I actually been to one before. I went with my real Mom because she thought I was acting really weird and strange around my Dad. (because he was beating me at the time) so she took me to a therapist and I was SO uncomfortable, but I just went with it and it still didn't change how I acted around my Dad because he was still beating me. But now he is in jail and I think I should be thankful for that.

The therapist asked all different kinds of questions and I felt so uncomfortable answering them because like why does she care about me, no one does.

"So why are you cutting your wrist?" She asked.

"Because I have the worst life ever." I replied.

"Well would you like to talk about it?" She asked in an innocent voice.

"I would rather not." I tried to say it as politely as I could but it just slipped out of my mouth in a kind of rude way. At least it's not like I said "NO, NOW SHUT UP IM FINE!!"

"Ok well we will work on your shyness tomorrow." She said. I thought to myself "I don't want to talk about it. God, it's not that I'm shy I just hate talking to therapist like you." But I would never say anything like that to someone unless I was really upset.

"Ok, but I'm not shy I just am really uncomfortable." Why did I say that I should of known it would cause her to talk more.

"Well you can trust me. I am your therapist and by law I am not allowed to share any of my patients information." she said.

"Can we talk about this next appointment?" I still was uncomfortable.

"Ok, well nice to meet you Emma." she said in an innocent tone.

"Nice to meet you to." You have no idea how happy I was to leave that place.