The Orion Star

Therapy

**TRIGGER WARNING** Discussion regarding self-harm, mental illness', depression and it's treatment, and bulimia are addressed in this chapter. Reader discretion is advised. 

Choking on blood and spit

My vision blurred

When did we slip

Into the absurd? 

--From the song Why?

Lyrics by: Orion Bauwens/Benjamin Hill

"Fuck, do I really have to do this?"

"Yes, yes you do."

I sigh heavily and look at my hands. I'm sitting in a large room with eleven other people. The floor is tiled dark blue to match the walls. The chairs we sit in are black and uncomfortable, and windows and doors are all white. Windows provide our light.

I'm so completely, utterly mortified. It's bad enough my closest friends had an intervention for me. It's bad enough I had to cancel the rest of my tour due to "exhaustion". It's bad enough that I really am exhausted, exhausted by living to the point where I had a complete breakdown.

But now? Now I have to sit with other people and share why I'm here. You have got to be kidding me. But there's no punchline here so I take a deep breath.

"My name is Orion and I'm a mess."

The shrink that runs it frowns a little. "You have to be more specific than that."

"Why?"

She looks unamused. "Do you want to get better, Orion?"

I don't answer.

"I think you do. You checked yourself in voluntarily, so if you want to get better then--"

"Yeah well, this is stupid. I voluntarily checked myself in and now I'm voluntarily checking myself out."

I don't get very far after I leave the room before I stop.

I did want to get better. I never want to make Jake cry again. I don't want to jeopardize my career. If I haven't scared off Tristan by now, I need to be better for him. So I turn around and push open the double doors, walk back to my chair, and sit down.

"My name is Orion. I hate myself. I'm an alcoholic, I can't go one meal without making myself puke it back up, when I get stressed out I scratch at my arms until I make myself bleed, and I apparently suffer from depression and stuff."

I slump back into my chair and cross my arms, glaring at the floor.

The shrink who's name I'm not even going to pretend I remember glares at me. "Orion. We already moved on."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Look," she says so sharply I lift my head, "in the two days you've been in group therapy you haven't been very compliant. If you're going to be here you're Orion Bauwens, not Orion the rockstar. You can't just come waltzing here and there as you please. There are schedules to adhere to. There is common courtesy. You can't just participate when you feel like it--got it?"

By the time she's done my face is bright red. You're not Orion the rockstar. Shit, was it really like that? Did I become that celebrity? God, I hoped not. Orion the rockstar and Orion Bauwens were one in the same.

Weren't they?

Feeling equally humbled and mortified, I slide further down into my chair. If I could just die on the spot, that'd be fine with me.