Another Sad Story

6.

It has been a few week's later, I had been taking escitalopram. I would sleep more than usual, taking a lot of naps during the day. Chris had been working from home but every ten minutes he'd check up on me.

Today was the day I would start therapy. I didn't want to go but I knew that if I just went and acted like nothing was wrong like I was mentally stable and she'd convince the therapist that it was just an accident made with the influence of alcohol and nothing more, maybe they'd let me go and I wouldn't have to sit in a grey room talking to a stranger about her "problems".

"Are you ready to go?" Chris walked into the room. I had been lying in bed for the past hour contemplating therapy. Maybe this time it'll be different.

"I guess." I sighed getting up and following him downstairs. I put on my shoes and grabbed a light jacket before stepping out. Chris locked the door behind him walking towards his car.

The drive was quiet, since starting taking those pills I've been very quiet. It's as if these pills numbed me from feeling anything at all, I had no interest in a conversation, just sleep.

"Don't be upset, I know you didn't have the best time in therapy before but maybe this time it'll be different." He looked over at me smiling, all I could do was nod my head. "Hey, I'm proud of you."

He reached for my hand, intertwining his hand with mine before placing a soft kiss on my hand.

Once we got to there he signed me in, he had become a bit possessive over her, he didn't allow me to do anything, he had to do it all. At first, I thought it was cute but it was starting to annoy me. I wasn't a child and I hated being treated like one.

He took a seat patting the spot next to him but for some reason, I had grown a bit angry and I was going to take a seat in front of him instead, but I realized I wasn't being me, it was just the medication. I took a seat where he had patted, I wrapped my arm around his and rested my head on his shoulder. He smiled, it had been the first time in a while that I had showed some sort of affection towards him.

About fifteen minutes later they had finally called my name, I release myself from his grip waving goodbye as I walked behind the grey door.

I was instructed to sit in a big leather chair, I did as told as the therapist walked over behind his desk.

"Hi, I'm Scott." He smiles before taking a seat. "So, how are you feeling today Stella?"

"I'm alright."

"Do you know why you are here?"

"I do, do you?"

"Yes, you attempted to kill yourself by slitting both your wrist and may I say very impressive how deep you got." I held my arm tightly. I began to think that I took too many of those sleeping pills and I was stuck in an odd dream.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, I'm not like most therapists you may come to notice but don't worry, still similar in the idea that I expect to help you live with yourself no matter how traumatic or fucked up in the head you are. We'll find a way to stop you from doing these things. And yes, I am well aware this wasn't your first attempt."

I didn't know what to say, I was so confused. "What if this doesn't work?"

"Trust me, it will. Now tell me, how are you feeling taking escitalopram? Do you like it better than taking Desyrel?"

"I don't know, I can't remember what it was like before. I just feel weird, almost-

"Numb, you're just numbed which is normal. You have to feel that way for a while, it's better than feeling everything at the same time."