Death is a Dream

Part 2: Ohio

It's been a month since I moved from Florida to Ohio to live with my aunt Erika. I will start going to school tomorrow, things have been awkward and just weird. My aunt has zero experience when it comes to children, at least she tries though. I feel bad for her, she was living her life, and all of a sudden she is in charge of some fucked kid. I was asked (more likely almost forced) if I wanted to go to those damn therapy groups to talk about my feelings. I don't really find the use to them if I'm honest. We are basically just a bunch of strangers talking about how life sucks and why it sucks for us personally. I rather stay a whole month locked into the guest room of my aunt's house in Ohio than sit through another therapy group. What I find particularly annoying about this group is how no one actually gives a shit. The person in charge couldn't give 2 shits about it, they just want their money and the rest of the people there are either being forced to go and get better or, actually are trying which makes me sadder because no one really takes it as they should. Tomorrow I will just keep my head low and get through the day. In my old school, I would do pretty much the same, I had no friends so that made things easier and more difficult in various ways. I didn't have any support that wasn't my mother but it also made things easier when I had to move, no one would miss me because no one would remember me because no one would even know I was there in the first place because I'm fucking invisible. All schools are always the same for me. It's just a building full of students and teachers. Everyone is superficial and doesn't give a shit about you and if they found out what you are hiding they fear you and call you a creep. The topics that are acceptable at school is homework, projects, exams, share hate for teachers, or maybe another student everyone dislikes, joyful things about yourself like hobbies and other types of fuckeries. If topics like suicide, depressions, mental health, drugs, or alcohol came out people get creep out a bit by the one who brought it up. Its the same in all schools, those topics and the ones related to those are seen as some sort of classified secret not meant for "young minds in development" well at least those where the words of the principal at my old school in 6 grade when I shared in lunch with Eli Benson I was going to therapy because I felt like life was fucking worthless. I didn't like school, the classes where alright, I did decent when I could keep my mind in it and not think about other topics that were not meant for my "young mind in development". Well, who cares anyway is not like I'm going to survive my teenage years to finally graduate and be another one of the endless robots that work in a society like a responsible citizen which money only goes to the fucking corrupt government. I know something will happen that will end with me losing my hit and ending my sad life. The good thing is at least I won't be known at my new school as the orphan because for that to happen they would want tot all tome and thanks to my strategy of being unseen I won't have to talk to someone who sent the principal or my teachers. By the way, I also got anxiety if you hadn't noticed also. Every time I talk to someone who I panic all I can think of is my voice and rehearsing what I am about to say over my head like a million times. I can't stop thinking if what I'm saying is annoying to them or just boring and maybe they already wanna end this conversation but there are too nice to leave me alone. I hate it when nice people talk to me I can't tell if they are talking to me because they actually consider me normal and I am giving an actually good conversation nd they and enjoying talking to me or they are just being nice and saw me sitting alone and I am actually being really annoying or may be acting as if I don't like them because I am so scared to say something that will ruin the whole thing so basically I'm saying nothing but little comments or yes and no.I always felt bad for my mom. She had to deal with all this mess by herself. She never complains or got mad at me for it asking why can't I just be happy or just trying because she couldn't fix me, she just accepted me and helped me. Even if we were low in money she would send me to the therapy always. I still feel guilty when she was the one who found me pass out on the floor with an empty pill bottle next to me. I promise I would never do something again because I didn't want to hurt her. I guess now that she is gone death broke that promise. I was forced into therapy groups, a type of rehab according to Dr.Dilson, my psychologist. I didn't like them, I loath them so badly everyone acting as they care but I could see those fake smiles and the money getting to the pocket of the foolish girl who tried to manage us the freaks. It almost felt creep, the food was cold and tasted weird. The paper cups were so cheap that after holding my water for so long it would let some drips out. The coffee tasted plain and boring and that chairs would always break. The only boy who was actually genuine was James Carson, she did not want to be there and he showed it. Like the time he arrived 1 hour late and basically groan every time he got annoyed by the therapy. I remember how he first approached me and we began talking about how all of this is an act of bullshit. He was actually really sweet, he would walk me home when my mom couldn't pick me up. James had longish brown hair and was pale as the moon, we always wore a bun and had cheap black nail polish on. We would hang out in the playground around 10 p.m when we had issues or we couldn't fall asleep or simply we just wanted the company of one another. He made therapy easy, he would make funny faces and make some no so nice but funny comments every Tim he was getting annoyed. He was one of the only reasons I would go and seat 2 hours in those plastic chairs and listen to everyone's whining. I also remember the day he didn't show up. Instead, after 1 hour it was his little sister who did and talked to the foolish girl in charge. The motherfucker killed himself, overdose. I also remember how I stood up and left and called my mom to pick me up, how she said she was on her way, and how she never showed up. Funny, losing 2 people the same day. Fuck you, James, I guess I'm next.