Enigmatic

Mental Problems. . . and Me

My back pressed against the cold wall behind me, the only bit of feeling I could bear to let myself feel. I was dimly aware of how dark the room was around me, but I didn't care, my arms were wrapped around my legs, my chin resting on my knee, waiting, waiting, waiting for a black-haired woman to come collect me. To make me leave my sanctuary and tame my mind.
Deep breaths Rayven, deep breaths.
The voice in the back of my mind spoke to me, it wasn't my own, it never was, instead, it belonged to someone I never wanted to meet face to face.

I obeyed.

And slowly, so slowly, my mind became my own again, I was able to feel my own fingers digging into the flesh of my thighs, and when I asked my hands to move, they obeyed. I straightened my legs and slid to the edge of the bed, resting my sock feet on the floor and reaching for the bottle of pills on my dresser, the only things that kept me from doing something I regretted; most of the time. The two pills I popped into my mouth burned, but I ignored it and dry-swallowed, staring at the dark brown carpet of my bedroom floor.

A few minutes, a haze fell over my mind, locking the voices-that-weren't-my-own out of my head for the time being. 

A shadow fell across the door. 

Mom glanced at the pill bottle still in my hand, then met my eyes. "Let's go." her words were soft, but they still punctured the silence surrounding me like a knife, and I felt my grip tighten around the bottle. I stared deep into my mother's emerald eyes, the exact same as my own, trying to find. . . something. But they were emotionless as they always were when I was in one of my moods, and maybe that was a good thing.

 "Okay." My words were just as soft as hers. She nodded and left, her passing leaving a wake of air behind her. I stared after her for a second, trying not to let my gaze dull, then got up and slipped on the tennis shoes sitting by the door of my room, emerging into the sunlight with a wince, slipping past my sister's room and down the stairs quietly, finding Mom already in the car. I buckled in, and she pulled out of the drive, driving me to what was most likely going to be a very disappointing doctor's appointment. 

I guess I have to explain something here. 

First, I'll explain the function of the meds. Those were to help me keep a hold on emotions I didn't feel when it came to other people, or to put it more harshly, to help with my APD. And my ADD, and my Dissociation. The appointment was to find out if the dosage of the meds I was currently on needed to be changed. It was ridiculous in my opinion: the amount of medication I swallowed daily worked just fine, if I took anymore, I'd end up brain-dead. 

The ride was relatively short, and before I knew it, we were pulling into the parking lot of a huge white building, as sharp and clean on the outside as it was on the inside. I cringed at the first step inside, both because I hated hospitals and because the sterile-like smell assaulted my nostrils. 

I crossed my arms and hunched my shoulders, trying to hide my six foot frame behind my mother's five foot four, looking like the surly teenager I was. As she checked in, I chose a seat as far from the only guy in the waiting room as I could, he had a box of tissues next to him, and I sat down, he took one and blew loudly into it with such ferocity that I felt bad for the Kleenex.
I stared at the wall as we waited, tapping my foot impatiently.

Mom whacked my knee, not looking up from her magazine, and I stopped, shifting farther back in my seat instead. The bell on the door snapped against the glass, making me look up.
A pretty black girl made her way to the desk, her long hair pulled into tiny cornrows. I was too far away to hear what she said. She swept past me, sitting a few chairs down and looking my way. I stared back, cocking my head as I tried to remember where I'd seen her before. 

Her eyes narrowed as her face sank into a frown, and the look triggered my memory. She was a year younger than me in high school, well, no, we were the same age, I was just a year ahead. She recognized me too, and with a disgusted roll of her eyes, looked away. It was no secret that I had problems, and people avoided me like the plague because of it. The girl sitting a few chairs down was one of the more popular ones, cheerleader, if I remembered rightly. She was also on the girls' basketball team.

A nurse called my name, and I stood up, forgetting about the girl and steeling myself to face yet another stressful situation, because that's how they always ended up being. The nurse gave me a fake smile and led the way, taking Mom and I through a sharp white hallway and stopping in front of a windowless door with a golden nameplate.

I didn't bother looking at the name as I walked through the door, I didn't care what his name was. The nurse gave another fake smile and closed it, leaving us alone. I considered sitting in the chair behind the doctor's desk, but decided against it as I didn't want to get yelled at, instead, I flopped in one of the two chairs in front of the desk and stretched my legs out, crossing them at the ankles and resting an arm along the back of the chair.

Mom was much more civil, and sat down with her hands in her lap.

I stared out the window, listening to the nearing footsteps in the hall, and wondering how this was supposed to be private when I could hear everything that occurred outside the door and through the thin walls. Those footsteps stopped, and then the door opened, revealing a balding Asian man with the standard doctor uniform and a kind smile. 

I rudely didn't smile back. He didn't offer a handshake to me, but greeted us both with a professional, if kind air. He turned to me first, "So tell me Rayven, how have you been feeling lately?" I blinked, was he a therapist as well? "Fine," I said, maybe I should have looked at the nameplate. 

He glanced down at the folder on his desk, "Any. . . moments of unexplained rage or feelings of hurt?" I sighed, "You would know." He took that as a no, and pulled a piece of paper out, laying it on the desk between us, "How are you feeling about today's visit?" 

Was there a way I was supposed to feel? "Stressed," I said, keeping my face emotionless, and he chuckled. 

In his defense, we'd only been here for a few years, and he didn't know me well enough to know I was joking. 

"Rayven," Mom chided, knowing where this was going, "Doctor, we've been really happy with how everything is going." She looked like she was going say more, but he interrupted, "That's wonderful. Rayven, could I talk your mother alone?" 

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A/N: Well if that's not a rough first chapter ending I don't know what is. 

Ew.