She's No Longer With The Band

Three.

Nate's Point of View:

Therapy sucks.

But Brendan's been making me go so I don't really have much of a choice now do I.

I don't get how people can enjoy going to a room with a random stranger and vent away their whole lives to them. I'm a private person so I can't imagine really revealing all of my trauma to this stranger who is "going to keep my secret." Like, I don't fucking know them, how do I know that they aren't going to profit on what I say somehow? How do I know that they aren't going to spill my secrets to someone.

Maybe this just shows how little trust I have in people.

Anyways it's been a couple of weeks since Brady stopped by, and even though I don't want to admit it, seeing him and what he said did help a little. Seeing him, sort of snapped me out of my trance and I've been trying to get better, to get back on track. It's been really challenging trying to learn how to walk and everything, but the doctors said it is entirely possible. And recently, I've been able to get around in my house on crutches.

I don't really think I can go any further yet than outside of my house because I don't want to be seen on crutches for one, and also I don't want to accidentally trip or some shit and then get papped. Practicing in the house so far is what's been working well for me, so I'm going to continue with doing so. The guys have been helping a lot so far, and I'm very appreciative of that, even if they piss me off and I'm a stubborn dick.

Brendan helped me to get into the car. We just got back from therapy, and well I kind of got into an argument thing with my new therapist. I just didn't fucking like him and I started something up for quite literally no reason. But, hey! Good news is that I don't have to go back to him ever again.

I hate therapy.

Brendan shook his head while running his fingers through his hair. "You're unbelievable," He muttered under his breath while putting his seatbelt on.

I raised my brows while staring forwards, hearing his seatbelt click in. "It's not my fault the guy couldn't take a joke,"

Brendan let out a noise of annoyance while wiping a palm over his face and then shaking his head. "Nate, please," Brendan complained while putting the car in drive. "You put three cigarettes out on his carpet and then leaned forwards and blew smoke into his face,"

Yeah well...

I pressed my lips together as Brendan started driving forwards, still ranting on and on about how what I did was incredibly disrespectful and how I should go back and apologize. In all fairness, he couldn't be more right and I definitely should go back in and apologize. I just, I can't do therapy, I can't force myself to talk about my feelings and about my life, I just can't bring myself to do it. I just can't.

My knee was bouncing and I didn't even realize until Brendan knocked his fist on my knee to try and get my attention. "Have you even been listening?" He questioned as I shifted in my seat, trying to focus.

"No, sorry," I apologize as he lets out an exhausted sounding sigh.

I ran my hand through my hair and swallowed. "Look, I'll apologize to him," I said while turning to look at Brendan. "You're right, what I did was fucked and he didn't deserve it," I nodded while Brendan kept his eyes on the road.

I exhaled and looked out the window at the rows of palm trees that lined the highway. "But," I started again. "Haven't you realized that therapy might not be for me..." I trailed off as Brendan sighed once again and guilt started to prick at my skin.

Although I hate the idea of therapy, I know it's most likely healthy for me. Especially for someone like me. Keeping things bottled up is just how I like to live my life, and honestly, the idea of airing out all of the shit and trauma I've been through is scary to me. I don't feel like having to sit and relive that, and share more of that with the entire world. The whole concept freaks me out, a great deal.