What Shes Thinking

just a start to another story

I think it was a Tuesday, when my mom came yelling into my room only to find her only daughter with blood soaked wrists sitting hunched over in the corner of her room. I don’t remember much after that except for being in an ambulance and hearing my mother crying and the EMT asking what she thought the reason for this was and all she could say was “She has been battling with her weight for a long while now; I think she just had enough of being chubby.” That’s all she could say. That she thought I was attempting suicide because I was chubby. I don’t remember anything else after that.

Which leads me back here. To this place with four big white walls and a smell that reminds me of a nursing home seeping from a chair that I’m forced to sit in. My therapist in the next room, filling out paperwork so she could ask me questions that she probably already knows the answers to, my mother sitting next to me. I really can’t stand her. All she does is b***h and moan about how bad her life is and how much my brother and I hate her. Which is not true, I've never once said that I hated her. I love my mom but s**t is she annoying. This “family” is annoying. My brothers a bi-polar drug addict and my dad is just, well let’s just say he is not the best dad and leave it at that. My mother is a drunk.

The grey door opens to the office I've been dreading and a tall, blond peeks out of the door. She smiles and says “Summer, I’m ready for you now.” Walking into the room I thought of ways and excuses I could use instead of talking about problems that didn't start with me. I look up once in the room and realize all the colors, coming from every angle. The curtains look like a Caribbean ocean flowing from the ceiling and the carpet, a bright orange totally make the hot pink chairs pop and look incredibly misplaced. I love it. Nothing looked like it belonged, like all the furniture was a bunch of misfits that clashed together to form unity. It was pretty cool I must admit. Life gets boring when you know what to expect of everyone and everything so it’s cool that at least this therapist’s room is different. I plop myself down in one of the chairs and grab a hand full of skittles that were on the coffee table next to me. As I start to shove them in my mouth, she speaks. “So Summer, How are you feeling today?” She calmly asked. “ Listen, I know what you’re going to try and do here, you’re going to give me a lecture on how bad it is to try and kill myself and how it doesn’t only affect me but it hurts my family as well, but to tell you the truth I could give two s***s what they did after I'm gone. So save the inspiration lecture and let’s just get this over with. My mom probably gave you a script to follow anyway to make this about her.” I started to get warm. I could feel rage flow through my veins making my blood boil. Where was this feeling coming from? Am I actually getting this mad just talking about my mother?

This tall but skinny woman uncrosses her legs in her chair and puts her hand up with the notion to shut up. “Stop right there Summer, just stop.” She loudly interrupts. “If you think that that’s the reason your hear, your sadly mistaken. You are here because you can’t stand your family.”

            How did she know that?  My mom probably did give her the low down, but my mom would never actually say that to a therapist. So how did she know that?

            She then waits for me to move the slightest bit in my chair and then starts talking again. “I mean I am a therapist and you are here to talk about your life obviously but I’m mostly here to help you recognize your real problems and why you feel the way you do. I’m not here to lecture you because lets be real, that’s so god damn boring.” Is this real life? Is this happening? Do I actually like her? I do, this lady seems cooler than anyone else. I go to start talking and a timer goes off. “Oh! Saved by the bell!” She laughs and we both stand up and she shakes my hand and escorts me out of the room. I wonder how much this lady is getting paid. When I get home I’m going to pass out and hopefully tomorrow morning will come fast. I want to be in North Carolina already.

            My bedroom sucks. I hate pink and that’s the color my mom chose to paint it.  This means every time I come home I have to sit in here and look at the walls and wish they were blue or something else I guess. What happens when I go to college? Who is going to want to stay in here? That’s right, absolutely no one. My mom said she picked this color because it was stimulating and refreshing and will help me be more concentrated on my school work. This room is anything but stimulating and refreshing; it’s more like depressing and stressful. I mean, come on I have to stay in here and listen to my brother and my mom fight and then when my dad gets home I have to listen to him and my mom b***h and moan about how they want to leave each other and how they need to throw my brother Colton out, which they do need to do but I’m tired of just hearing it. I just want a normal family but I guess that’s too much to ask for.