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A Therapist: A Short Story

Decent Essays

"Don't you want to get help?"

They poked and prodded my brain, picking it while bombarding me with questions.

"Don't you want to be happy"

The sound of the clock was all I could hear, breathing as it ticks. I lie still as if I were dead. I wished to be dead, but three unsuccessful attempts had proven to me that I couldn't do it. So I had to suffer and hate life and the body that I am imprisoned in. That's how I looked at life, as a prison, as a stale, dead carcass that I'm forced to smell. I looked at suicide as a jailbreak, from this life. I was never going to go through with it.

"You need help; this isn't healthy behavior."

The doctor looked at me and didn't say anything, my mother in the opposite corner. Through gritted teeth I told them I didn't need a therapist, I don't want to talk to somebody about my issues. I wanted to keep them bottled inside, no matter how bad it was for me. They told me everything I already knew, so I just listened and nodded. The doctor stopped talking to me and gave her a list of therapists. I didn't want their help or a therapist's help, the only thing I wanted was to be dead, but that wasn't going to happen. …show more content…

If there was a God, he was dead to me. My mind was always cloudy, but sometimes those clouds rained. The rain made a flood, a flood of depression and I didn't have a boat, and if I did have a boat, it was sinking. I remember each attempt like it had just happened. I remember looking at the sloppy handwriting on the letters to each family member and the razor blade tainted red. I remember feeling my arms and legs go numb and my desperate gasp for air. I could hear the deafening sound of my still beating heart, waiting for the pulse, but it never happened and I never heard that last

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