“Do you feel like you have become a failure? Your actions defiantly say you feel that way.” I looked at his icy cold eyes—I couldn’t believe this was this was the man that I was supposed to spill my guts to.
“I’m paid to listen, everything you say is in between you and me.” I laughed. “I have a feeling your not taking this serious enough, your parents are scared for you, I’m scared for you.” I just stared into his eyes as I was thinking about what to tell him.
First of all I don’t have a family, they are either dead or dying, but that’s everyone in a nutshell isn’t it? A pessimistic view yes, but in all reality that’s what is happening. I never remembered meeting my mother’s brother due to him dying when I was at a very young age. Suicide due to the consequences of Russian roulette is what the authorities claimed—the family said otherwise. Her brother obtained more and more bad influences in his life throughout his years. Some people just aren’t good people; some people would kill their friends over disagreements. That’s what the family claimed. So his friend went to trial, convicted of the murder of Sean Alan Coleman. Long story short he still walks these streets and broke the hearts of what was left of a family. We failed to accuse that man of injustice and we failed to stay together. I blinked and then I just continued to stare at him.
“Is it natural for you when you just stare someone down? To be honest it almost makes me feel threatened” I smiled then I finally spoke.
“Its just how I look at someone, you do want to know I’m listening right?’
“Yes.” He hesitated to say. “Its just not very common to see someone very intent to keep attention.” I continued to stare—why did I hate this man? He reminded me of my dad, did I hate my dad? My dad does have some characteristics that I absolutely hate but that doesn’t mean I hate the man? I guess I did.
“Are you actually listening to me?” I shook out of my thought.
“Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Family.”
“Was it your mother? You seem to talk about her very much” That struck a nerve and I broke out crying, I don’t understand why I was doing this.
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. He looked confused.
“Do you feel like you have failed your mother? She has had the exact same problems as you are starting to experience and you have always said you wanted to be better in her eyes.”
“This was unavoidable.” I said. “Why believe in god, or to take the drugs, or even love if I know I’m just going to be depressed and dead on the inside? I understand you are trying to get me to talk but I cant talk, I’m sorry but this isn’t going to work.” He looked down and started to look down and started writing into his notepad. I got frustrated, I have been told that I’ve had bipolar tendencies—I confused him, hell I confused myself; I had no idea what just happened.
“You are, different. You’re smart, unbelievably. You excel in school, but only when you come. Which isn’t often enough, you’re a person that I would like to call a minimal effort maximum quality. People who are normally smart but lazy are like this, but it isn’t because you’re lazy. It’s because of the dark clouds that go over your body. Right?” I nodded. “I’m not a person to encourage taking medications, that’s why I am here, I am used as a alternative medicine.” I don’t want pills. Observing my mother all my life she has been living on pills—I don’t want that at all.
“I don’t know where this is going, I asked if you write any of your feelings down and you said yes. Do you have any of your writings in that notebook you have there?” He pointed at the black college ruled notebook I had at my side.
“Yes.” I went into my shell; I almost didn’t want him to read anything in the black cave that I owned—it was practically a diary to me. The black notebook was full of poetry and stories that I have written in the past talking about my upcoming condition and what I felt about life and death. How I viewed my family and god, how I saw the world and what I’ll do with my life. The first eighty pages were full of thoughts and feelings that I kept in the darkest reaches of my soul.
“Can I see it?” I hesitated at first but eventually I knew I had to hand him the notebook. I lifted the book up and I felt the front cover, it felt no different from an ordinary notebook but it just felt different in a thoughtful way—like the way the bible is, but this wouldn’t amount to anything compared to the bible. I handed him the book and he gripped the book as if it was going to float away. He started to open to the first page and the he looked up.
“Is there anything you wanted me to read in particular?” I nodded no and he nodded back and then he started reading the first thing he saw out loud. “If love is a gun then I have been shot, if bullets are hate then I have a lot. I started to zone off into another place. “I fall straight down and look at the sky, who even tried, and who has even cared?” Several months ago I began to feel more than I could take and I cracked—my compromised clarity became weakened but I was nonchalant. “Its like I’m seeing doubles, like I cannot stand. I’m like a blood donor the bloods not on my hands.” Why am I still here? Why did I stop? He tipped his glasses to the tip of his nose and he started to rub his eyes with his index finger and his thumb.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“Trying to figure out what all this means”
“It means nothing, the purpose of it is now invalid, it doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It had emotion behind it, the emotion is now gone, it was a failed attempt to crawl out of a locked cage. It means nothing anymore.”
“You are here due to a failed attempt against your own life. I think you are treating this whole scenario with less seriousness than you’re supposed to at this moment.” I winced and I began to prepare to snatch the book away from him.
“I think.” I started to say. “That this isn’t necessary because I’m not willing to change at the moment, I feel that this is just a waste of my time.”
“I hope that you will come back someday but until you have a desire to change I cant do anything for you.” I stood up and started to head out the door. I turned around to look at him and I started to cry again,
“You know. I never did thank anyone for stopping me that day, I feel like I was cheated out of what I was going to do but everything does happen for a reason. Maybe I’m not a failure; maybe something is supposed to happen out of this. Only time can tell I guess.” I walked out the door and I never saw the man that was supposed to help me with all my instabilities ever again. Maybe for the better, but through the years the alternative medicine showed up on the palms of my hands and I became everything I had no desire to become.
“Yes.” He hesitated to say. “Its just not very common to see someone very intent to keep attention.” I continued to stare—why did I hate this man? He reminded me of my dad, did I hate my dad? My dad does have some characteristics that I absolutely hate but that doesn’t mean I hate the man? I guess I did.
“Are you actually listening to me?” I shook out of my thought.
“Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Family.”
“Was it your mother? You seem to talk about her very much” That struck a nerve and I broke out crying, I don’t understand why I was doing this.
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. He looked confused.
“Do you feel like you have failed your mother? She has had the exact same problems as you are starting to experience and you have always said you wanted to be better in her eyes.”
“This was unavoidable.” I said. “Why believe in god, or to take the drugs, or even love if I know I’m just going to be depressed and dead on the inside? I understand you are trying to get me to talk but I cant talk, I’m sorry but this isn’t going to work.” He looked down and started to look down and started writing into his notepad. I got frustrated, I have been told that I’ve had bipolar tendencies—I confused him, hell I confused myself; I had no idea what just happened.
“You are, different. You’re smart, unbelievably. You excel in school, but only when you come. Which isn’t often enough, you’re a person that I would like to call a minimal effort maximum quality. People who are normally smart but lazy are like this, but it isn’t because you’re lazy. It’s because of the dark clouds that go over your body. Right?” I nodded. “I’m not a person to encourage taking medications, that’s why I am here, I am used as a alternative medicine.” I don’t want pills. Observing my mother all my life she has been living on pills—I don’t want that at all.
“I don’t know where this is going, I asked if you write any of your feelings down and you said yes. Do you have any of your writings in that notebook you have there?” He pointed at the black college ruled notebook I had at my side.
“Yes.” I went into my shell; I almost didn’t want him to read anything in the black cave that I owned—it was practically a diary to me. The black notebook was full of poetry and stories that I have written in the past talking about my upcoming condition and what I felt about life and death. How I viewed my family and god, how I saw the world and what I’ll do with my life. The first eighty pages were full of thoughts and feelings that I kept in the darkest reaches of my soul.
“Can I see it?” I hesitated at first but eventually I knew I had to hand him the notebook. I lifted the book up and I felt the front cover, it felt no different from an ordinary notebook but it just felt different in a thoughtful way—like the way the bible is, but this wouldn’t amount to anything compared to the bible. I handed him the book and he gripped the book as if it was going to float away. He started to open to the first page and the he looked up.
“Is there anything you wanted me to read in particular?” I nodded no and he nodded back and then he started reading the first thing he saw out loud. “If love is a gun then I have been shot, if bullets are hate then I have a lot. I started to zone off into another place. “I fall straight down and look at the sky, who even tried, and who has even cared?” Several months ago I began to feel more than I could take and I cracked—my compromised clarity became weakened but I was nonchalant. “Its like I’m seeing doubles, like I cannot stand. I’m like a blood donor the bloods not on my hands.” Why am I still here? Why did I stop? He tipped his glasses to the tip of his nose and he started to rub his eyes with his index finger and his thumb.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“Trying to figure out what all this means”
“It means nothing, the purpose of it is now invalid, it doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It had emotion behind it, the emotion is now gone, it was a failed attempt to crawl out of a locked cage. It means nothing anymore.”
“You are here due to a failed attempt against your own life. I think you are treating this whole scenario with less seriousness than you’re supposed to at this moment.” I winced and I began to prepare to snatch the book away from him.
“I think.” I started to say. “That this isn’t necessary because I’m not willing to change at the moment, I feel that this is just a waste of my time.”
“I hope that you will come back someday but until you have a desire to change I cant do anything for you.” I stood up and started to head out the door. I turned around to look at him and I started to cry again,
“You know. I never did thank anyone for stopping me that day, I feel like I was cheated out of what I was going to do but everything does happen for a reason. Maybe I’m not a failure; maybe something is supposed to happen out of this. Only time can tell I guess.” I walked out the door and I never saw the man that was supposed to help me with all my instabilities ever again. Maybe for the better, but through the years the alternative medicine showed up on the palms of my hands and I became everything I had no desire to become.
Remember me
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