Chapter One: “Feelings Fade” (Gnash)
I sighed climbing into the passenger’s seat of Mom’s 2012 Grey Odyssey, rolling my eyes in annoyance. My mother looked at me with somber eyes. “You know we are only trying to help you, Sarah… Honey you need some help, you can’t do this alone.”
I put on my seatbelt, pulled down my sunglasses, and looked her in the eyes, “It’s just another therapist gonna tell me how to feel, I’m tired I can’t anymore.” As I sat back in the chair looking out the window, Mom put her hands on the steering wheel and sighed. She put the car into drive and pulled out.
I watched as we passed the multitude of different colored cars along the highway, the setting sky blossoming an aura of blue violets and yellow oranges. We eventually entered a parking lot, a brick building with big white letters on the two different sets of doors. One saying Glickerhill Hospital Outpatient program, the other Glickerhill Hospital Inpatient program. Mom parked in the lot and looked over at me. “Are you ready?” she asked, putting a hand on my shoulder. I stared out into the parking lot taking in the scenery. The trees moving in the wind, the ground partially frosted, for late February the temperature rather hot; I wondered how the grass still had snow on it.
I put my hand on the door handle and swung it open, “I guess so..” I got up and walked into the outpatient doors.
The elevator was cramped, claustrophobic, and anxiety provoking. As the doors opened to the basement floor there were brightly lit hallways, one wall was covered in a rainbow of colorful squares. I walked through the white hospital double doors, on the other side was a waiting room, a more dimly lit room, the walls were covered in chalk paint and there were metal chairs lining the walls. My mom went up to the counter and signed in as my dad walked in behind me, letting out a long breath as he took off his dirty work hat and wiped the extra debris off his pants. We all sat down and my parents were looking at me as I slumped down in the metal chair. I, on the other hand, was analyzing every person, nurse, psychiatrist and psychologist that walked in the waiting room.
A doctor entered; he was lean, tall and wore glasses. He was wearing a plaid button down tucked into tan khakis, a brown belt and a lanyard around his neck that had his ID card in a pouch. “Dr. Lestor” was the name on the ID. He shook my hand and both of my parents then brought us past the other door by scanning through. The door locked behind us, trapping me in a corridor of branching hallways and small doored rooms. We walked through the small narrow hallways finally approaching one of the doored rooms. I walked into the dimly lit room, the only illuminating light was from a lamp in the corner, a salt rock lamp on the desk, and LED color strip lights over the computer. I sat in the chair next to the lamp, there was a small table hidden behind the door, it was covered in crayons and play-doh. The doctor’s desk was white and attached right to the wall. There were built-in cubbies above the desk that held mental health books and binders. My parents sat along the other wall next to the lamp, Dr. Lestor sat at his desk and spun his chair around. “Well let’s begin,” he said smiling at me. He started with the normal questions, and I used the same answers I’ve told every other therapist.
“What do you do for fun?”
“Xbox, reading, writing, and volleyball.”
“Who lives in your house?”
“Mom, Dad, and my two brothers.”
“How old are they?”
“14 and 11.”
“Do you hear voices?”
“Do you feel depressed?”
“How’s your sleep?”
“Have you ever been abused by any family or friends?”
I stayed quiet, I wasn’t prepared for that question. I felt as if I had been to so many therapists in the past I was trained and well studied for this test… But this question was new. I looked at the floor, then my parents, I felt my eyes water and a single tear fell as the memory of him crept back into my mind. I wiped my cheek clean from the tear and felt my gaze fall upon Dr. Lestor.