Spinning Out✔️

36. Nearly Dying

Luna's POV

Tuesday, August 3rd (aka the hottest day of the damn year)

9:34 am

"So what did he say?" I took a spoonful of cereal and stuffed it into my mouth, scrolling through Instagram.

"Luna, this is important. Could you please pay attention?"

I looked up at my mother and sighed, swiveling side to side in the barstool I was sitting on.

She wore a look of impatience like she was on her last straw. I wasn't sure why though. I hadn't even done anything.

"Dr. Patel said your evaluation form concerned him," She said tapping her fingernails on the counter. "You wrote somethings that--"

"I barely wrote anything down on that thing. Most of it was multiple choice and fill-in-the-blank. It's not even serious anyways." I'd been filling out those forms for years now.

Every time I started a new medicine or my prognosis changed, I'd fill out an evaluation of how I was doing.

The-"how are you feeling, are you having harmful thoughts?"-kind.

Mine was more specific to epilepsy asking how I was managing my seizures and what my plans for the future were. My answers had been similar every time I filled the form out.

I don't know what I'm doing, nothing's changed.

"Luna," She said in a warning tone. Her light cream-colored skin paled for a moment like she was about to be sick.

I hated that she got so stressed about me sometimes. I stood up from the stool, abandoning my bowl.

Walking around the counter, I stood in front of her and held her hands in mine. I looked down at the woman who I saw as a major part of my world. The one who'd sacrificed so much for me already and gave me so much love.

Her black wavy hair was held up with a big clip and she sighed, brushing her thumb across my cheek.

"Dice que quiere que vuelvas a ver al Dr. Glassman." I flinched at the mention of that name. Dr. Glassman? (He says he wants you to see Dr. Glassman again.)

I shook my head and closed my eyes, already knowing where this was going.

"Mamí, no necesito ver al psiquiatra." (I don't need to see the psychologist.)

She was determined, giving me an annoyed glare. "Deja de ser tan terco." (Stop being so stubborn.)

I crossed my arms, leaning against the counter behind me. "I'm not being stubborn. I've been to Dr. Glassman before. Going to see her doesn't change anything." My voice rose slightly, my defenses going up with it.

"No ha estado en ninguna de las reuniones de su grupo de apoyo en los últimos meses. Los dos estamos un poco preocupados por cómo estás manejando todo."

(You haven't been to any of the support group meetings in months. We're both a little worried about how you're handling everything.)

Worrying. It was all anyone did when it came to me. There was nothing to worry about though. I was fine.

"I don't need the support group right now and I've got a lot going on but I feel okay," I explained. "I haven't had a seizure in a little bit, I'm taking my meds." I shrugged, not wanting to keep talking about this.

"Mija," She reached up for my face placing both her hands on my cheeks. "I'm worried about you. Even if you aren't having seizures, I know there's still a lot going on in that head of yours. Talk to someone, for me."