Six Feet Under

23.

It has been a week since I have begun therapy and two weeks since I have come back to my house. I have always wondered what it would be like to go to therapy and have someone who'll listen to me rant about my life for an hour and in exchange I will give them some money. It has been okay. Now, the money that I earn goes straight to my therapist so I don't really know if I am earning for myself or for my therapist. She is really nice though. She is empathetic and a good listener, I guess that is the reason why she is a therapist.

I told her mostly everything. I try to tell her everything but somethings take time. I go to therapy twice a week so it has only been two sessions till now. I thought to break the ice on the very first day and tell her everything and take off some load from her shoulders. It's not like she wouldn't know why I am coming to therapy. Her name is Marlee. She said I can call her Mar since I was referring her as 'Therapist'. It is week 3 now and I enter inside for my session number 3.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Mar asks while putting her notepad away on the table.

"Trying to feel okay." I said while sitting down on the couch.

"Trying is what matters. You don't have to force yourself to be okay. Just take it one day at a time and eventually you'll start to see the difference." Her warm smile helps in reassuring me.

"Just been thinking of a few things actually." I cleared my throat a bit.

"Would you like to share those thoughts?" Her questions are always so patient. She gives me the authority to decide if I want to talk about something or not. And it feels good.

"I...uh..." I try to find the right words, "Sorry, trying to think..." I stammer and let out a nervous laugh.

"It's totally alright. Don't apologize for anything. Take as much time as you need." I get silent for a while and try to come up with the right words. Something that would come close to what actually goes on in my mind.

"For a few nights, I have been umm...seeing my father in my dreams. And he is nice in those dreams." I pause, she nods, waiting for me to continue, "He isn't bad or abusive. He is like...like...a dad should be." I start to breath a bit heavier and my throat gets tightened.

Mar stays silent, letting me have my moment with my emotions.

"I, um...I woke up and I missed him. Dearly. And uh...I realized that he is not a good person. I cried a lot. The whole night actually. But then I thought that, even my mother doesn't love me so maybe it is me." A tiny sob escaped my mouth. I bite my bottom lip, trying to keep tears inside. But they are about to flow out of my eyes. "Maybe, I am difficult to love. It is maybe my fault. I always had good intentions but maybe I didn't do it the right way." A few tears slipped.

"I was six. And it was 9 at night. My father still hadn't come back home for dinner. My mom took me to my room and said that she will bring me my dinner and she will feed me and then I have to go to sleep." I think back to that night and my heart sank a bit deeper, "I sat on my bed and mom came with my dinner. She sat next to me and before she could feed me one spoon, we heard the door open. We knew it was my father. So, she said, 'Stay here, I'll be back in a minute. Don't move' I know she said that because she knew my father was drunk and she didn't want me to see him in that state. So, I stayed on my bed in the same position my mother had left me in. I heard their voices. They were whispering but the anger was there. It was so damn audible. It was louder than the silence in my room. The fights back then were quiet but the anger was always there. And I stayed there on my bed for hours. The sun came up but mom didn't return." I cried into my hands knowing I still have to tell the rest of the story.

"I..." I sobbed, "I saw the sun rising. And I saw kids with their parents from my window and they looked happy. And then there was me, on my bed, hungry and oblivious and alone. And for the first time, I got up and opened my closet. Got a small chair, stood on it and took out my clothes for school. I put on the clothes and I looked horrendous. I knew when I looked at myself in the mirror that something was wrong but my mom was not there to fix it. My shoes weren't even polished. I tried to make a ponytail but there were a few loose strands. I took my school bag and left the room. I went downstairs and saw my mom sleeping on the couch and the television was on and the fan was off and it was really hot that day. I tiptoed and opened the front door. And I thought to turn around and tell mom that I am leaving. Or else she will be worried...but when I turned around..." I wailed. I put my face into my hands and sobbed so hard. I didn't deserve it. I don't deserve this.

"I saw that the television was off and she had turned on the fan. She wasn't asleep. She saw me. But she refused to acknowledge it. I was right there in front of her, she did get up to switch on the fan and to switch off the television. But she didn't bother to care about me."

My heart was tearing apart just by telling this story.

"I went to the bus stop. All the kids were happy and I wasn't. I didn't look presentable. I didn't have loving parents. And they had it. They all had it."

My eyes were blurry and my throat was sore because of how hard I was crying. I was six. I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve any of it. I am 17 and I don't deserve this pain even now. I did nothing wrong but that childhood was mine and mine alone. They didn't have the right to take it away from me. They didn't have the right to take away my happiness. All of it was supposed to be mine and they took it away. And now I have nothing. I feel wrecked and they don't care. I just want this pain to go away, I want this all to stop. I am 17 and this is all I can take.