𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑.

FIFTEEN

Onika Tanya.

"Onika-"

"Leave me alone!" I yelled, I was at my therapy session and this bitch think she knows every fucking thing.

"Accept the truth Onika, you want help? You gotta face the truth." The therapist sat back.

"Fuck you and this therapy session."

"Let's talk about your girlfriend."

"No."

"Why not?" The therapist pouted, she pisses me off.

"Because you'll find some way to connect that to me trying to kill myself, the more you figure out why I tried to kill myself the more you'll recommend a mental hospital to my parents—I cannot go back, I cannot go back to that place that y'all claim helps you! It made me worse if anything, they have me taking these antidepressants and anxiety medication that makes me feel nothing, I would rather be sad than have no emotion."

"Well if you keep acting like this I might have to recommend a mental hospital, just talk to me, let's start small."

"Small like what?"

"What are you thinking right now?"

"That I wanna go home and you know nothing."

"I know nothing but I have my degrees on this." She pointed behind her, I rolled my eyes. "How do you feel right now on a scale 1-10? Elaborate."

"Negative ten, I'm angry 'cause nobody actually cares, you're only helping me because you're getting paid to do this, my mom thinks I'm a suicidal bitch while my dad—fuck whatever he thinks."

"What's your problem with your dad?"

"My mother who's been dealing with him for god knows how long finally had a chance to leave him and do better for us but brings him back into our life, without him I would be perfectly fine living it up in NewYork right now."

"Do you think you know why your mom went back? Or did you try asking?"

"She's probably attached or scared of him, I'm not gonna ask because I'm sure it's stupid. I'm leaving that house as soon as I get the chance."

"What made you start harming yourself?" She took a glimpse at my arms and I folded them.

"So something could be louder than the thoughts in my head basically silencing them, it gave me relief kinda."

"How long have you been clean?"

"Since I got back from the mental hospital, my mom has all the sharp stuff locked away like I'm addicted to it."

"Maybe you are, you get a sense of euphoria from doing it so you continue to do it, again, and again, and again."

"I can stop whenever." I shrugged.

"Then why haven't you stopped yet?" She sat up.

"Because..." I stay silent for a few seconds and she hummed.

"Mmm, so maybe you are addicted." She nodded. "So we've come to the conclusion you're not mentally okay-"

"We?"