Trauma-ridden and adopted by matpat

Therapy

-a few weeks after leaving the ward-

I woke up to the beeping of my phone alarm, it was Wednesday which meant that I had therapy today. So far, it was going well. I hadn't skimmed a knife through my skin barrier ever since I got discharged. I had been prescribed Zoloft, an antidepressant, to rid myself of those evil thoughts. It didn't work one hundred percent of the time, it barely worked seventy five, but it was definitely an improvement. I hopped out of bed and went downstairs for breakfast. Steph was in the kitchen. "Good morning, y/n! What can I get you for breakfast?" She asked, chipper. "Can I have some toast with jam?" I requested. "Sure thing." She slipped two pieces of bread into the toaster. Skip strutted into the kitchen and leaped onto my lap. I stroked him behind his ears and he purred with delight. "Remember, Mat is picking you up from school today for therapy." She reminded as she served me my toast.

-at school-

I walked into Spanish class and Birsa was already there. "Hi, pookie!" they greeted me. "Hey, what's up?" I responded. "My Dad suggested that we should make a collab video of just us. They do it all the time, like in "In Space with Markiplier" so he thought we would get views. What do you think?" "That is such a fun idea! We could do a horror game together." "OMG YES!" Ms Garny walked into the room when they said that. "Everyone get in your assigned seats, the bell is going to ring any second now." She ordered.

-after school-

I left the school and spotted Mat's car in the school's parking lot. I opened the passenger door and plopped my backpack onto the floor. "How was school?" He asked. "Good." "Do you have any homework?" "Just a little bit." "Be sure to get that done when you get home." After a quick ten minute car ride, we were at the therapy building. We entered and my therapist, Ms. Kurnick, was standing at the door. She whisked me away to her office.

"How's it going, y/n?" She asked me. "Pretty good, I guess." We entered the office and I went to lay down on the blue couch. I grabbed a red stress ball from the floor and started squeezing it anxiously. "Is there anything particular that you would like to talk about today?" "No." "Okay, let's pick up from where we left off. First, let's begin with a wrist check." I sighed, rolled my sleeves to my elbows, and flipped my arms around. This was my least favorite part, did she not trust that I couldn't go seven days without cutting up my arms? There were only scars from the past. "Good. You can roll your sleeves back down now." I did as I was told and then rested my head back on the couch. "I feel...different from everyone ever since I have been taking the medicine." I confessed. "Okay, tell me about it." "It's like...I can't be normal without it. Everybody else is normal. They don't need some stupid pills to keep themselves from hurting their own bodies like some psychologically challenged maniac." I tried to explain.

Ms. Kurnick listened carefully before saying, "everyone has their issues, it could be that your best friends struggle with the same issue. You just don't talk about it so you wouldn't know." "Why would I talk about it? I already have the reputation as the insane, violent girl who happens to be a celebrity's daughter. Why add the fact that I am mentally unstable?" "It's nothing to be ashamed of." "YES IT IS!" I angrily raised my voice. I squeezed the stress ball with my whole fist. It ballooned so that I could see the foamy contents. "Why is it anything to be ashamed of? Plenty of people suffer from mental health problems, I will bet that you know a few." "This. Isn't. Helping. Me. Feel. Better." I held back my rage, leaving those words robotic and monotone. I squeeze the stress ball even tighter, working out the muscles in my hand. "Take a deep breath, calm down." Ms. Kurnick condescendingly told me.

I don't. "STOP DISMISSING MY FEELINGS!" I shout at her. I squish the stress ball with enough force to kill a child. I imagine that the stress ball is Ms. Kurnick. "I am not trying to dismiss your anger, I am simply trying to redirect it." "Why can't I just be angry? Let me be angry." "You are allowed to have emotions, you are simply acting irrationally right now." I have to repress the urge to tell her to shut up. "DON'T TELL ME HOW TO FEEL! As my therapist, isn't it YOUR JOB to listen to how I feel!?" I squeeze the stress ball with both hands, as if I was trying to split it in half. "It is my job to help you understand your emotions better and deal with them in a productive manner." "Wouldn't it be necessary to let me feel them first instead of brushing them off!?" I squeeze the stress ball again. For some reason my hands didn't get tired.

"I am not brushing them off." She obliviously said. "THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE DOING, YOU ARE REFUSING TO LISTEN!!!" I squeeze the stress ball with all of my strength. It pops. An explosion of white foam splatters the walls and the fuzzy rug beneath my feet, leaving me with the dirty, red skin of the ball in my fingers. I flick it onto the floor, wipe the foam from my hands, and left the office. I went to the waiting room. Mat was typing on his computer in one of the chairs. When I entered, he looked up from the laptop. "That was quick, it has only been ten minutes, this session was supposed to be fifteen." I shrugged. "There wasn't much to talk about." "Okay, so how did it go?" I wanted to scream how much I despise Ms. Kurnick. I wanted to give the building the finger and never show up again. I wanted to beg to switch therapists, or better yet screw therapy and throw my pills into the garbage. But I didn't do any of that. "It went fine, just the usual." I lied.