Stop Judging Me! (boyxboy)

Prologue

"What is Prozac?" My mother cut in.

"It is a medication which is used to lower the symptoms of anxiety. As I said earlier, it will not cure the disorder; it will merely lower the stress."

"Our son is nine!" My mother stressed, staring down at me fretfully. "I don't want him-dependent on medication!"

"I understand your concerns, Mrs Harris, and I can assure you that the medication will not cause your son any harm." He reassured as he turned back to his desk, writing on a strip of paper. He then handed it to my father.

"This is the name of a trusted psychologist, Dr. Lara Dennis. She specializes with children who have anxiety and I assure you that the children adore her. If you are worried, then you are welcome to sit in during sessions."

I remember my parents looking at each other, troubled before glancing at me and then the doctor. Mitchell, on the other hand, hand looked straight at the specialist, lips pursed. "Does Jack actually have to be in the room right now? You're all frightening him."

"No, I understand," The specialist had agreed, tilting his head to the side in agreement. "Please feel free to take him from the room. Your parents and I can discuss this in more depth without him."

So Mitchell did just that, accepting a 20 dollar note from our father and walking me down the street to get ice cream. He then took me back to the car where we sat in silence, him thinking and me sniffling and rubbing blood-shot eyes.

Two weeks later, I had officially been diagnosed with Social Anxiety Disorder. At the time, I hadn't realized what that was, and the whole thing frightened me. I didn't want to talk about my feelings to some woman I barely knew. I simply wanted to stay home with my parents and play 'the clean-up game', and argue with my brother and draw. I didn't want to talk about something I didn't understand, and I didn't want to be in scary situations, or cry in front of others or completely blackout.

In a way, I suppose I wanted to be normal, and to me, normal was at home with people I was familiar with. It took a while for me to accept the change, and in a way, my psychologist made things a little easier.

Lara wasn't what my family were expecting. They expected her to be a kind, soothing woman who was patient and time efficient. Instead, we received a woman who was never on time, had a bit of an anger problem and was the most impatient person you will ever meet. She was spunky, and I liked that about her. I mean, sure, she frightened me with her brash attitude, but she didn't give a damn about my disorder and didn't coddle or try to explain things to me as if I were an infant.

The first day of my session, she was fifteen minutes late. She stumbled in the room, noticed us and straightened up, closing the door quietly before turning towards her desk and sitting down on her swivel chair, turning to face my mother and I. She studied us for a moment, and put a hand up when my mother tried to talk. She then looked me straight in the eye and said, "You are a normal little boy, and I don't give a damn what that quack of a doctor told you. You want to be different, fine, I'll help you, but you aren't going to change if you continue to sob into your mother's chest like a four year old baby. Do you want people to think you're a baby? No? Then wipe your nose, straighten up and climb of your mother's chair and sit in your own. Good. Now take five big, deep breathes with your eyes closed – good, now keep them closed and tell me your name, age and what you like most in the world. If you don't, I'll assume that you wish to act like a baby and treat you like one.

"Oh, you're not a baby? Then prove it. Be a man and look me straight in the eye, kid, because you will be seeing a lot of me from now on. Don't like the way I'm talking to you? Get used to it because I'm not going to change who I am, just to suit social standards."

And when I opened my eyes and looked at her, she had a kind smile on her face, and said, "You're a good kid. You'll be out of my hair in no time."

I know that she sounded kind of harsh, but perhaps it was for the best. I mean, for years and years I suffered from the disorder. I had to be taken out of school and homeschooled after a particularly nasty anxiety attack and closed in on myself, and Lara, being in the military, had a tough-love attitude that I needed to kick me into shape. Eventually, I opened up to her, someone who wasn't a part of my family. The pride I had felt for myself, was amazing.

During my sixteenth year, Lara had finally put her foot down and demanded that my parents enroll me into the closest private school and force me into social situations, as, "He isn't going to improve at this rate! He needs to be interacting with people his own age, and not at some frat party his brother decided to drag him to – please kick him up the rear when you next see him, by the way."

They did exactly that, and while I hated them for it, eventually I came to realize that they had done the right thing.

The morning of my first day of High School, when pulling on my blue button up school shirt, I remember hating my parents so much; so much that I had decided not to talk to them until they unenrolled me.

Unbeknownst to me, my life would change drastically the moment I stepped through those school gates.

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What did you guys think? I know this is different from the original prologue, but I think it gives you all a lot more information than the original did (scratch that, I know it does). I think I've mostly gotten the tenses correct this time, as well. The story will be the same, except some things may be slightly different - but a good different, I hope.

This will be updated once a month, unless I get around to it earlier.