Third Eye | Phan

Darkness

Dan:
I'm depressed. But how do you know that, Dan? Well, quite frankly, I don't know. But my therapist says I'm depressed, and my Mum and Dad like to sit and have chats at Christmas time - the only time I see them - about me being depressed. So, in short, I'm depressed.
  When I was thirteen years old, my Mum stumbled across me in the bathroom, by myself with a razor in my hand. My wrist was covered in blood and my face was covered in tears and my Mums face was covered in fear. I was taken to the hospital. Then me and my parents had a very serious conversation (which you must know exactly what that was about) and then I was seeing a therapist everyday for weeks. Then months. Now years.
  My therapist is called Paul. Paul is a nice guy. I didn't like to talk about myself a lot of the time, and in therapy I guess you're supposed to talk about yourself. But, much to Pauls annoyance, I ask him questions about him and he tells me about his family life and how stressed he is but how he thrives to stay strong and happy, so why can't we all try that, Dan? Staying strong and happy through tough times?
  And I rarely reply. Paul, and every therapist in the world if they were all like Paul, didn't understand depression and the effects it can have. Or maybe Paul is just a bad therapist.
  So, here I lay on my black, grey and white checkered bed sheets, starring up at my dull, pale ceiling, thinking back to every wrong moment in my life just because I can. I was twenty four. I was unemployed. I had my own apartment which my parents paid for. And other than visiting Paul a couple times a week (the visits got less as I grew older and more "responsible") I was very lonely.
And do you know what my parents say every Christmas?
"You know? You don't need to dress so darkly all the time. I mean, look around the room! It's so bright and colourful, and you're family are having fun and laughing." This is when they would gesture around the room at my fat uncle passed out on the sofa, and my younger cousins and their children playing some daft game of charades. Not forgetting the tacky Christmas music playing on the tv. After observing the room, I would look back at them with pity. They tried really hard to understand, but they just didn't. And they never will. So I would squeeze their hands in reassurance to show my love and gratitude, then walk away and sit in my room at the top of the stairs, which was rather plain and ordinary, but I liked it. I was glad they didn't put me in my old room, one as a teenager. Too many bad memories.
So, where do I go from here? Where does a desolate twenty four year old go from here? If only I knew what drastic twists and turns my life will go through once again.

A/n
This account is shared by me, Katie, and my best friend, Paige. At the end of each chapter, we will write our names to show who wrote it :) hope you enjoyed, add to your library for regular updates (though we can't promise every day) xx