Preface:
"How are you feeling today, Brynne?"
"Brynne, are you there? Hello?"
I couldn't speak. It's as if all the air had been sucked out of my lungs and was replaced with a diluted, chemical waste seeping deeper into my chest. Why had I called this lady in the first place? It's not like she ever helped me anyways.
"Brynne, you don't have to go through this alone... you know this. You know the steps."
What did she know? There are no steps to coping with life, especially with MY life. All these years I've spent dealing with my own damn demons. All the pills, all the group therapies, all the hospital stays; everything. None of it ever worked for me. None of it.
"Do you want me to call your parents? Your mother? We want to help you, we don't want to see you fall back down again."
Oh, please, just shut up. Does she really think she's fooling anyone? My mother caring? That's impossible. The only time she gave a shit is when money was involved. The only time she ever intervened was when hurting myself went too far and people started to notice my cries for help. Then she had to put on the facade. The "broken family, broken dreams" card. The "divorce" card. The "victim" card, and every other quotational word you can think of.
"I just need some time. Time to adjust, and time for my coping mechanisms to kick in. Really, I don't know why I called. I'm sorry."
But really, I know why I called. I suddenly knew everything as if I had massive memory loss and everything started flooding back. I knew why.
