Ooh

Therapy Sucks

(Kaitlin has gifted me her baby, due to and I quote "literally having no idea what went wrong" and "no fucking clue how to fix it")

I know it's been four years since 'the incident' as my first psychiatrist so elegantly put it, but apparently I'm "still clinically depressed" and "just tried to OD so am considered a threat to myself", the bitch, and you know what that means: Happy pills, hidden, and therapy, yay!
"You've been coming here for three and a half years Clyde, no one knows what happened to your brother that day except for you, and a few police officers, would you like to tell me the events of March 22nd 2010?" Dr Frank, asks the same question he's been asking be for three and a half years, I'm perplexed as to how my parents can even be bothered at this point, pen ready to scribble into his notebook,
"You know what? Yeah, I will tell you." I state simply, to the obvious shock of Dr Frank, I mean that alone was probably more then he's ever heard me say. Coughing a bit, I swallow hard, before beginning, "It was just after school, my first year at St Peters, I was a fresh-faced thirteen year old boy who only gave a shit about two things: comic books and movies with boobs in them. My brother Dominic would always be waiting outside of my classroom when I finished, 'cause he knew I didn't have many friends and he knew that that meant I was an easy target for bullies. He was always there at three o' one, which was amazing, because his class was on the other side of campus, I was thirteen but I'm sure teleportation did cross my mind. He was seventeen, a senior you see? Anyway, when I got out of class, he wasn't there. Which shocked little ol' me, I went looking for him, and thought, 'oh maybe he's on the field practicing soccer' because that's the only other thing he did after school. When I went to the field, he was there, but..." Oh crap, I can feel the tears swelling up in my eyes, even with my facade of sarcasm and nonchalance. Frank can't laugh at me, can he? I mean he's paid to watch people cry, so he wouldn't, right? "...but-um, h-"
My throat's contracting, a little swell of saliva rising in my mouth as I clear my throat to ward off tears, "...he was being beaten by the rest of the soccer team," I finally get out "...they were kicking him, spitting on him, and screaming stuff like 'fucking faggot, thinks he can just run his cock sucking mouth at me' and 'piece of shit good for nothing fag!' I honestly had no idea what a lot if it meant. Then just as I was about to interfere, I heard a crack, a crack that just froze me you know? An' I could just feel dread in my stomach, and as I looked closer, I realised where the crack had come from. Trent, the team captain had stomped his head, I know now that, when he did so, Dominic's skull splintered into his brain. He, was bleeding a lot and had stopped responding to their kicks so they freaked out, and ran, and as soon as they were out of sight, I sprinted over to Dominic, blubbering as I placed his head on my lap to check his pulse, a pulse that wasn't there, well it was, but it was fading so quickly and I could feel it fading and I knew I couldn't do anything. He wasn't dead till he got to the hospital. I checked if he was breathing, you know all the steps but I was too shaken to be worth anything.I didn't do anything, I just stood there and I watched them beat him down. When I got to him I was useless, and just sat there crying, and screaming for help. The police never arrested Trent and the others, there wasn't enough evidence, and I wasn't much help. To think they killed him just cause he was gay, leaves me uneasy. His boyfriend hasn't talked to me since then, even though in a way we were friends prior, he blames me, my father blames me, I blame me. His bloody face is still etched into my memories. Like a-a movie or something." Ive managed to finish the story, letting out a dry harsh sob every now and again. Looking up I see Dr Frank, who's face has paled with shock. I can see a small smile tugging at his lips. I wouldn't blame him for smiling really, I mean if I were him, I would be cheering. Three years without more than a sad smile, then the entire sap story, he must be ecstatic,
"Clyde, during one of our much earlier family therapy sessions, your mother explained that you used to be a quite vibrant child, that um," Frank rings his hands in lap "...that you still have little glimmers. I know we've just made a huge leap and you're probably quite drained, but if you could identify some of the things that trigger these happy glimmers, it may help us work through your trauma and get together a support system."
"There are a couple, um," Im hesitating, why am I hesitating? I can feel a sinking. Damn he was right abu t being drained, "...three things, first my mother, second, music and... third...Johnny."

(Picture of Clyde on the right. I'm editing and rewriting this thing because Kaitlin thinks I can do it justice. All my mistakes are my own. Renamed, recast, rewritten.)