Chapter Eight: Therapy Notes:

I went to bed early that day. My shrink told me to not dwell on negative thoughts. Only, I was back in the city when she said that. I had things that could distract me. Work kept me grounded. My neighbors checked in on me. I even help the more elderly ones after the weekend. I could find plenty of things to do around my neighborhood.

That was the city.

I’m in Fergus County. I don’t have anything to do here. I kept replaying the nightmare years of my school days. Lanie took a toll on my mental health. If it wasn’t for my mom, I would’ve killed myself a long time ago. She and the rest of the family tried to make school life much better.

There was a knock on my door.

“Sweetie,” I heard. “Are you asleep?”

“No,” I said. She opened my door but I didn’t turn around. I don’t understand why she called me back here. I pressed my hand to my chest.

“Why am I here?” I asked.

“I’m sorry?” Mom asked. I didn’t roll over.

“You know what this place does to me,” I said. “We’re not even close to Mr. Garrison. So, why?” She didn’t speak at first.

“I just missed you,” she said.

“Why?” I asked. “I talk to you on the phone.”

“It’s not enough.”

“But you know what this place does to me.”

“Well, yes.” She paused for a moment. “You really should try and get over all of this.” Get over this? Get over this? Doesn’t she know that it doesn’t work that way? I have taken years to try and get better. I was on the mend when I got pulled back here.

“I have been in therapy for that for years,” I said. “I was fine until I had to come back here. I just don’t understand it. I just want to go home!”

“You are home,” Mom said. “You are home with me.”

“No!” I shouted. “I want to go back to the city! I hate it here! I got away from all of it! I was doing better! Why did you have to drag me back here?!”

“Celeste…” Mom said.

“Get out of my room!” I wailed. “Just get out! I want to sleep!” She didn’t speak at first. I pulled my sheets tighter around my body. I wouldn’t move until I heard the footsteps walking away. But then, there was a pause.

“You don’t have to act like a snot,” Mom said. “You can always try and do something about it. Scream. Cry. Get it all out of your system. Just don’t take your rage out on me. I am not the one you are angry and scared of.” The cracked light disappeared over my body as she closed the door. I hated when she was right. For years, I grew sick of wallowing in misery. Believe me when I say this, it will eat you up inside overtime. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I did have to do something. I didn’t know what that was. But, I would grow to hate and be grateful for the answer when it sat down in front of me.