A Little White La La La Lie
Chapter 1-
“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” said my youthful, brown haired, almost as-fake-as-a-Barbie therapist.
What I wanted to talk about is how the burning, red- hot pain inside of engulfed every time I went into this dreaded place, were everyone has a painted on smiley-face. Were they say they care about your “well being” but all they really want is that green paper folded in you wallet. But instead I said:
“Nope.”
“Well, I guess that concludes our time.” She said with a polite, yet creepy grin.
“Yep, guess so.”
“Goodbye Grrrretchen!” She yelped back.
“Good-freakin’-bye.” I mumbled as I slammed the door to the insignificant little room and met my mother outside.
“How was it, Gretch? She asked, ever so politely.
“Great!” I said sarcastically.
Bye this time I was worn out from explaining to people how and what I was feeling, so I did one of the only things that makes me feel calm and happy. Basically the only thing that gets me and keeps me sane. Music. I pulled out my half-broken iPod. The half-brokenness consisted of a fractured screen, scuffs all along the side of it, and the volume buttons on the side wouldn’t work either, but it still managed to play with headphones.
I had asked to get a new one for Christmas and my birthday, but sense my parents don’t want to fund for music that they think makes me the way I am. They think I’m angry, depressed, and a freak, all because of the music.(which to me i don't mind being a frak :P but they want me to be, how do i say it-normal and boring.) Pppsshhht! They have no clue. So they refuse to buy me a new one, even if I have had this iPod for six years.
I turned the volume almost all the way up, to drown out the thoughts that filled my head. When will these sessions stop? Why can’t they leave me alone? Does anyone really care? I moved my lips along to the song and shut my eyes, playing the scene I thought of when this song came on. I preferred rock, alternative, punk music along those lines. My Chemical Romance is my favorite band. They make amazing music, and help me get through a lot. Like when I get depressed, or insecure, its MCR to the rescue!
Rock, alternative, and punk music is loud, aggressive, and meaningful. But even those types of music have those slow, touching songs. This is another reason I like this type of music. It changes all the time. It never has one mood, or one style. In a way I guess you could say it’s unstable, kind of like me. I didn’t want to deal with it, with all the pain.
The car ride back home was tense, I spent most of the ride looking out my window into the dark plum colored night sky, while my mom sat up straight and drove. I felt bad as I watched her out of the corner of my eye just sitting there. Had I been to cold? I could tell my mother wanted to know more about my time at the shrink, but there’s not much to say. I mean, I’ve built up these walls for a reason -- and that’s so know one can demolish them down.
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