November, 2008

They were expecting me. 

The therapist had called ahead and "reserved a bed" for me. That's how you get into these things, she explained, you get a referral from another professional, and you have a spot reserved. 

When the bed was ready, we would get the call. Then we would head in.

Until then, I spent my afternoon filling out paperwork with the therapist, then we went back home for me to get my stuff. She had given me a list of things I might want.

• My ID - in my case, my driving temps.  
• A list of phone numbers, as I wouldn't have my phone - honestly, I have mom and dad's numbers memorized, and there's really no one I want to talk to.
• My insurance card - this was really more for mom to remember
• A change of clothes - I was told to pack extra undergarments though.
• A list of medications and doctor's numbers - I don't take medication for anything, so it was just the number for my regular doctor, dentist, and eye doctor. 
• Hygiene products - she never really specified what all was included as "hygiene products," so I packed my toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, hair ties, makeup, pads and tampons (even though I rarely have my period). 
• Something to do - again, it wasn't specified, so I packed my journal and an extra notebook, a handful of pens, a sketchbook, my iPod and earbuds, and two books to read. 

With my stuff packed, we all just sat around the house, silently waiting for the phone to ring. I was upstairs, in my room, but I could hear mom sniffling in the kitchen, and dad mumbling something to console her. I don't know why she's so upset. She agreed this was what needs to be done. Everyone agreed, this is what needed to be done.

Except me. I don't agree.

I'm not crazy. I feel like I would know by now if I was. I'm just a typical rebellious teenager. I'm sixteen, I wear a lot of black, I like heavy metal and rock and rap. I don't like school. I get bullied for being different than my peers. It's whatever. I'm just a typical teen. I've seen the therapist for a couple years now. In fact, this is my second therapist.

Dad didn't like the last one. The last therapist basically told my parents that it was their fault I was acting the way I was. Which is true. They're overbearing, constantly hovering, super judgmental of everything that even slightly strays from the norm. They are so closed off to any concept that their church doesn't tell them is ok. Just shoot me.

The phone is ringing.

Mom is crying.