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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