“Mom, I am not going to see a therapist!” I groaned.
“Yes you are. If you’re depressed to the point that you want to kill yourself, then I think seeing a therapist is a reasonable decision to make.” She replied.
This was an argument that had been going on for the past two days between the two of us, but there is no way I’m seeing a therapist. I don’t need one.
“Forget it, Mom. It’s a stupid idea.” I muttered, walking towards the stairs and playing with my new phone in my hands; trying to set up the time on it.
“Frank.. Just please..”
“You never know how much it could help you.” She frowned.
“I don’t need help..” I mumbled, finally flipping the new phone shut and shoving it deep into the pocket of my ripped jeans. “I’m suicidal, not fucking crazy.
“I just worried about you, Frank.” She sighed.
As I began to walk up the stairs, I muttered, “Don’t be.” Before disappearing down the hall and into my dark room which was soon filled with dull light when I flicked the switch on the wall and kicked the door shut before I made my way over to my bed.
I pulled my new phone out of my pocket once more and tried to throw it onto my bed, but I missed by a long shot and it flew into the mass of mess underneath my bed.
Groaning, I got onto my knees, I had to press myself against the bed base to be able to reach under because, 1: my arms are short, and 2: my wrists aren’t a reliable support yet.
I felt around for a bit until I finally grabbed my phone with my fingertips and, as I dragged it out, I also seemed to drag out a piece of scrunched up paper along with it.
Frowning to myself, I placed my phone on my bed and unscrunched the paper as I stood up.
It was a drawing of a boy with his back to the viewer, with their arms folded across their chest, with awkward feet; one tilted, one flat, and he was wearing a red hoodie.
It was the drawing Gerard had drawn of me almost a month ago – The one I wouldn’t let him throw away because I didn’t want his talent gone to waste.
“I guess I’m a hypocrite then..” I sighed to myself, scrunching the picture into the ball form it once was before I threw it into my little plastic bin in the corner of my room.
I then sat on my bed. Just sat there, tapping my foot on the floor, staring at the bin.
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I felt bad for throwing out his drawing; he might be a bit of a douche, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a good artist.
Sighing, I forced myself to walk over to the little bin and pull out the paper, unscrunching it once more and placing it neatly on my beside table.
“Frank.” My mother sighed, opening my bedroom door. “You know the new rule.. You can’t have your door shut when I’m not around.”
“Mom, I still need my privacy..” I groaned.
“How exactly is playing with a piece of paper a private thing?” She sighed. “They door stays open.”
“No buts.” She frowned, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re actions inflicted on me making this rule, so you shouldn’t be complaining to anyone other than yourself, Frank.”
“But it’s a stupid rule!”
“Don’t want to hear it.” She said as she began to walk away.
“Ugh..” I groaned.
One suicide attempt and I lose all my privacy.