FicWad

The second Frank leaves I feel trapped. The nurse takes my stuff and goes through it, making sure I don’t have anything I could hurt myself with, running the stuffed turtle Frank gave me through a scanner. I’m glad my mom remembered to pack it.

Once all the checking in shit is over I’m led to a room I’m to share with a girl who has bulimia. She looks scary, like a zombie or something. I’m left there for a while. I take advantage of this time and try and make the dull looking room livelier. Nothing works so I eventually give up, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

When the therapist comes back she walks me around showing me where things like the shower rooms, bathrooms, hospital wing, activity room and her office are. Once done with this I wander to the activity room and watch Tom and Jerry. It reminds me of Frank. He loves this show.

After about two hours I’m required to go to this stupid group counseling thing. Really I just have to sit there and talk about why I did what I did and why I cut. It’s dumb and all I want to do is go back to watching TV or go to sleep. I don’t like the way everyone hugs me and says sorry. It’s not their fault.

For dinner there is hot dogs, green beans and pie. I eat the beans and pie picking at the hot dog bun. It tastes like meat so I don’t eat it. I have to explain that I’m a vegetarian to the cafeteria workers. I feel bad for not eating their food and causing problems.

After dinner I’m given these little pink pills that make me feel numb inside. I don’t like them. I sit in the activity room and watch South Park. The show that used to make me laugh hysterically is now just colors on a screen.

Fed up with everything I wander back to my room for lights out nine. Today has been the most boring day of my entire life.

I don’t sleep well at all. This is not just because my room mate cries all night but because I’m uncomfortable. There are straps on the bed incase someone goes crazy, the room smells weird. I hate it all. Most of all I hate that Frank isn’t here to hold me all night. Even with the turtle, it still sucks.

Bright and early the next morning I am woken up, left alone to change, then led to eat soggy waffles in the cafeteria. These are chased down by more pills that make me feel nothing.

While other people go off to classes I go see the therapist. She tells me she doesn’t expect me to say much and that they are going to lower the dosage on my pills. I just stare at her blankly, my head resting on the carpeted floor, my feet over the back of the couch. I don’t feel like doing anything today.

My therapist lets me go to my room.

Mainly I just stare at the door wishing something would happen. I’m only made to come out of my room for lunch and dinner. I’m only taking two pills once a day now.

Day three and all I want is out. I can feel again so I guess that’s a plus. After dinner I go see my therapist again. I’m starting to warm up to her a little more. Talking to her isn’t as bad as I thought.

"Your aunt said you like to draw," she says handing me a sketch book.

"I used to," I reply, drawing the outline of a little glass statue she has.

"When was the last time you sketched?"

"Before..."

"Is that why you stopped drawing?"

I nod, not lifting my head.

"Do you miss it?"

I shrug, “A little, I suppose.”

"Does drawing relax you?"

"I'm not sure. I just like to do it."

"I have something I want you to do for me."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to let you take that notebook and I want you to draw in it, at least once a day. Date your sketches and drawings but I want at least one a day. Can you do that for me?"

"Sure, I suppose."

"Whenever you're feeling down or lonely I want you to draw. Anything you want. You can draw as much as you want. You can go ahead and draw whatever you want, even if it's scary or bad or twisted. It doesn't matter to me."

"Okay."

"Will you be comfortable showing me your drawings?"

I shrug again wishing she’d shut up and let me draw, “I guess just don’t show them to other people.”

"I won't."

"I'm done." I lift the sketch pad up to show her.

"Can I see?"

"Sure." I hand it over.

She looks at the drawing for a while, “You’re very good.”

"Thank you."

"Why did you choose to draw my statue?"

"It’s the same one we have in the kitchen. Normally I draw music boxes or landscapes.”

"Why?"

"They're versatile. They come in different wood types and shapes and sizes, each one has a different shadow."

"You like the variety."

I nod, “Yeah.”

She hands the notebook back over, “Try drawing something else.”

"Like what?"

"Draw me."

I raise an eyebrow, “I don’t usually draw people. Gerard does though, he’s really good. He goes to school for it.”

"No one's judging anyone. Just try drawing me."

"Okay."

I flip the page, running my hand over it to smooth it down. I never understood the whole hand thing but I’ve done it since I was little so it’s a habit now. Normally I don’t question things like that.

"Why did you turn the page?"

My eyes flick up to the therapist’s face, “To have more room.”

"Do you always turn the pages when you start new sketches?"

"Normally," I answer wondering why she’d question something like that.

"Can you try something for me?"

"What?"

"Try using as much blank space as you can."

"Is this to save money?"

She smiles and I can tell she’s trying not to laugh, “No, I want to see what you can come up with when you limit yourself to small areas."

Shrugging I flip the page, doing the hand thing, and begin to draw. It’s a stupid block drawing of her with things over lapping and a shit ton of shading but in the end I’m pretty damn proud of it.

Before I go to the activity room I rip the corner off the page and hand it over, “It means more to you than me.”

Note: Here's one of two. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do. Amber is drawing again! Haha. Also, I need songs for Frank to sing to Amber. They can be about love, or friends of helping people get better doesn't really matter. If you know some put the song title and artist in your comment. :) Happy reading.