Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Crystal
Chater One: The Times, They Ain't a Changin'
0 reviewsYou meet the main character named Harmony and learn a bit about her therapist. It wouldn't be complete though without Harmony getting screwed over in the end.
0Unrated
“I’m thrilled that you’re beginning to feel better Harmony, you’ve come such a long way. I hope to continue to see that smile of yours more often."
I look up from a spot of my hands I was staring at and respond sincerely, “Thank you, I hope I do too.”
“If these sessions keep going the way they’re headed, I see no further need to schedule appointments twice a week.”
The thought of not coming here startles me and makes my heart beat slightly faster. She’s one of my only friends in this town, everyone needs a friend. “Uh, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to keep the schedule the same…no matter what.” I add the last part in quickly with a short breath.
“Oh of course dear, that’s not a problem at all!” My heart rate declines and goes back to normal. “I’m glad you enjoy talking with me as much as I do to you. I’d love to chat with you more but I’m afraid we are all out of time for today’s session. See, I mean it when I tell you that you’re my favorite. Time always slips right on by during our sessions. So, we shall meet again on Tuesday then right?
“Right.”
“4:30?”
“4:30.”
“Alright then, have a good evening Harmony.”
“Thanks, you do the same Claire.”
And with that, I give Claire a final smile and begin to get up out of the normal, white, upholstered covered, couch. I say ‘normal’ because Claire’s room is the epitome of what a therapist’s room looks like: four cream colored walls, a plain desk, uplifting sayings scattered about, board games in the corner, and oh yes, a chaise lounge on the right side of the room by the window. I learned the correct term for the sofa right away during our very first session…
(X)
She (I think Claire is her name) opens the door numbered four; I take a step inside and scan the room with my eyes and my immediate thought is…you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Could this room be anymore cliché? I’m not going to be able to communicate seriously with this woman in a room that looks like this. All that’s missing is a giant sign asking, ‘and how does that make you feel?’ To which I’d respond, ‘fucking pissed right the fuck of.’ There’s even a giant out-stretched chair that you see in every movie that depicts a therapist’s office. I stare at it disgusted. I knew this was a terrible idea. The only slight saving grace is the large, ordinary looking, white couch facing the desk about fifteen feet away.
“Don’t worry dear, the chaise lounge frightens everyone.”
I take a step back out of the room since I was blocking her from entering, and turn to my left to face her. “I’m not frightened,” I say while looking her right in the eyes. My tone and face giving off the look, ‘are you stupid or something?’
“Yes you are dear, but don’t worry, we’ll work on that,” she responds eagerly, holding the eye contact with me. Her tone and face giving off the look, ‘everything’s dandelions and unicorns.’
I smile slightly, “I can’t wait,” I reply in a high-pitched voice, sarcasm dripping from my words.
“Great then.” She flashes a full, bright, smile at me. “We have a lot of work ahead of us and we are already down…” She finally breaks eye contact to catch a glimpse of the watch that’s on her left wrist. “…Six and a half minutes.”
“Well I’d hate to waste more time.” I turn and start to enter the room. “I’m sitting on the white couch.”
“I knew you would,” she replies happily behind me.
I roll my eyes and think, ‘only about fifty-three minutes left and then I’ll never have to be back here again.’
(X)
Reminiscing back to that fateful first day, roughly two years ago, I realize what a bitch I was to Claire. We didn’t talk much, which was all my doing of course, and when we did, I vomited sarcasm at her. And yet, I still chose to go back three days later on Friday. Even though her room (I hate saying ‘office’ it reminds me that she’s only doing her ‘job’) does make me feel like I’m starring in my very own pathetic movie whenever I’m in there. I hated the room two years ago and I still hate it two years later. Especially that goddamned ‘chaise lounge,’ what the hell kind of name is that anyway? I told Claire that if I win the lottery one day, I’m going to redo the room myself. It just doesn’t fit her, the room is so bloody typical and she is everything but typical. Even though she’s the only therapist I’ve ever gone to, I know she’s the best one out there.
My favorite feature about her is that she never forces you to say anything. And I know you’re probably thinking that it doesn’t matter to her since she’s getting paid either way, well actually, she has even paid for my sessions a couple of times when money was really tight. She cares, she really does. There has been numerous times when I’m in no mood to talk, but I still want to see her. When I get there we will greet each other and if I say that I’m not feeling very chatty, she won’t push me at all. We just enjoy the silence together. Thanks to sessions like those, I’ve been able to really memorize her horrendous room.
Claries appearance is something that must get brought up as well. To start, she is a very short woman; she’s just over five foot. She is a little chubby and also wears large glasses. She reminds me of a librarian. The item that really sets her apart from everyone else on this entire planet is her crazy clothes. Her pants are usually pretty average, but her shirts are something else entirely. To sum up, they are a mesh between sixties hippie shirts and Jamaican shirts. There’s always a very wild pattern on them and they’re usually over sized. She is the kind of woman everyone needs to meet. Clare Micks at Mental Rehabilitation in Shades, Michigan, go find her.
I gently close Claire’s door and begin my trek out of the building. Her room is in a long hallway, but hers specifically is right by the beginning of it. The hallway is actually quite unsettling. It’s very narrow and only has a couple of ceiling lights throughout the whole thing. No windows of course either. Once I finally pass rooms three, two, and one now I’m in the beginning of the building; the reception area. There’s nothing special about it really besides the receptionist desk, it’s just a large white room littered with multiple waiting areas, each with their very own chairs, TV, and magazines. I wave goodbye to Molly (the receptionist) on the way out the door.
I live only a few short blocks away so I find it unnecessary to drive unless the weather is crappy. In Shades you can pretty much get away with never needing to drive, at least from where I live that is. I am mentally slapping myself though for not grabbing a jacket. Even though it’s the middle of October, when I left my apartment at around 4:15, it was in the late seventies. Now just over an hour later, it dropped at least ten degrees. Mother Nature is so fucking unpredictable in Michigan. I plug my ear buds into my iPod Touch and try to somewhat enjoy the walk. “You’re Dead” by Alkaline Trio begins to ring in my ears.
I’ve gotten lucky this evening because not many people are outside. It’s not that I’m anti-social per say, it’s just most people have nothing interesting to say. Lately I’ve been pretty hardcore into music and that’s what I mainly focus on nowadays. ‘I don’t want to hear how the weather is, I don’t give a shit about your pets, and it actually hurts me to listen to you talk about your work.’ I’m the type of person who generally keeps to themselves if you haven’t noticed. It’s a pretty easy thing to do in Shades though, it’s a small town, but pretty much everyone keeps to themselves. Only work is the only time I really have to make/listen to useless small talk, so I really can’t complain.
As I continue walking down North Street which is the street I live on, up ahead I see what appears to be a guy having some car troubles at the intersection. As I make my way closer, I confirm that it is indeed a dude having some car troubles. With hearing my conscience screaming at me over my music, I begin to pull my ear buds out and put my iPod in my pocket.
“Hey sir, is everything okay?” I immediately regret what I asked because it is clear as day that no, everything is not okay. The guy just has his car hood open and hazard lights on for shits and giggles. Did I mention I’m not the greatest at making conversation with people? Any other person would have asked, ‘is there anything I can help you with?’
The guy backs up, stands fully upright, and turns around. He looks to be about early thirties maybe and he’s about six foot; four inches taller than me. His face is a little wrinkly and very round, his brown eyes look really tired. He’s wearing a black jacket; zipped up with the hood up, and some plain blue jeans. I notice he’s wearing converse and I mentally give him a high five. He just appears to be an average Michigander.
“No, sadly not,” he replies gloomy. He scans his eyes down my body and I wonder if he just checked me out? I don’t mind too much, the thought of dating doesn’t sound too awful anymore.
“Can I help at all? I don’t know a thing about cars, but if you need to use a phone, I have a cell phone on me.”
“That would be really great! I need to call a tow truck actually,” he has a huge smile on his face.
I take my phone out of my left, front jean, pocket and have it set so that it’s ready to make a phone call.
“Thank you,” he says sounding very grateful.
I place my phone in the palm of his outstretched hand. “Glad I can help,” I respond, meaning every word. I’ve had car troubles in the past and have been stuck on the side of the road as well, it sucks to put it simply.
Just as he was about to put the phone up to his ear after dialing a number, out of nowhere he takes his right hand and pushes me back fucking hard.
“Ugh,” I let out a gasp of breath as my ass connects to the cement. I ended up going back about five feet and once I realize what happened, I look up and see him get into his car and drive away. I am left stunned. Fucking confused beyond all belief. What in the hell just happened? Someone stole my fucking phone? Someone acted as though their car was broke just to steal my phone? This is the kind of shit you see on the news happening in like New York or something. Just when I start to forget why I hate the world so god damn much, shit like this snaps me right back to reality. ‘Bad things happen to good people, so why even fucking bother’ is now, and will forever be, my new motto. At least this is something juicy I can talk to Claire about.
I get up off the ground and wipe my ass off. The next thing I do is the only logical thing I can think of; fucking scream. “Fuck you, you asshole! I hope you get into a car accident and get your dick chopped off!” I’ve seemed to have caused a slight scene with all my huffing and puffing; some neighbors moved their shades and are looking at me. I shouldn’t have let the ass use my phone, there’s a bunch of houses nearby, I should have told him to go to one of them. Someone who I just noticed in some shadows about twenty feet away is looking in my direction.
“Did you just see any of that?” The person just turns back around without saying anything. Jackass.
“Fuck my life,” I mumble to myself as I first flip them off and then begin to make my journey home.
I look up from a spot of my hands I was staring at and respond sincerely, “Thank you, I hope I do too.”
“If these sessions keep going the way they’re headed, I see no further need to schedule appointments twice a week.”
The thought of not coming here startles me and makes my heart beat slightly faster. She’s one of my only friends in this town, everyone needs a friend. “Uh, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to keep the schedule the same…no matter what.” I add the last part in quickly with a short breath.
“Oh of course dear, that’s not a problem at all!” My heart rate declines and goes back to normal. “I’m glad you enjoy talking with me as much as I do to you. I’d love to chat with you more but I’m afraid we are all out of time for today’s session. See, I mean it when I tell you that you’re my favorite. Time always slips right on by during our sessions. So, we shall meet again on Tuesday then right?
“Right.”
“4:30?”
“4:30.”
“Alright then, have a good evening Harmony.”
“Thanks, you do the same Claire.”
And with that, I give Claire a final smile and begin to get up out of the normal, white, upholstered covered, couch. I say ‘normal’ because Claire’s room is the epitome of what a therapist’s room looks like: four cream colored walls, a plain desk, uplifting sayings scattered about, board games in the corner, and oh yes, a chaise lounge on the right side of the room by the window. I learned the correct term for the sofa right away during our very first session…
(X)
She (I think Claire is her name) opens the door numbered four; I take a step inside and scan the room with my eyes and my immediate thought is…you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Could this room be anymore cliché? I’m not going to be able to communicate seriously with this woman in a room that looks like this. All that’s missing is a giant sign asking, ‘and how does that make you feel?’ To which I’d respond, ‘fucking pissed right the fuck of.’ There’s even a giant out-stretched chair that you see in every movie that depicts a therapist’s office. I stare at it disgusted. I knew this was a terrible idea. The only slight saving grace is the large, ordinary looking, white couch facing the desk about fifteen feet away.
“Don’t worry dear, the chaise lounge frightens everyone.”
I take a step back out of the room since I was blocking her from entering, and turn to my left to face her. “I’m not frightened,” I say while looking her right in the eyes. My tone and face giving off the look, ‘are you stupid or something?’
“Yes you are dear, but don’t worry, we’ll work on that,” she responds eagerly, holding the eye contact with me. Her tone and face giving off the look, ‘everything’s dandelions and unicorns.’
I smile slightly, “I can’t wait,” I reply in a high-pitched voice, sarcasm dripping from my words.
“Great then.” She flashes a full, bright, smile at me. “We have a lot of work ahead of us and we are already down…” She finally breaks eye contact to catch a glimpse of the watch that’s on her left wrist. “…Six and a half minutes.”
“Well I’d hate to waste more time.” I turn and start to enter the room. “I’m sitting on the white couch.”
“I knew you would,” she replies happily behind me.
I roll my eyes and think, ‘only about fifty-three minutes left and then I’ll never have to be back here again.’
(X)
Reminiscing back to that fateful first day, roughly two years ago, I realize what a bitch I was to Claire. We didn’t talk much, which was all my doing of course, and when we did, I vomited sarcasm at her. And yet, I still chose to go back three days later on Friday. Even though her room (I hate saying ‘office’ it reminds me that she’s only doing her ‘job’) does make me feel like I’m starring in my very own pathetic movie whenever I’m in there. I hated the room two years ago and I still hate it two years later. Especially that goddamned ‘chaise lounge,’ what the hell kind of name is that anyway? I told Claire that if I win the lottery one day, I’m going to redo the room myself. It just doesn’t fit her, the room is so bloody typical and she is everything but typical. Even though she’s the only therapist I’ve ever gone to, I know she’s the best one out there.
My favorite feature about her is that she never forces you to say anything. And I know you’re probably thinking that it doesn’t matter to her since she’s getting paid either way, well actually, she has even paid for my sessions a couple of times when money was really tight. She cares, she really does. There has been numerous times when I’m in no mood to talk, but I still want to see her. When I get there we will greet each other and if I say that I’m not feeling very chatty, she won’t push me at all. We just enjoy the silence together. Thanks to sessions like those, I’ve been able to really memorize her horrendous room.
Claries appearance is something that must get brought up as well. To start, she is a very short woman; she’s just over five foot. She is a little chubby and also wears large glasses. She reminds me of a librarian. The item that really sets her apart from everyone else on this entire planet is her crazy clothes. Her pants are usually pretty average, but her shirts are something else entirely. To sum up, they are a mesh between sixties hippie shirts and Jamaican shirts. There’s always a very wild pattern on them and they’re usually over sized. She is the kind of woman everyone needs to meet. Clare Micks at Mental Rehabilitation in Shades, Michigan, go find her.
I gently close Claire’s door and begin my trek out of the building. Her room is in a long hallway, but hers specifically is right by the beginning of it. The hallway is actually quite unsettling. It’s very narrow and only has a couple of ceiling lights throughout the whole thing. No windows of course either. Once I finally pass rooms three, two, and one now I’m in the beginning of the building; the reception area. There’s nothing special about it really besides the receptionist desk, it’s just a large white room littered with multiple waiting areas, each with their very own chairs, TV, and magazines. I wave goodbye to Molly (the receptionist) on the way out the door.
I live only a few short blocks away so I find it unnecessary to drive unless the weather is crappy. In Shades you can pretty much get away with never needing to drive, at least from where I live that is. I am mentally slapping myself though for not grabbing a jacket. Even though it’s the middle of October, when I left my apartment at around 4:15, it was in the late seventies. Now just over an hour later, it dropped at least ten degrees. Mother Nature is so fucking unpredictable in Michigan. I plug my ear buds into my iPod Touch and try to somewhat enjoy the walk. “You’re Dead” by Alkaline Trio begins to ring in my ears.
I’ve gotten lucky this evening because not many people are outside. It’s not that I’m anti-social per say, it’s just most people have nothing interesting to say. Lately I’ve been pretty hardcore into music and that’s what I mainly focus on nowadays. ‘I don’t want to hear how the weather is, I don’t give a shit about your pets, and it actually hurts me to listen to you talk about your work.’ I’m the type of person who generally keeps to themselves if you haven’t noticed. It’s a pretty easy thing to do in Shades though, it’s a small town, but pretty much everyone keeps to themselves. Only work is the only time I really have to make/listen to useless small talk, so I really can’t complain.
As I continue walking down North Street which is the street I live on, up ahead I see what appears to be a guy having some car troubles at the intersection. As I make my way closer, I confirm that it is indeed a dude having some car troubles. With hearing my conscience screaming at me over my music, I begin to pull my ear buds out and put my iPod in my pocket.
“Hey sir, is everything okay?” I immediately regret what I asked because it is clear as day that no, everything is not okay. The guy just has his car hood open and hazard lights on for shits and giggles. Did I mention I’m not the greatest at making conversation with people? Any other person would have asked, ‘is there anything I can help you with?’
The guy backs up, stands fully upright, and turns around. He looks to be about early thirties maybe and he’s about six foot; four inches taller than me. His face is a little wrinkly and very round, his brown eyes look really tired. He’s wearing a black jacket; zipped up with the hood up, and some plain blue jeans. I notice he’s wearing converse and I mentally give him a high five. He just appears to be an average Michigander.
“No, sadly not,” he replies gloomy. He scans his eyes down my body and I wonder if he just checked me out? I don’t mind too much, the thought of dating doesn’t sound too awful anymore.
“Can I help at all? I don’t know a thing about cars, but if you need to use a phone, I have a cell phone on me.”
“That would be really great! I need to call a tow truck actually,” he has a huge smile on his face.
I take my phone out of my left, front jean, pocket and have it set so that it’s ready to make a phone call.
“Thank you,” he says sounding very grateful.
I place my phone in the palm of his outstretched hand. “Glad I can help,” I respond, meaning every word. I’ve had car troubles in the past and have been stuck on the side of the road as well, it sucks to put it simply.
Just as he was about to put the phone up to his ear after dialing a number, out of nowhere he takes his right hand and pushes me back fucking hard.
“Ugh,” I let out a gasp of breath as my ass connects to the cement. I ended up going back about five feet and once I realize what happened, I look up and see him get into his car and drive away. I am left stunned. Fucking confused beyond all belief. What in the hell just happened? Someone stole my fucking phone? Someone acted as though their car was broke just to steal my phone? This is the kind of shit you see on the news happening in like New York or something. Just when I start to forget why I hate the world so god damn much, shit like this snaps me right back to reality. ‘Bad things happen to good people, so why even fucking bother’ is now, and will forever be, my new motto. At least this is something juicy I can talk to Claire about.
I get up off the ground and wipe my ass off. The next thing I do is the only logical thing I can think of; fucking scream. “Fuck you, you asshole! I hope you get into a car accident and get your dick chopped off!” I’ve seemed to have caused a slight scene with all my huffing and puffing; some neighbors moved their shades and are looking at me. I shouldn’t have let the ass use my phone, there’s a bunch of houses nearby, I should have told him to go to one of them. Someone who I just noticed in some shadows about twenty feet away is looking in my direction.
“Did you just see any of that?” The person just turns back around without saying anything. Jackass.
“Fuck my life,” I mumble to myself as I first flip them off and then begin to make my journey home.
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