(c) Mister, You Have No Idea. [PG]

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(c) Mister, You Have No Idea. [PG]

Post by rolo on Tue 01 Sep 2009, 4:16 am

Title: Mister, You Have No Idea.
Rating: PG.
Author: GAY GUITAR. (linzy!)
Status: One-shot / complete.
Warnings: mentions of generalized anxiety disorder.
Summary: it's a prompt for my literary journal club.
decided to try it out.
i don't think i'll turn it in because of just how personal it is.


Mister, You Have No Idea.

Unfamiliar hospital halls guided me. The white walls and narrow path made me feel hopeless. It wasn’t bright and there was no one else besides myself and Mom. The end of the hall was in sight, along with an elevator and a vending machine.

“Do you want anything?” Mom asked. “It’ll probably help your nerves.”

I solemnly shook my head. Food would have made me sick. I pressed the arrow pointing up and we waited in rather painful silence. I could almost read what she was thinking; this diagnosis wasn’t going to be positive. As we ascended, my ears began to ring with paranoia and apprehension. A girl my age being put through this complete torture was pure cruelty.

I grimaced as the door slid open. “I’m fourteen, not five.” I whined to Mom. She only shrugged and signed in at the front desk.

The waiting room was filled with colorful kids that seemed so happy. It would have never crossed my mind that they needed therapy. The television with bright, happy cartoon characters was a bit comforting, but that was because the room brought the kid in me to surface. Perhaps that’s what the doctors wanted.

Minutes later, my doctor called my name and he smiled. I returned the gesture with a frown. Honestly, there was no way he could have believed that I thought he would be able to cure me.

He invited me into his office alone and closed the door. “You came to see me today because you have generalized anxiety disorder.” He said in a rather comforting tone. A tone he probably used on the other five-year-old patients.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a child. Talk to me as an adult. I’m not paying for the same therapy everyone else gets. I’m paying for real help, sir.” I tried to be nice as I could as I broke the awkwardness.

He seemed to be taken aback by my outburst. “Let’s take a step back for a second.” He looked at his clipboard and I wanted to say that I’m here to take a step forward, but held my tongue. “You’re seeing me today because you have panic attacks. You’re afraid to sleep, go to school, or even leave your house. Your mom mentioned that you’ve been struggling with this for about a year now. This has probably been hell to you, hasn’t it?”

I leaned back in my chair, my lips curling into the smallest smile he’ll ever see from me. “Mister, you have no idea.”


Last edited by gloria- on Mon 26 Oct 2009, 10:14 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : checked: gloria)
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