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My life

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Words: 814
Raylen POV

My name is Raylen. I'm a sixteen year old Bisexual boy. Who is small and girly looking. I wear a oversized gray sweater and black skinny jeans with black Converse and have messy jet black hair. I have to take medication for my ticks and take therpy.

Today was Wednesday. My first therapy day. Going to therpy was going to be hell. I can feel it. It's probably so emotionly triggering. I'm trying to prepare myself for the same question.
"Do you feel alright?"
"Do you feel alright?"
"Do you feel alright?"
I've said it so much to myself parents told to stop asking it.
Do I feel alright? No. why would i be going to therpy. If I was alright i wouldn't be in the state I am now.

I walk in to the first therpy session. I walked into the room to see a lady with a doctor's coat on that had a clip board. She looked up from her clip board and told me to sit down. "Hello I'm dr. Lizz." She wasted no time with introductions and started to ask questions.
"So sweetie do you know why you're here?" She asked in a caring sort of tone I could tell was fake.
"Yes I know why I'm here."
"Ok. Then tell me why do you think your here?"
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. "Because I need to be "fixed." I said using air quotations around fixed.
She look slightly tooken aback and shook her head.
"You're here because you hit a fellow classmate and..." She cut herself off.
"You... know.."
Yeah I do know I cut myself.
This time I couldn't control my eye roll.
"I only hit him because he hit me!" Now this lady was making me angry.

She went to say something but before she could I started to talk again.
"I've been messed with by these kids forever! I've had drinks dumped on me! I've had shit thrown at me! They've beat me up!"
She looked surprised at my sudden out burst.
"I finally take up for myself and I'm the one who gets in trouble!" At this point I'm yelling.
"You try living what I go through! You see the difference between your life and mine is when I wake up my nightmare doesn't end!"
My voice starts to qiver.
"I have no safe place!" I break down. Hot Tears steam down my face.

The lady reaches her hand over to put a hand on my shoulder. I jump at the sudden contact. I feel like I'm about to vomit. My head is spinning. My hands go up to my hair clenching and then I started pulling at my hair. Shutting my eyes tight. The
Therpist gently grabs my arms and pulls them away from my head.
"Please don't do that."
I open my eyes to see her worried face. What a fake expression. I'm shaking with anger and fear. How could I break down in front of some one. I jerk my arms out of her grasp.
"Don't. Touch. me." I grit out though my clenched teeth.
She looked at the clock hanging on the wall and the. Looked back at me. She sighed.
"Sadly our time is up. See you next week."
Finally.
I leave the room to see my mom irritated. This is great.
"Let's go." My mom says. Leaving as soon as she saw me. And with that we left the therapist office. My mom speaks up.
"So how did it go?"
"It went ok." My mom rolled her eyes.
"This is why you don't need therpy."
This time I roll my eyes at her. She doesn't get it. Depression isn't going to go away after one therpy session. She doesn't get the feeling of being numb and worthless. Not wanting to get out of bed. Being so depressed you can't even brush your hair.
"Yeah. Yeah. Whatever."
"Don't give me that tone!"
She probably wants me to say I'm sorry. But I stay quiet. This day has just been Fucking great.

We finally get home after what feels like an hour long car ride back. I go up to my room ignoring my mom asking what I wanted to eat tonight. It didn't matter I don't eat alot anyways. My mom isn't a bad one. She just can't understand. Once I get into my room it's like all my energy disappeared. I feel exhausted. I fall on my bed ready to just sit there and stare at the wall instead of sleeping like I should. When I hear a ping. It's my phone. I just got a text from someone. I grab my phone look at the screen. The text is from my best friend. Dakota Tucker.
Maybe my day-well night is turning around.