“What is your name?” Asked the psychiatrist that had been seated in front of Yoongi on a nicely-looking chair. The woman’s hair had been put in a thick ponytail, making her look more professional. She had thin glasses, positioned exactly in the middle of her nose and a fancy looking lipstick. The man could easily tell that she was originally from Europe, she just had this accent that could only come from there. Her blinding-white clothes were making him feel dizzy, he hated looking at her robe because it was just too much for his tired, exhausted eyes.
“Min Yoongi.” He answered, to which she replied with a nod, and picked up a pen from her front pocket to write it down in her papers. She had a serious look on her face, making the man smirk to himself. This was honestly amusing to him, the whole therapy situation that Jimin and Hoseok had convinced him to come to. They don’t even know what really is wrong with him, yet it’s like they can sense it.
“Min Yoongi, you asked for a special request, didn’t you? We won’t specify your identity in any documentations.” She said, while pointing her finger at the computer. Yoongi took an acknowledging look, and then slowly closed his eyes. He was so damn tired, “Now, we shall begin. What brings you here?” She asked, to which Yoongi just scoffed with an irony in his tone.
“My dumb-ass friends who like to stick their noses into my life.” He answered, while kicking his legs in anger. He threw himself back on his chair while tapping his foot against the floor in a fast pace. He was stressed, he had to admit. He was scared to say the wrong thing and make himself sound like an ill person. Like a sicko.
Well, maybe he really is ill if he’s in this room.
“What made your friends make you come here? Is there something that bothers you?” She kept asking, not even reacting about his impulsive and rude behavior. Yoongi just rose his eyebrows in both surprise and irony. He quickly sat up straight and hit his fist against the table that was in between them.
“There’s nothing fucking bothering me.” He said in a dark tone, to which the woman just deeply sighed as she proceed to write something down, “The fuck you writing?” He asked, wanting to take the pen out of her hand and crack it, break it in his palm but he held himself back. He needed to calm down.
“Min Yoongi. Please, take a deep breath.” She asked, while taking something out of one of her books, “If you won’t tell me, then I have to say why you’re here.” The woman began to flip through her files, until she finally stopped on a specific page and pulled out a document from a plastic package.
“What’s this?” Questioned Yoongi, as he eyed the piece of paper from up to down, trying to read through the other side, but the action just made his eyes sting even more. He could feel the skin around his eyeballs pulsing, as if there was something alive trying to break free, like a bug. It would sting and make his eye jerk from right to left, while trying to avoid contact with a thing, that probably wasn’t even real. He quickly began to scratch his eye, feeling a slight relief that lasted only for a second. His eyes began to feel dry and glassy, which was just annoying and uncomfortable to Yoongi. His eyelashes weren’t helping, they began to fall off due to him pressing so hard on the skin and one of them went straight into his eye, making him hiss in pain. He stood up from his chair and walked towards a small sink in the room. He forced one of his eyes open, and gasped seeing how red and veiny it was. The skin around didn’t stop pulsing, but he ignored it, and decided that it would be better to start washing it all away. He filled up one of his palms with water and splashed it inside his eye, the cold liquid made his mussels relax and calm down. He did it three times for each eye, until he finally was feeling better.
Once he was done, he sat back on his chair but looked less angry than before.
“Do you wish to keep your eyes closed?” She asked, seeing the way how intensely her client began to scratch his face, almost making his skin rip apart and bleed. It was still itchy, not in the eyes but all over the place. After hearing her proposition, Yoongi froze, his shoulders visibly relaxed as he took a deep breath in and nodded, “Well then, right now I am holding a document given to me by Dr. Koo, and he had found sharp objects inside your digestive system.” She said, and Yoongi loudly gasped. He had no idea that some of his consumed pretties have been taken out of his stomach.
“You have passed out from exhaustion, so your so-called annoying friends brought you to the hospital thinking that you weren’t eating or sleeping well. By pure accident doctors have discovered that.” She explained, and Yoongi felt tense yet again. He really had no wish to talk about his deepest and darkest secret, because this was just way too much for him to phrase and say out loud. To admit everything that his mind had been denying. He felt exposed, as if he were stripped naked.
“This is not what it looks like.” Defended Yoongi, his voice came out weak and cracked in the middle of a sentence. Due to the fact that his eyes were still closed, he could feel it. All of his other senses became stronger, and he hated it. He felt the way his skin began to heat up and itch, as if there were needles pocking him from inside. It seemed like they were testing how long he will last sane with this sensation until it will drive him crazy - this was torture. He had always been tortured, but lately all of this had been getting worse and worse.
Suddenly he felt emotions overwhelming him, as he began to lightly swing on his chair from right to left, and hugged his own body in reassurance. Loud. The room was too small. And everything was way too loud. It seemed as if walls began to zoom in on him, and that he was going to get squished by them.
‘Why me? Why me? Why me? Why me? Why me? Why me? Why me? Why me? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why!’
Moments like these would always hit him at the most random times, when he would just break down feeling hopeless and depressed. He could’ve been in the middle of a fight or having a good laugh, until a second later his system would just fail. It was like an error inside the computer. Pathetic, he thought. He was so pathetic.
The doctor patiently sat in her chair, waiting for him to start feeling better. He wouldn’t admit that out loud, but he appreciated the moment of silence that fell in the room, because he needed that. He needed to collect himself back piece-by-piece to continue their conversation. His feet were shaking, same as his whole body. He was about to go almost insane, especially with his wrists hurting, asking to be cut. Aching just because the thought crossed him mind. There was just too much pressure in his veins, that he needed to let go. Blood was not flowing around his body, no, it was boiling and making his whole palm pulse in a horrible tension.
Yoongi loved sharp things, they made him feel at peace. Even just holding something sharp sometimes was like a therapy to him. He especially liked to play with scissors. He would hold them in his palm, open them wide and bring his left hand to the free space that the two sharp blades had formed. Then he would push it low, as if he were about to cut off his own fingers, but no. He would just press into the skin, sometimes leave little cuts, sometimes not. He liked the way it made his body feel alarmed, perfectly knowing that he didn’t trust his own intentions, thoughts nor brain. With one movement he could even try to get rid of one of his limbs. Maybe one day he will cut off his fingers, who knows? It’s going to be hard to break through his bones, but he could use something more heavy. He’d find a way. Sometimes in his dreams he could see himself smashing his own hand with a hammer. In other dreams he would use a saw to get rid of his legs, or he would take a huge sword to cut off his own head. It would hurt so much, but at the same time it would feel like a relief. Destroying this body was the only thing he knew that could save him for sure.
He liked the goosebumps that he would get from his own thoughts. He knew that he was ill, that he was sick and needed help but he really did feel okay. He was fine with his own type of medication. He kept thinking about blood flowing out of him, the pretty-red color staining everything around. He always had this dirty fantasy about cutting himself open and painting his whole bathroom in his own blood, it would look so satisfying. Like there was rain and he was special enough to witness it and enjoy it. He wanted to get this hot liquid out of his system, because he was assured that he had too much of it in his body. He needed less blood, because he could blow up at any second from the pressure. Bugs. Needles. Blood. Itch.
“Min Yoongi, are you ready to continue?” Asked the woman, and Yoongi almost jumped at her voice. He already forgot that she was even here, being with his eyes closed brought him fully into his own headspace. He slowly nodded, thinking that the sooner he will answer her questions, the sooner he’ll go back home. He wanted to go home, he didn’t want to be anywhere else but home.
Yoongi was a very domestic person, if that is even a thing. You see, a home had always been very important to him. He needed to have his own place, his own territory where he could feel comfortable and calm. He would always easily get attached to any place where he would live, and being out for too long would bring him to stress.
“What?” He asked, the question came out harsher than intended but he didn’t bother to correct himself. She already thought that he was an asshole, so why even bother being nice? Or maybe he should bother.. It could back-stab him in the future. Will she use all of this information against him? Can he trust her? Can he trust himself? Oh, he doesn’t, because him and his mind are enemies, not friends.
Yoongi was convinced that there was someone else in his mind, like a different person. He couldn’t hear that guy nor see him, but he knew that the other was present. He knew that this shadow was effecting his emotional state and his thoughts. Sudden aggressive behavior, need to kill other people or hurt himself were all caused by that man. What if.. He’s going to be replaced by that person? Will anyone even notice the difference? No! He can’t let this happen. He can’t-
“Was this a suicide attempt?” She asked, and Yoongi’s heart rate picked up it’s pace. What was she talking about? What suicide attempt? He didn’t try to kill himself? He often had that problem that he had no idea what others were talking about, he would have to re-ask again and make sure that he was aware about what was going on almost every minute. His stupid thoughts did a really good job at filling up his brain to it’s fullest, to that point, that it would become too loud and too noisy inside his mind. His concentration from 100 would go to a 0 in a mere of seconds. At the same time his soul felt empty. Dead.
He was dying.
“What?” He asked again, and it seemed like his own voice echoed in his head. He had so many open doors in his Wonderland, and he really didn’t want to be- wait. Where is he? “What?” An Airhead. An Airhead would be a perfect word to describe how he was feeling right now.
“Min Yoongi. You swallowed two blades few days ago. Was this a suicide attempt?” She asked, finally making her question clear. Yoongi began to recall all of the events that he could remember, and a small smile creeped on his face. Yes, he remembered! He’s a good boy. He remembered.. Good boy.
“No.” He answered, his voice was at ease but his heart suddenly felt heavy, “I just- I just-“ What? Why had he done what he had done? He had no idea, he just wanted to feel it. Sharpness inside himself. He was hoping that the blade would cut through his throat and make a fountain of blood spill out of him, like a huge stream, a waterfall. He wanted to see a pool of it on his floor. Blood seemed to bother Yoongi too much, it was itchy and annoying. It was too hot. Maybe if he could make a hole in his throat and clean it from all this dirt, he could finally take a full breath of oxygen. He could finally breathe - breathing sounded like a luxury that he had lost years ago. He wanted to finally unchain his lungs from the random anxiety attacks that would make him feel like he’s not breathing. He knew that he was, but it would make him feel like the air is not reaching his lungs. He hated that feeling a lot. Hopeless. Lost. Broken.
“Just what?” Asked psychiatrists, and he could hear her pen swirling letters on a piece of paper. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the pen was probably sharp, it could stab right through him, right? He wanted it to stab right through him, he wanted to know how it would feel like for an ink to flow into his body. Suddenly the moment he imagined that, he thought about the fact that his body would get dirty from all of that ink, he felt disgusted. A need to throw up began to tingle his throat, making him let out an uncomfortable whine. He’s going to throw up. No, he’s not going to throw up. Is he? Is he not? He didn’t knew. Fucking attention seeker, he thought. Stop acting like this. Stop being a weirdo. Stop. Just stop.
“Min Yoongi?” Asked the doctor, there was concern audible in her voice. She was genuinely worried, probably because the man’s behavior was much more unstable than she had expected when she first had him sent here.
“WHAT?!” He screamed at her, his lungs closed at that making him cough loudly, why did he shout at her? Why would he do such a thing? Why is he so sick? Ill? Again, his eyes began to pulse in irritation but now they began to collect ugly, salty tears. He hated crying the most, because it made him feel weak. It wasn’t satisfying. But the need to cry was screaming within him. You know, from time to time he would understand in what dark place he had put himself in. It’s all his fault. He’s a mistake. He’s insane. He’s crazy.
“It’s okay, Min Yoongi. Please, breathe and calm down. Take as much time as you need.” She whispered, as he could suddenly feel her hand stroking his hair, gently playing with his locks. He calmed down, feeling care and softness radiating from her. He wanted to curl onto himself, maybe hide inside everything that was fluffy. He wanted to be in his bed with a lot of pillows and blankets. He wanted a hug. He needed a hug. He wanted to hide away in a small space. Maybe he would die from lack of oxygen. Wait. But he wanted to breathe, didn’t he? No. Choking doesn’t sound nice. No. Stop. Stop thinking.
“I.. I just.. Like it... The thought of it.. The.. Picture in my head.. You know... I don’t like blood.” He had finally managed to say, and the moment he did his body jerked up feeling a huge spider crawling on his knee. He began to immediately try to brush it off, opening his eyes for a second to make sure, and immediately shutting them back after checking that it was indeed nothing real. It was just a usual sensation.
“You don’t like seeing blood?” Asked the woman, as she took her hand away and proceeded to write something down. No! You’re writing a wrong thing! Wait! Wait! It’s not like that! Please wait! Why can’t you just understand?! I know you can’t. Wait, I’m sorry. I’m so annoying.. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
“N-no.. Not inside. Don’t like it inside of me.” Admitted Yoongi, as he furrowed his eyebrows together. He was fucking sick. Fucking ill. Fucking disgusting. Fucking pathetic. Fucking attention seeker. What if he’s lying right now? Was he lying? Could he be lying to himself this whole time? He didn’t knew what to trust and the fear of the fact that he could be lying right now without realizing suddenly struck in his mind. It went through his brain like a silver bullet. If she will find out she’ll hate him. She’ll hate him. Hate. Yoongi hated himself.
“Min Yoongi, when-“
“I’M NOT LYING!” He suddenly pointed out, while bringing up his knees to his chest and hugging them close with his arms as he tried to curl into a ball as much as he could. His skin felt so sloppy and unstable around his body, he just wanted to sleep. He wanted to hide. He wanted to collect himself and stick every part of him, piece-by-piece. When he was unconscious, it was the only time he felt genially free. Rested. But once he’d wake up the nightmare would come back. Waking up was a torture. Staying asleep was also a torture. Life was a torture. He decided to open his eyes and look at the doctor. So bright. Too bright.
“I know. It’s okay, I believe you.” Said the woman, and he let out a big sigh that he had seemed to be holding in. He didn’t even realize that he was scratching his throat with his nails until he began to feel the burn on the left side of his neck, “Tell me please, when was the first time you have swallowed a sharp object?”
He didn’t want to say this out loud. It was too embarrassing, too shameful to even admit yet tell a whole story. It was a challenge to stay calm, he thought. His fingers began to dig into his thighs as he kept rolling the memory within his thoughts. Yoongi, start talking, he thought. His lower lip suddenly felt like it’s too big, so he bit down on it with his front teeth to make the itch go away. He was feeling impatient with everything that had been going on. His teeth are going to fall out! No! He could feel his whole mouth stuttering with no sound, the upper row and lower row just hitting each other. Fall out. Fall out. Fall out. I’m falling. I’ll fall.
“I was just...” he began, gulping down all stress that kept running down his spine. His tongue was too big, it didn’t fit inside his mouth so he bit on it. It didn’t bleed, so maybe he should do it again. How can he talk with his tongue like that? It’s tingly, everything is so tingly. He wanted to go home. Home.
“Min Yoongi, please, continue.” Reminded him the woman, suddenly she reached out into her pocket and pulled out a single blue pill. It was quite big, but nothing that Yoongi couldn’t swallow, “Take this, will you?” She asked, as she straightened her hand. The man looked hesitantly at her palm, then into her eyes.
“What’s this?” He asked, unsure. What if she’s going to poison him and kill him? She could do that. Actually, she could easily jump on him and kill him at any second. Why wouldn’t she, after all Yoongi is so annoying. He didn’t want to die. Please, don’t kill me, I’m trying so hard to survive.
“This is Magne B6, it will make you feel a little better.” She explained, and Yoongi nodded while taking in the pill and gulping it down in one go without even a glass of water. It didn’t do anything, but maybe placebo effect began to take it’s place because the man relaxed.
“So.. Will you continue your story?” She asked, while taking her clipboard in her hands and throwing one leg over another. He hated her white robe, it was too bright. Why doctors had to have such an ugly uniform?
“It was.. maybe a few weeks ago?” He began, she wrote something down, “I was just standing in the kitchen drinking water, until I felt with one of my teeth the sharp end of the glass. When I looked down, I saw that a small bit of the glass was broken off.” He explained, licking his lips that suddenly felt too dry, the room was too hot, he felt like he was sweating and he couldn’t help it. Does he smell? Was he disgusting? Of course he was. He’s sweating so much, he’s going to overheat!
“Min Yoongi.” She said again, bringing back his attention that seemed to have drifted away. “Please.”
“What were we talking about?” He asked, and she closed her eyes for two seconds and then opened them again.
“You were telling me a story of how you have first swallowed a sharp object.“ She explained, to which Yoongi’s eyes widened, remembering what he had wanted to say. Words only obeyed him on a piece of paper, but when it came to talking - he would stutter, forget and say something that he didn’t intend to say. He would become sleepy. He liked listening to voices of other people, but he didn’t like to participate in conversations.
“Yeah.. I remember now.” He looked down onto the floor, his eyes felt heavy. Are they going to fall out? Are they going to fall out and roll far, far away? The floor is dirty, so will his vision become dirty? Will it burn? And will Yoongi still see or will he roll away? His head was spinning. He felt dizzy.
“Yes, I know.. Sorry.” He apologized, to which the doctor smiled, “After I drank water.. I felt a sharp pain inside my throat. You know, I thought that I’m going to be scared, but I wasn’t. I went up to a bathroom mirror and opened my mouth, then I pressed a flashlight button on my phone and looked deep inside, seeing that there was a cut at the very back and that it was bleeding. But I didn’t care, I just drank more water and thew away the broken glass so that none of my friends will go through danger.” He said, breathing in and out, “The idea never left my mind since. It felt satisfying, you know? You.. Um... Do you get me?” He asked, suddenly feeling judged. She was probably judging him, pft, of course she was. Who wouldn’t?
“Of course, don’t worry, Yoongi. Everything is going okay, you’re going to be okay. But you need to know that it’s not okay to swallow any sharp objects, hm?” She said in a much gentle tone, making Yoongi’s insides almost feel at ease. Almost.
But suddenly he felt a sharp pain within his stomach, making his feet curl on themself and him letting out a gasp. It felt like a punch in the gut, and the pain lasted without going away. What if something is eating him from inside? Was he dying? He’s dying! He’s dying! He’s dying! Hurts. Hurts. Hurts. Death. Why does no one care? Why is nobody saving him? He has little time left, so little.
“I’m dying... Doctor.” He whispered, broken. Finally tears were being let go, and his cheeks felt stained with salty streams. He couldn’t take this anymore, he couldn’t live, he couldn’t work, he couldn’t function. He wanted peace and help, because he didn’t want to die. He was trying so hard to survive, why no one saw and appreciated his effort?
“We’re going to save you, okay?” Said the doctor, as she leaned forward and squeezed Yoongi’s sweaty palm. There was blood coming out from his tight hood, as he could feel relaxation spread in his brain. Finally, there’s less blood in his system.
“Why do you think.. You’re like this?” She asked, very carefully, “Is there something more that has been bothering you?” She proceeded, seeing that Yoongi was acting civil towards the question.
“I can’t sleep. I’m scared of falling asleep. I’m scared that I’ll see things in the dark, because I used to see them when I was very young. And lately I saw them again.” Answered the man, to which he shuddered, “What if I’m being followed? I feel like someone is craving my death. I’ll die, right? Will I die?” The doctor looked at him without saying anything.
“What else?” She asked, ignoring the panicked questions that her patient threw at her. Yoongi looked from one corner of the room to the other, waiting for something to jump at him. His ears were itching, it’s like something was tingling them from inside. So annoying. Maybe he should just cut them off so he could finally stop that itch? Will it ever stop? No. Because he deserved everything that was happening to him.
“I... I feel uncomfortable. Always. It’s itchy.” He said, as he brushed his tongue over his teeth. His toes suddenly felt paralyzed, so he decided to move them making few of his bones crack. But it wasn’t enough, so he did it again and again.
Crack. Crack. Pop. Pop. Crack. Crack.
“What about your sexual.. desires? Are you sexually active, Min Yoongi? Does it feel good when you orgasm?” She asked, while eyeing the clock with the corner of her eye. The man got taken aback with her question, but still decided to mumble out a hesitant answer. Embarrassing.
“I... I like sex. I like the feeling of orgasm, it’s kind of like a way out for me. But.. Lately it hasn’t been so good, I crave it but the effect only lasts for a few seconds. I don’t even feel as heavenly as how it used to be. It’s dull, and it just seems more like an addiction.” He explained, his cheeks blushed a little at the topic. Suddenly his mind said out loud in his head - Slut. You’re a fucking slut. A whore.
“I see. Thank you for sharing this with me,” said the woman, as she proceeded to move onto the next question, “Min Yoongi... Is there anything that makes you feel happy?”
It was silent for a good few minutes. You see, there are things that can make Yoongi smile but not happy. His friends have always managed to crack a good joke, his family had been always very joyful, his love for music and games was also ethereal. But these things didn’t bring him happiness, they were the reasons why he was smiling and why he was fighting.
“I don’t believe in happiness.” He replied, as he cracked one of his fingers on the right hand, “I think it’s a myth. It’s not a real thing.” He wanted to explain further, but he just felt way too tired to do so. He had to crack his neck, he thought, as he placed both of his palms on his head and pushed it to the right, making a pair of his bones loudly pop the oxygen. He did the same thing with the left side, and immediately felt better. He felt a few cold streams of blood flowing towards his brain, coating him like a drug. He could break his neck, he thought. He could, of course, but he won’t.
“Thank you.” She repeated her previous words, as she finally closed her pen with a click and put it inside her ugly robe. She shut the book and sat up straight with a heavy look on her face. Yoongi felt suddenly colder, because the words that came out of hew mouth cracked his heart.
“I can see that you have a mental illness, Min Yoongi. I can’t give you diagnosis yet, because I have more questions to ask, but you need therapy and medical treatment. I will be more certain next time we meet, but for now you are free to go.” She said, forcing a smile onto her face.
She said that he’s ill. So it’s true. Weird to think that he was actually sick. What if he’s not? Are they going to scan his brain? Are they going to look through his organs? Are they going to cut off his limbs? Lungs? Head? Are they going to put experiments on him? No. They won’t. Don’t be silly. But.. Will they lock him up? Like, in a mental hospital? Actually, he wouldn’t mind that. He wanted to get locked up and have a little bit of rest from the outside world. Maybe that’s what he really needed to get better. But, are they going to watch him? All the time? No, he didn’t want to be watched, but he just wanted to be alone. In a room. No. He didn’t want to be alone. He had no idea what he wanted.
The man nodded to her and slowly stood up, his legs felt wobbly and unstable, but he knew that he had to walk out of this place as fast as he could. His vision turned black for a moment, but he ignored it and kept walking. Home. He could finally go home.
“See you next time, Doctor.” He whispered, but before he could shut the door he heard her voice speak up again.
“Please make sure to come back and take care of yourself. Tell your friends that I want to speak to them, will that be okay?” She asked, Yoongi gulped, “Do you want me not to mention something?”
“Can you please keep it a secret that I have swallowed a blade? They don’t know, right?” He specified, to which she shook her head.
“They don’t know, and I won’t tell them. But I will tell them that your state might be concluded with suicidal thoughts and suicidal attempts, is that okay?” She proceeded, to which an elder had agreed.
“Goodbye.” He said, his eyes felt teary again. Talking about all of this was a lot to take in and take out. It was like he began a challenging journey of facing his own demons after so many years of silent treatment.
“Goodbye, and remember: You’re going to be okay, we are going to help you, Yoongi. You’re going to be okay.”