Array
(
[text] =>
IT’S ONLY BEEN A FEW DAYS. Three, maybe four.
It feels like longer. Like time’s decided to drag its feet on purpose, just to piss me off.
Everything hurts. My body, my head, my chest. My skin itches and my stomach churns, and I swear to God if one more person tells me “it gets easier,” I’ll lose it.
I’ve already lashed out twice. Once at a nurse who tried to wake me up for a group session, and once at the girl in the room next to mine who wouldn’t stop humming. It’s not like me. Or maybe it is now—I don’t even know anymore.
I’m angry all the time. Angry at my body for feeling like this. Angry at the world. Angry at my parents for sticking me here like I’m some broken doll they didn’t want to deal with anymore.
I haven’t seen them since I got here. No one, actually. No Felix. No Val. No JJ.
Not even—
I shake the thought off.
Visitation is part of the reward system. I’m not trusted enough yet. And I get it. I wouldn’t trust me either.
I’m in another session with Dr. Adesina. She’s calm, patient, way too patient. I don’t know how she sits there with her notebook and her steady voice and just waits for me to talk like I’m not crawling out of my own skin.
I’m perched at the edge of the couch, one leg bouncing frantically, fingers tapping against my thigh like they’re searching for something to hold on to.
“How long has this been going on?” she asks gently.
I blink. “What has?”
“Using the pills to cope.”
My jaw tenses. My eyes scan the room—bookshelf, window, her pen tapping softly against the arm of the chair. Anything to avoid looking at her. “I don’t know.”
“You do, Carmen.”
I finally meet her gaze. Her eyes are kind. It almost pisses me off more. “Over a year ago maybe,” I mutter.
She nods, no judgment in her expression. Just quiet curiosity. “Was there a trigger? Something that made you start using?”
I shoot up from the couch, pacing across the room because I need to move. I need to do something. “I don’t feel good.”
“It’s the withdrawal, love,” she says, her voice soft but steady.
“Well, I don’t like it,” I snap.
“I know. But let’s stay on track, okay?”
I keep walking, arms crossed tight over my chest like that’ll stop me from falling apart.
“I guess you can say the trigger was years of being ignored.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “Ignored?”
“Yes.” It feels weird finally saying those words to someone.
“By who?” she asks gently.
“My parents.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, just lets the silence stretch until I fill it myself.
“When Felix started taking football seriously, all their attention went to him. Every match, every training session, every achievement. He got praise. I got silence. When he messed up, they covered for him. When I did, they made sure I knew it.”
Her pen pauses. “And how did that make you feel?”
I shrug, even though the knot in my chest says I know exactly how it made me feel.
“I don’t know.”
“Not loved?” she suggests.
A beat passes before I decide to answer, “Yeah.”
“Whose fault do you think that is?”
My throat tightens. “Mine,” I whisper. “If my own parents can’t love me then… It has to be my fault. I wasn’t as good as Felix, I guess.”
Dr. Adesina leans forward a little, not in a pushy way, but like she’s trying to reach something deep I’ve buried.
“When parents don’t give a child as much love as they need,” she says, “the child often tends to blame themselves. They start to believe they’re undeserving of love. But that’s not true, Carmen. That was never true about you.”
I look away, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
“I think,” she continues, “you were hurting for a long time. And no one noticed. So you found something that made the pain quiet down. Even for a little while.”
The silence thickens around us. I don’t cry. I won’t. But I’m tired. So fucking tired. And I think for the first time since I got here I understand what she means.
I didn’t just make a mistake. I was drowning. And maybe—just maybe—this is the first step toward breathing again.
“When the addiction got worse,” Dr. Adesina says gently, “how did you feel?”
That word. Addiction.
It hits harder than I expect. I freeze for a second, as if the air shifted around me.
I’ve heard it before. In whispers. In arguments. In the group sessions. But now it’s aimed at me. It’s real.
And until recently, I didn’t think of it like that. I told myself it was just to take the edge off. Just a way to get through the day.
But maybe… that’s the problem.
“Good,” I say finally. My voice doesn’t shake, but my fingers do. “Better.”
Her brows lift slightly, intrigued. “Better how?”
I cross my arms, eyes fixed on the pale floor. “Quieter. Like my head wasn’t constantly screaming at me. Over time, the pills… became my best friend.”
“They weren’t.”
My brows furrow. “What?”
She leans forward slightly. “Carmen, they were drugs. Prescription or not, they were substances altering your mental state. That’s what drugs do.”
I grit my teeth. “But they’re not like meth or anything. Just pills.”
“A lot of people in here thought the same thing,” she replies. “But addiction doesn’t discriminate. Just because they came in a bottle doesn’t mean they weren’t dangerous.”
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. My head’s pounding again.
“We talked about this last time. You need to acknowledge that they’re drugs, Carmen,” she mutters under her breath as she writes something down onto her notebook.
Probably something bad. Maybe that I’m stupid since I can’t comprehend that what I was taking were drugs, something bad for me no matter how good it made me feel.
“When can I get visitors?” I ask. The question slips out before I can stop it.
She tilts her head. “Family will be allowed soon.”
“Not family.” I don’t want to see them anytime soon.
There’s a pause. “Your friends?”
“I guess.” Is Aaron my friend? He’s the reason I’m asking. He’s the one I want to see. But that day—the last time I saw him—he was going to tell me he… Well, it doesn’t matter now. I messed it up. I mess everything up.
“We haven’t talked about them,” she notes.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“But there is someone you want to see,” she points out.
My eyes dart to the clock on the wall. The second hand ticks far too slowly. “Our session’s over.”
“I can keep a session going longer if I want to, Carmen.”
I don’t mean to snap, but the words tumble out before I can stop them, “Trust is a two-way street. You can’t expect me to trust you when you don’t trust me.”
She blinks, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t talked to anyone-I mean outside this place. I don’t get my phone. I have a strict schedule. I have to go to meetings. I have to talk to you. It’s just so fucking much.” I pause, huffing out a breath.
“Pardon my language, Doc.” Her lips twitch into the faintest smile. “But as I was saying… it’s been like that for a few days. Your reward system sucks. What do I get in return?”
“You have to wait.”
“I have been waiting.” I open my arms in frustration.
“Carmen-“
“It may be a few days to you,” I say, voice rising, “but for me it feels like forever.”
There’s a beat of silence. I can hear the clock ticking again. Finally, Dr. Adesina exhales, scribbling something into her notes. “We’ll pick up where we left off in the next session.”
“And what was that?”
“Your friends.”
I groan, rubbing my forehead with my palm. “Can’t wait.”
I don’t say anything else as I leave her office. But deep down, I don’t know how much longer I can last in this place.
[text_hash] => 083e1076
)