16:20

"This morning, I threw my phone at the wall and screamed with my hands buried in my wet hair. Every few seconds my body whipped from one direction to the next, my eyes targeting random objects to throw across the room before I eventually tripped over my own feet like an imbecile.

I fell onto my twin bed mattress that was supported by nothing, and like me, just lay on the floor with nothing but a very thin piece of fabric covering it. My entire body had been sore since I woke up. Showering didn't help. My feet ached and my legs felt like they'd dissipate at even the slightest bit of pressure. This sensation of heaviness had been an ongoing occurrence for the last several months. I had nothing to blame it on besides my lack of physical activity and proper nutrition which essentially, pinpoints back to my extreme lack of care.

The only difference now, is that there's no one nagging me to get up, which was the goal. No need having others waste their breath on something they're annoyed about when it doesn't personally affect their own selves. Don't come at me with the standard defense mechanism of people yelling: "I care about you, of course I'm gonna nag you!" crap because that's not what I worked the last four years trying not to kick the bucket for. Especially when there's nothing that ties you to me, and vice versa.

I spent too many hours getting trash thrown at me whether through words or not to hear any of that this soon.

Sounds cheap, doesn't it?

Just some slightly taller toddler complaining about nothing; going on and on with sentence after sentence; my words reek of spoiled brat and selfish ingrate, don't they?

Good.

That's how it is.

That's how evert goddamn thing is.

Geez -

--- you don't care, do you?

Why should you? Not like anyone really cares when people do this type of thing. Not unless it's directly tied to them like a noose around their neck, threatening their lives, ready to take something they don't even realize to be important. Maybe it really isn't.

Maybe none of this has ever been important.

That's too easy, though, isn't it."

He set down the papers on the small desk in front of him as he used his other hand to pull his glasses away from his face, letting them fall. The metal of the frame gently hit the button on his vest, swaying a little by the chain connected to it.

Since when was the last time I had seen someone with chained glasses...

"There's no date or time written on any of these papers. Not like usual. Do you remember when you wrote this?" He got up from his chair that was positioned behind the table that separated him from my place on the couch. He took long strides to his very large and very full bookshelf behind his desk and started skimming through his collection while I just replied with "No, I don't."

He turned back to me for a second before going back to searching and asked another question: "Do you have any guesses? Do you know if you wrote it as least during the course of this past year?"

I nodded, "Sometime this year, but I can't remember exactly what time...I only remember why I was so angry, but I wrote these papers after the morning I'm talking about."

The details had all escaped my mind's own bookshelf. Except, unlike his, it was a lot messier. Some shelves were practically empty while others were overflowing to the point where things had trailed down and formed a heap of...things...

I watched him as he muttered to himself for a minute or two before having an "Aha!" expression on his face. He began flicking his fingers through files in one of his desk drawers before pulling out one of them and walking back over.

"I've kept the entries you've given me from past sessions. Naturally, you can pick them up and read through them."

I narrowed my eyes at him as he splayed out all the old, crinkled and tear-stained papers out on the table in front of me. Like looking at evidence from a crime scene.

I'd swipe them out of the way if I could. But not only would that serve no purpose other than to rile me up even more, but it'd also create a bigger hassle for the person that was only trying to do his job.

So, begrudgingly, I picked up a random paper and read through it. Skimming through the words written in maybe the worst handwriting I'd ever seen.

"I've never written anything in high spirits." I said, it was really just me thinking out loud. But he turned it into something he could add on to, rather than just hum.

"Did you often journal when you were younger, when you were upset?"

I shook my head, setting the paper back down on the table. "I didn't learn how to properly write until I was in middle school, and by then, I didn't care to."

"So, why the change of heart?"

I sighed, "I don't know. I just started it cause I wanted to remember my thoughts."

'Then, was it compensation? Rather than to lead your thoughts out your brain and speak by them to someone else, you had preferred to remind yourself of what you felt by writing it down?"

His words checked out, but at the same time, I felt my brows furrow.

"I wanted to..." I heard myself trail off, and I started to try and search for words to continue, but found nothing. Again.

"When did you start writing?"

My shoulders slumped in relief when he switched to another question not long after I had begun to space out. I narrowed my eyes and looked back and forth between the different sheets of paper as I answered, "I started around the end of my freshman year...I think."

"Freshman year is oftentimes very stressful. It's another transition from being at the top grade to being the underdog, but it's also much more difficult with the less time you have to really enjoy your time as a free spirit. Did you start writing at the end of the year because only then, the stress settled in? Or, was it that you didn't have enough time during the school year?"

His question sort of annoyed me with his use of the word "stress". I didn't really know why, but hearing other people say the word, and to say it for me, never really...

"I don't know..."

I saw him nod as he looked at the floor for a second, before looking back at me.

'Well, our time has just about run out. But, before you leave, do you have anything else you'd like to get off your chest? Any doubts or of the like?"

I shook my head again, "No."

He gave me a small smile before standing up, me following suit. He reached out a hand and I took it.

"If anything comes up, feel free to call." He reminded, smiling softly the entire time.

I nodded, gave him my thanks, and left his office.

...

When I left, I ran into one of the ladies that usually sat at the front desk downstairs.

Evelyn, I think was her name...

I looked to her name tag and confirmed my suspicion.

"Oh! Miss Michael! How was your session?"

I put on a friendly smile and assured her it went fine to which she responded with how relieved she was. Why?

I thanked her and walked away, not realizing she had more to say, but didn't.

I walked out of the building and hailed a cab, looking out the window the whole way home.