I messed up. Really bad. As a result, both my parents now hate me and it's renewed my depression. I know I should update my other stories, but they are too happy for me. I needed something similar to my problems, which is where this story fits in. So because of my stupidness, you have a new chapter. I hope you like it, I guess.

Disclaimer: Nope, you're not reading any official Camp Rock stuff. Sorry.


You glance over at my tapping foot. It's really annoying, but I can't help it. I know you're too scared to tell me to stop. I wish I would stop. It's only freaking me out more.

"Shane Gray?" the receptionist calls. You smile feebly at me as I take in a deep breath. I sand up, my hand pulling you up too. We walk up to the desk together, my hand clenched tightly in yours. I try not to take in my surroundings, the sickly green walls and the sanitized smell. I instead decide to look at the pamphlets on the desk while you take care of everything. You're maturity is really shining out right now.

I leaf through each pamphlet, reading the titles. Eating Disorders: Much More Than Body Image , Schizophrenia: Me, Myself and I , Self Harm: Deeper Than The Skin. Couldn't they pick better titles? I freeze as the next one glares up at me.

Depression: Sadness That Leaves An Impression

I try to push the paper aside, but the next one has me gripping the desk.

Suicide: The Final Destination

I start breathing harshly. Your eyes flicker to me in concern while still speaking lowly to the receptionist. I can't even fake a smile, I just gulp and shake my head.

"Right this way," someone says to out left. I hesitantly turn. I know who it is. We follow the woman in a suit down a hallway, 5th room on the left. She opens the door for us, an easy smile on her face. I slowly ease into the room. This is the part I've been dreading.

A mahogany desk sits in the right corner of the green room. There's a green armchair near the middle of the room, facing the far wall. In front of it is the dreaded lounge.

"Have a seat," the woman says, gesturing to the lounge. "I'm Dr. Green and I will be your psychiatrist for the next few months."

Huh. So that's why everything is green.

"Nice to meet you," you say, stiffly holding out your hand for her to shake.

I just sigh and stay quite.

"So today, we'll just get to know each other, okay?" Dr. Green cheerfully says.

You quickly nod, sitting straight up showing Dr. Green she has all of your attention. I, on the other hand, am slouching and sulking on the other side of the lounge chair.

"Okay, so Shane, how old are you?"

"Twenty," I murmur.

Dr. Green nods and writes it down. "And how long have you been feeling sad?"

"Few months…" I mutter.

You frown at me as she writes it down too. "Is there a particular thing that triggered it, that you know of?"

I stay silent for a little bit. Just as you look back at me to see what's wrong, I open my mouth. "I don't know, maybe just life in general. Everything and everyone is moving forward and I'm…I'm just me. I feel like I can't keep up with everything, I'm just an inconvenience… " I choke up.

You gaze sympathetically at me, but I look away.

"I see…" Dr. Green says as she jots it all down. "Why do you feel like an inconvenience?" She stares me directly in the eye.

I fidget. "Umm… Well, I think I just cause more pain than joy. That If I never came along, everyone's life would be better." I hear your choked breathing, but I try to ignore it. "I know there's something wrong with me, that's why I came to you."

Dr. Green nods. " Okay, so I have some background information. Here's a journal. I want you to write in it every day, write down every emotion you feel and why it came on. Bring it back in two weeks and we'll go over it. But just remember, I can't help you if you don't want help. So, until next time," she briefly smiles at us.

You gulp and stand up, almost yanking me out of her room. I stare at you incredulously as you drag me outside and into your car, where you push me into the driver's seat. You run around to the other side and collapse into the passenger seat. I tentatively reach over and place my hand over your shoulder. Your body is shaking with sobs, and I don't know what to do.

"Shane…" you cry. "Do you really think you're worthless?"

My throat is too thick to talk, so I nod.

"But, what about me? Do you know how much that would hurt me?" you shriek.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry," I murmur, pulling you into my arms and crying into your hair. It's a while until we pull out of the parking lot.


I think the next chapter will be a journal entry. Maybe. We'll see.