Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush.

Til I Forget About You

Only the Tip of the Iceberg

It was time for my second therapy session at the Sycamore Treatment Center. The only thing I was required to do here was attend my therapy session once a day. That was the highlight of my day or the bane of my existence.

I still couldn't have visitors for another two days. The day I was finally allowed to have visitors couldn't come soon enough. The only person I really talked to here was Dr. White, and that was only when I went in for my therapy session. Other than that though, I was pretty much isolated from everyone; I stayed in my room, and my food was brought to me.

Cell phones and laptops were prohibited here, so there was no way of even contacting the outside world. That's pretty pathetic, huh? Calling everything outside of the Sycamore Treatment Center "the outside world." Anyways, so there was no calling, texting, instant messaging, or getting on the internet. Heck, we could be living in a post-apocalyptic world right now, and I wouldn't even know it because it was outside the Sycamore Treatment Center.

I had plenty of time to simmer down since my last therapy session. After thinking things through with a clear head, there is a strong likelihood that I may have overreacted. I had a tendency of being overly sensitive. When that happens, the best thing for me is time and space. Let me cool off on my own and on my own terms. Kendall and Carlos know this. Apparently, so does Dr. White. James doesn't though. Usually, when he and I get into a fight, he chases after me rather than leave me alone and let me cool off.

The fourth stage of grief was depression. That was a pretty accurate way of describing how I felt right now: depressed. I was so lonely here. I missed my friends. Logically, I knew that I had been apart from them longer when I was living in New York, but somehow it seemed like an eternity since I had seen them last.

"Hello, Logan," Dr. White greeted, giving me a professional smile as she entered the room.

I wasn't sure if her smile was genuine or not. It was hard to tell. I mean she could very well still be upset with me because of how I behaved yesterday. Frankly, I wouldn't blame her if she was still upset with me.

"I'm really sorry for how I acted yesterday. That wasn't me. I mean technically, I guess it was me because I was the one who behaved in such a manner, but what I meant to say was that it wasn't a true representation of the person I normally am. If that even made sense…" I rambled.

Dr. White laughed. I stared down at my feet. I usually only rambled when I was nervous or uneasy. In this particular instance, I wasn't sure whether I was nervous or uneasy. My thoughts drifted for a moment. I thought of Camille. She always thought my rambling was cute. I missed her too. So much. I would give anything for things to go back to the way they were before this whole mess even happened. For us to be together and happy again. The only problem was that as much as I wanted to forget about everything that happened between then and now, I couldn't. Too much had happened, and I couldn't ignore it or try to run away from it any longer.

"Apology accepted. I had actually forgiven you long ago. Just so you know, I was never upset with you. Believe me, I've received much worse. In fact, your outburst yesterday pales in comparison to some of the outbursts of other patients," Dr. White said.

"You have to understand though that I am really good at solving problems, as long as they're not mine. When it comes to my own problems, not only am I not good at solving them, but I don't even like to admit that I have any to begin with. On the off chance that I do admit I have problems, I turn away other people's help because I like to try to handle my problems on my own," I explained.

Dr. White simply nodded her head. She didn't look the least bit surprised at anything I was saying to her.

"It's a matter of pride then. That is a perfectly natural response. None of us like to admit that there is something wrong with us. Denial is an extremely common defense mechanism. We often shy away from asking for help because we have this conception that asking for help is a sign of weakness when it is not. As much as we might want to always be able to stand on our own two feet by ourselves, we can't always do that; sometimes we need the help of others just to stand on our own two feet, and Logan, that's okay," Dr. White said.

I didn't quite know what was going on; maybe it was because I was on some sort of roll, but I couldn't stop myself from confessing even more things to her about myself.

"It's hard to say who really was responsible for me wanting to commit suicide because it was nobody's fault, yet at the same time, it was everybody's fault, including mine. You see, the way I deal with my emotions, well I compare it metaphorically to a bottle. Every little thing that hurts my feelings or upsets me fills up the bottle. Once the bottle is so filled up that it can't possibly hold any more, it overflows; that is when I either have an emotional breakdown and cry, or have an outburst and yell. But, you see, even though one thing causes the metaphorical bottle to overflow, it by itself isn't enough to cause the bottle to fill up," I told her.

I didn't even allow her a chance to respond, before I continued on.

"I know that probably isn't the best way for me to deal with my emotions, but regardless, that's how I do it. I've always done it that way for as long as I can remember," I commented.

"You're right. There are better ways for you to deal with your emotions. Having said that, I also realize how extremely difficult it is for you to change your ways, especially given how that is all you have ever known. Let me ask you something; why do you think you deal with your emotions the way you do?" Dr. White inquired.

I shrugged my shoulders. Now that I think about it, I never have given much thought to why I deal with my emotions in such a manner. I just did it because I've always done it that way, I guess.

"I don't know. Maybe because I'm not confrontational. I don't like the physiological reaction my body has to being in a confrontation; my heart feels like it's in my throat, my palms get all sweaty, my pulse accelerates, my hands shake, my knees wobble," I answered.

"So when someone says something that upsets you or hurts your feelings, you just…turn the other cheek because you want to avoid a confrontation, correct?" she asked.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"What makes you so certain there will even be a confrontation?"

"I'm not, but it's better to be safe than sorry, right?"

"So it's also because you are pessimistic."

That was more of a statement than a question. I took some time to let all this sink in. Surprisingly, it was all so very revealing. It was providing me with great insight. I was learning things about myself that even I didn't know. For example, I never knew that the reason why I deal with my emotions the way I do was because I was both pessimistic and non-confrontational. I had no idea those three things were even connected.

"Let's back up a bit, shall we? Let's go back to the way you deal with your emotions; your metaphorical bottle. Leading up to your attempted suicide, was there anything else you can think of that could have filled up your metaphorical bottle? Perhaps something happened in New York," Dr. White conjectured.

"Yeah. A lot happened in New York," I replied, being as vague as I could.

I already felt me close myself off to her once more. Yet again, the walls she had spent so much time and effort to knock down went right back up. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. My eyes stung with tears. The most painful memories I had took place in New York. It was as clear as day to me now that going there was a huge mistake. Why would I want to relive that again? I tried so hard to shove it to the far recesses of my mind.

"What happened in New York?" Dr. White questioned.

I twiddled with my thumbs absentmindedly. I firmly pressed my lips together, and shook my head back and forth. Somehow, some tears had managed to make it into my mouth, and I could taste their saltiness.

"Logan, I am so proud of you. Come on. You are doing so good. You have made more strides, bigger strides, faster than most of my other patients. I realize this isn't easy for you, but remember what we talked about before? It's okay for you to ask for help so that you can stand on your own two feet. That's what I'm here for; I'm here to help you. I'm on your side. So let me in. Let me help you," Dr. White pleaded.

"New York was horrible. I had…" I said, before I was interrupted by a sob. "I had no one. Sure, I moved there with Camille, but she never had any time for me. She was always so busy. I tried. I did everything I could possibly think of. I got her gifts. I made her meals. I made plans for the two of us. None of it mattered though. She always had some excuse; she had already ate or had plans to go eat. She was too tired, or she had already made plans with co-stars. Eventually…I stopped even trying. What was the point?"

This was hard. This was really hard. I hated how I was villainizing someone who I cared so deeply about even if we were no longer together. I made her seem like such a horrible person when she wasn't; she wasn't a horrible person at all. Though I'm sure that Dr. White disagreed.

I had to stop to regain my composure. I sobbed uncontrollably for I don't even know how long. Dr. White handed me a box of tissues. I used them to wipe my nose and dry my eyes. By the time my frayed nerves had calmed down, there were I'm sure near two dozen tissues strewn about.

"School wasn't any better. I got beat up and bullied every day. The main antagonist, Conrad, I don't even know what I did to him, but he had it out for me from day one. Of course, it didn't help that I was interested in a lot of the same things he was; I was in show choir, and I was on the hockey team," I said.

"Maybe he felt threatened by you," Dr. White suggested.

"Why would anyone feel threatened by me?"

"Maybe he thought you were trying to steal his thunder."

"But I wasn't! All I wanted was to fit in! All I wanted was to feel like I belonged!"

I started crying all over again. I was an emotional wreck. I hated it. Dr. White probably thought I was a big crybaby. I was sensitive and emotional yes, but I would hardly call myself a crybaby. That was the thing too; usually, I didn't even cry this much. To make matters worse, I didn't even know why I was crying.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to fit in. There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel like you belong. Look, maybe we should stop for the day. Thank you for sharing with me, Logan," she said.

I was telling her a lot about myself, but truthfully, it was only because I had no one else to talk to, and I felt as though I needed to talk to someone about this. I'm not sure, but she probably thought she was making a lot of progress with me. What she didn't know was that everything I have told her was only the tip of the iceberg. There was still much that I had yet to tell her. There were even things that I intentionally left out.

To Be Continued…

A/N: I kind of feel like this chapter sucked. I by no means am a therapist. I also have never been to a therapist. It's kind of hard to write how a therapist thinks and talks when you have absolutely no idea; when you have nothing to base it off of. Oh, and what the heck is up with the air date for the next new episode of BTR? First, it was 'Big Time Songwriters' on January 17th. Then, it was January 21st. Then, they decided 'Big Time Crush' would air before 'Big Time Songwriters,' and the former would air on February 5th. On a more positive note, I am ecstatic that the Logan torture fic is starting to pull away in my poll. This is a weird thing to say, but I am glad you all (well, most of you) want to read about Logan being tortured as much as I want to write about it. Lastly, I came up with a title for the Logan/Camille fic in my poll; "No Way Out." I edited my poll accordingly to reflect the potential future stories that I have come up with titles for.