So this is short but I wanted to post something quickly. Don't worry I'll post even more soon. Same thing applies don't read if it will trigger you and if you need to talk PM me.
I don't own House of Anubis.
The next Trudy drives Eddie and me to the treatment place. Even that word upsets me, I don't want treatment, but it's what Eddie wants me to do. That is my motivation. If I can't do this for myself than I'll do this for him. When we pull up to the center he gets out of the car and hugs me, "Good luck, I'll see you soon. I believe in you."
When I get in there the first thing I do is sit down in a chair. I sit while Trudy signs some forms and says goodbye and good luck. I sit while doctors and nurses go back and forth. Finally someone comes up to me, a woman who I assume is a nurse, "Patricia?" She asks me.
"Yeah," I say.
"We're doing art therapy right now if you want to participate," she tells me.
I can tell that it is a test and that answering no will cause her to mark something down on the clipboard she is carrying so I say, "Sure why not?"
Later that day I am told to go see a doctor. I go into her office and sit down on the couch. The room is filled with books that have titles about mental health. It is rather intimidating.
"So Patricia," she says, "I'm Dr. Owens."
"Nice to meet you," I say, "I came in here because my boyfriend told me that I should but I'm feeling better now I mean really I am so I think you should just send me home. I did the art therapy and I really think that I am feeling fine and that you don't need to keep me here. I promise I won't cut myself."
"Whoa slow down," she says, "Do you always talk that fast?"
"Sometimes," I answer, "I guess maybe I do. I'm not sure."
"What about spend large amounts of money on wild shopping sprees?"
"Um I guess," I tell her, thinking of the $500 I blew at the mall over the weekend, "What does this have to do with anything?"
"You were admitted for self harm. Do you ever have thoughts of suicide?"
"I used to," I tell her, "I'm fine now but during a hard time I did."
"A hard time?" She asks.
"Like when you're stressed, upset, uh, depressed, you know, hard times," I clarify, "Do you know what's wrong with me?"
"Yes," she says, "You have bipolar disorder."
This is a bit rushed... the meeting with the doctor that is. Bipolar is not usually diagnosed so casually but I needed to do that for the story.
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