MY FIRST ATTEMPT TO GET HELP

JOURNAL ENTRY - IT WAS TIME

It was time. I don’t know what made it time, or how it got to be time, but it was time.
I made it. I was there.
I sat in psyche services ready to find an answer to end the worse year of my life. God please don’t let anyone I know walk through this lobby and witness my inability to slap on a smile and chose a career today!
“Newanda?” The receptionist had to blare out my name in front of everyone waiting.
“Ah, yes, right here.” Fuck it. I stood up tall and proud. Hell yeah I want some medication and someone to talk to. I walked into a tiny room and was faced with my “help.” A tall thin weasly man in his early thirties sat behind a desk.
“You must be Newanda.”
“Yeah.” I sat down and crossed my legs refusing to relax.
“What brought you here today?” Here goes everything.
“Well you see I am a senior…never been in therapy before my the way…and I have no idea what to do for the rest of my life, or where to go, or who will listen, and I have no one to talk to.”
“What about friends? Do you have any close friends?” What if I didn’t? He knew nothing about therapy. That question could be grounds for suicide, but thankfully, I had plenty of friends.
“Of course I have friends.”
“Do you talk to them about your worries?”
“Yes, sort of.” What did this bifocal kid, who probably lived a life of nerdem know about anything. It was a second semester senior about the face the real world in a few short months. I had serious roommate problems, let’s restate that one, I had SERIOUS roommate problems – I had an old friend that pretended nothing happened in Europe, an old friend that made my life a living hell every fucking day, an old friend that took showers in the community shower with his new girlfriend, an old friend that was now not even a friend, worse than an enemy, a cross between a memory, a wish, a hope, and a death sentence – and the flame on the candle, on top of the icing, dripping down the cake, was the brutal reality that I had no job and was experiencing anxiety attacks about the future.
“And do you take any drugs?”
“Like weed?” From his reaction I could tell that he wasn’t asking about recreational drugs, nor was he prepared for the truth.
“Sure, I smoke weed, on occasion.” The lies felt good. They masked the pretentious judgment I felt searing my skin.
“But you do other drugs as well?”
“No. I don’t even smoke weed that much. Only when I am with certain friends.”

We baked it, smoked it, boiled it on the stove with butter and poured it onto toast for breakfast. Evan. Simply put, he was hot. I could enter his sweet filled with five other roommates, and swim through the haze of bud to find him ripping a bong hit like we were at PCU. What started as a few joints here and there, turned into a daily feast for me to calm the anxious panic of my brain. Plus, there was always the potential that Evan would hook up with me. I would enter the boys’ suite and everyone would chant “Give her her medicine.” They thought I had way too much energy and couldn’t handle my excessive enthusiasm. Bong hits rolled to giant blunts which resulted in munchies which ended in pot brownies. I was a pothead. But it was okay because I never bought it. These guys grew it right there in the closets.
Ecstasy, pot, Valium, booze…there were nights I lost the connection between my body and mind and thought to myself, this is it. I have intoxicated myself with enough escapes and now it is time. I closed my eyes and prayed to God I would return from the complete lost of mind and body. But the world was blank, and I was sure God was pissed.
“One one thousand. Two two thousand. Three three thousand.” Ok, I can still count even though I can’t stand up, or even cry, but I can count. I wanted to die without realizing I was choosing to do so.

The nerd continued to stare me down.
“Okay. So there are no other drugs being used.”
“I have tired X and Riddlin. Actually Riddlin is something that a friend recommended for my hyperactivity and inability to sit still, which was really hard to start taking because I hate the idea of taking a drug to alter the personality that God gave you. Like all those kids that are on Riddlin because kindergarten teachers can’t deal with their innate energy. Maybe they should return to the old days when they would simply strap kids to their chairs and not let anyone out, you know.”
“I see. Well, your time is up. Would you like to schedule another meeting? I would like to explore more and talk a little about your family life.”
“Sure, why not.” I stood up ready to leave this ignoramus.
Fresh cold air hit my face. I thought I would go back. I never did.