[Trigger Warning: Discussion of suicidal ideations]

"For today's session, we're going to do something a little different," the group therapist says with a smile.

It's been a month. Everything is going...surprisingly smooth. Ben and Gloria visiting me is a constant now. I've respectfully asked my biological mom to not visit me. I don't know how I would react, I don't know if it would have a positive or negative effect on me, and I don't want to chance it.

Because I am taking this seriously. I thought I did the first time, but I think I was just going through the motions. I tried to spin it to keep my emotions safe. I'm nearly positive that's why I relapsed.

You can talk about your problems all you want to. You can learn about things until you're doing it by osmosis practically. You can talk about all the things you plan on doing to be better until you're blue in the face.

But the first time I was here, I did all those things, but I didn't feel them. I knew I was a wreck, but I also didn't have enough confidence in myself to actually think I could make it. I expected to end up being a failure, like I always did in the back of my mind. I felt largely bullied into the entire thing. Plus there was no sense of urgency to any of it.

Now? Fuck that. Now the stakes are too high. I've resigned myself to the fact I blew things with Tristan. It sucks because I don't know if I'll ever meet anyone as perfect as he was. But just in case I do, if fate cares to bless me with someone equally awesome down the line, well...I want to actually keep it this time. I wanna be better for them.

Then there's Jake. If I have any hope of salvaging my relationship with my best friend, I have to try. I have to be better. I can't lose Jake on top of Tristan, I just can't. If I am to pull this off, I have to actually fucking mean it, and I have to prove that to Jake. I can't just say I'm better—I have to pull the fucking trigger and be better.

In fact, to go meta on the subject, I think that's why I ended up trying to kill myself. I wasn't actually better after rehab last time. I wasn't actually using the tools given to me. It had been just a patch; I was still bleeding profusely everywhere but denied it.

All that happened because it's scary to acknowledge everything. It's terrifying to own up to your faults, and there's a certain disappointment that comes along with looking yourself in the face and knowing how truly fucked up you actually are. It's sad, it's really, really fucking sad. You don't want to look at the shambles of your life and be like, "Damn, this is so fucked up it could be a movie."

You don't want to admit that you have trauma. You don't want to face your demons, especially if you have more demons than most. It's so incredibly difficult for me to look at my life and be like, "Yeah, I felt unworthy of love the first ten years of my life because no one was adopting me. My adoptive parents were emotionally, physically, and sexually abusive. I had a traumatic coming out. My first love basically raped me, so that's manifested in me having to be in control of sex, always the one who initiates it.".

It's really difficult to look at all that and have a fistful of diagnoses to go along with them. You're Depressed because of your childhood. You developed OCD in an attempt to control things because you felt so out of control of everything for the first half of your life. You have a severe anxiety disorder because you just expect the worst to happen, because it's what you've grown accustomed to; you don't ever feel safe because you lacked safety in your formative years so your baseline anxiety is constantly elevated. You developed Bulimia as part of your OCD and from the pressures of fame.

The first time around I acknowledged all that. But I sure as fuck didn't internalize any of it. Because if I did that, I'd have to admit I'm fundamentally a broken person.

No one wants to admit that about themselves.

But now I'm willing to, because if I lose Tristan and Jake, well...Truthfully I'm afraid of what I'd do. I feel like I would do something drastic. This time, I wouldn't fuck around and I'd make sure no one found me so they couldn't stop me.

So this has to work.

"Today I want you to tell me something you wish for," said our group therapist. "It could be silly, or could be serious. We'll have an open floor policy, so you don't have to wait your turn. But, I do want to get to everyone today, so after a point I'll interrupt and have us move onto the next person. Is everyone okay with this?"

Everyone agreed.

A lot of people went for the superficial. Boats, houses, winning the lottery (there ensued a discussion about what people would do with a ton of money. Scott and I remain respectfully silent, occasionally shooting each other amused looks.). Some wished for mortality issues, like world peace and an end to hunger and greed. Some wished better for themselves and for their families.

Then it was my turn. I looked at my feet and spoke.

"I wish I was someone else."

With my words the levity of the room came to a screeching, abrupt, quiet halt, and I felt everyone's eyes on me. Hey. I was just being honest.

"What makes you wish that?" the therapist asked.

I immediately felt guilty. Here we were actually having a good, light-hearted discussion for once, and I went and ruined it. I glanced around myself, and when I saw everyone staring at me seriously, I felt myself blush and drop my eyes.

"My life."

"What about your life?"

"Look," I say, re-situating in my seat so I can look at everyone. "I'm not trying to be a dick here, but I just find it funny. A lot of you guys wished for money and cars and stuff, like it would magically make you happier." I shake my head at everyone. "I know, I know, it's cliche, but seriously, that shit doesn't make you happy. It doesn't make your life easier. If that were the case, Scott and I wouldn't be here right now."

Scott chuckles and holds up his hands. "Oi, don't drag me into this."

I roll my eyes at him, chuckling myself, if only as an attempt to dissipate some of the stifling awkwardness I've inserted into the room. "I know, I know. The grass is always greener on the other side." I grow serious then and look down, picking at my thumb cuticle. "What I would give to just be some random face in the crowd."

When the room goes quiet, I'm eternally grateful that Scott jumps to my aid. "I get it. The constant scrutiny. The constant second guessing your actions and what you've said, because you don't want to upset anyone."

I smile at him. "Y-yeah. Or, if you're like me, you just stop caring and let whatever fly out of your mouth."

A couple people chuckle at that.

"Why do you think you're like that?" the therapist prompts me with a gentle smile.

I glare off to the side immediately. "My emotions. Actually, I don't know which I wish for more—to be a nobody, or to not have emotions. They're stupid."

Scott sighs then, shaking his head. "They're not stupid...We've talked about this, mate."

"Why do you wish to be emotionless?" the therapist interjects before I can reply to Scott.

I told myself that I wasn't going to cry today, but I failed already. Laughing, I quickly wipe a tear from my face. "Because my heart's been broken one too many times? Because I'm fucking miserable? Because it hurts so Goddamn much?"

Suddenly my anger bubbles up. "Because I've always noticed that I feel everything differently than most people. I feel things much more intensely than other people." I sniff a moment, wipe my nose on my palm, and look at my hand. "Because if I wasn't such a Goddamn emotional wreck I wouldn't have as many problems as I do? Because if I wasn't such a fucking cunt I wouldn't be here right, crying in front of all you, with the love of my life gone, my best friend pissed at me, and one of my good friends in jail."

"Orion," the therapist tells me gently. "You're not a c-word."

That nearly makes me laugh. Almost. Instead I cross my arms stubbornly and glare to the side.

"Has anyone told you about the groundbreaking case studies regarding empathy and childhood trauma?"

Now I look at her, curious.

"You mention that you feel everything stronger than others. I also am certain you're the type of person who would literally give the shirt off your back to someone who needs it."

I think of Olivia and my hoodie, and it makes me smile a little.

"Did you ever think that, maybe your problems don't stem from your emotions being out of line, but your emotions are so big because of what you've been through?"

Admittedly, I hadn't. I looked back at the therapist, intrigued.

"Orion," she continues, giving me a smile. "Having feelings is more than alright. Having strong emotions is alright. It's what you do with all that that matters. It's how you process them, and what you physically do with them. Obviously I'm not condoning violent outbursts or being verbally nasty towards someone. But there's a reason for all that."

I'm not entirely sure why, but what she's saying just makes me cry more. She smiles at me sympathetically. I'm embarrassed when a fellow patient hands me the box of tissues.

"Anger is a valid emotion," continues our therapist. "It's just as valid as happiness. Just because of its negative connotations, and just because it tends to be more volatile than other emotions, doesn't mean that you shouldn't feel it."

I blow my nose quietly.

"The same can be applied to sadness. There are reasons behind sadness. Once again, just because it's a difficult emotion, you shouldn't wish you didn't have it. Our emotions are the nerve endings of our brains. For example; when we physically get a paper cut, we bleed and feel pain. It's how our bodies let us know something is wrong. Orion."

I'm just about sobbing now, my hand shoved into my mouth in an attempt to stay quiet. The therapist smiles at me still.

"Your emotions are so bold because they're trying to get your attention. It's your brain telling you, 'Hey, I need help.' So that's why ignoring it, and shoving it down makes everything ten times worse. It just makes your brain scream louder."

I nod. She smiles a final time.

"Does this make sense to you?"

I nod and shut my eyes tight, because if I speak I'll just turn into an incoherent, blubbering mess.

"Alright, excellent. This is good progress for you." She then turns her smiling face on someone else. "Alright, Janice. What do you wish for?"

And when I finally open my eyes again, I see Scott smiling at me, looking so proud.