rules…”
“I get it. I’m forbidden to talk negatively about myself because I need to change my inner dialogue.” Granted, his self-esteem was non-existent, but he wasn’t stupid.
“If you can’t love yourself…”
“I know…” He was trying to center his thoughts on only positive things, but his inner voice sounded a lot like his father. Everything he’d ever done wrong ran through his head. It ranged from a bad grade on a test because he was stupid to sounding like a jackass when he talked to not being good at sports and for being an overall disappointment. Thankfully, his father hadn’t figured out he was gay.
“Do you love yourself?”
Did not wanting to kill yourself anymore count as loving yourself? Hmmm, probably not. His mom loved him unconditionally. She even knew he was gay and made him promise he would only settle down with a nice boy. “I’m working on it.” Love wasn’t an easy thing.
More scratching of the pen across the yellow pages filled them. He almost didn’t care what the guy wrote. “So if you were going to talk to Ethan what would you say?”
He needed to spit out something. He actually found a couple of the techniques that did work. Cutter shut his eyes. He took, held, and released ten deep breaths. He visualized Storm. Oddly enough, he found comfort in the images of Uli and Alex standing on either side of his best friend. He banished the image but kept his eyes closed as loneliness slipped over him.
“Storm, I love you. I always have and I always will, but I know you don’t want to be with me.” He didn’t blame Storm for not loving him romantically. No one would want to be tied to a freak like him. Oops, he was negative in his inner dialogue again. Note to self: shut the fuck up . He cleared his throat. He was just saying what the therapist needed him to say so he wasn’t sure why it hurt. “It’s okay you don’t love me back. You’re my best friend. We’ll always be friends.”
“What just happened?”
“Huh?” Opening his eyes, Cutter saw the therapist pointing to his arm. He dug his fingernails into his skin. Just a little more and he would draw blood. The thought tempted him and heightened his need for the relief. The pain would answer his need and clear his head. A bloody slice would wash the mess in his head away, if only for a little while. He released his nails and traced the half moon indents in his arm. He tried not to be sorry he didn’t break skin.
“What happened?”
Isn’t that what the doctor is supposed to figure out? How the fuck should he know? “I guess I was feeling too much. I don’t like being overwhelmed.”
The therapist nodded his approval. “What are some other things that you can do when you’re submerged in too much emotion?”
“Take a walk. Talk to a friend. Draw a picture. Read a book. Take a bath. Do something else.” Do something other than what everything in him said he needed to do to survive one more minute of his fucking life.
The therapist crossed the room to his obsessively clean desk and opened his top desk drawer. He pulled out a handful of rubber bands. “Put one on your wrist and when you are overwhelmed, snap the band.” The therapist demonstrated. “Ow!” He rubbed the red line encircling the top of his wrist.
What a wuss. Cutter resisted the urge to crack up as the therapist warned him to be careful with those. A rubber band didn’t quite compare to the pain caused by alcohol poured into a fresh cut, but he knew he needed something. He needed to hurt externally to allow the pain from the inside a place to manifest so everything would temporarily disperse.
When the session ground down to a halt, the therapist did his usual send-off speech. “I’ll see you on Thursday. If you have any problems or issues, you have the number. Call and speak to someone immediately.”
“Sure, Doc. Catch you later.”
Damn, he had time to kill before visiting hours so he read and attended a painting class. He
“I get it. I’m forbidden to talk negatively about myself because I need to change my inner dialogue.” Granted, his self-esteem was non-existent, but he wasn’t stupid.
“If you can’t love yourself…”
“I know…” He was trying to center his thoughts on only positive things, but his inner voice sounded a lot like his father. Everything he’d ever done wrong ran through his head. It ranged from a bad grade on a test because he was stupid to sounding like a jackass when he talked to not being good at sports and for being an overall disappointment. Thankfully, his father hadn’t figured out he was gay.
“Do you love yourself?”
Did not wanting to kill yourself anymore count as loving yourself? Hmmm, probably not. His mom loved him unconditionally. She even knew he was gay and made him promise he would only settle down with a nice boy. “I’m working on it.” Love wasn’t an easy thing.
More scratching of the pen across the yellow pages filled them. He almost didn’t care what the guy wrote. “So if you were going to talk to Ethan what would you say?”
He needed to spit out something. He actually found a couple of the techniques that did work. Cutter shut his eyes. He took, held, and released ten deep breaths. He visualized Storm. Oddly enough, he found comfort in the images of Uli and Alex standing on either side of his best friend. He banished the image but kept his eyes closed as loneliness slipped over him.
“Storm, I love you. I always have and I always will, but I know you don’t want to be with me.” He didn’t blame Storm for not loving him romantically. No one would want to be tied to a freak like him. Oops, he was negative in his inner dialogue again. Note to self: shut the fuck up . He cleared his throat. He was just saying what the therapist needed him to say so he wasn’t sure why it hurt. “It’s okay you don’t love me back. You’re my best friend. We’ll always be friends.”
“What just happened?”
“Huh?” Opening his eyes, Cutter saw the therapist pointing to his arm. He dug his fingernails into his skin. Just a little more and he would draw blood. The thought tempted him and heightened his need for the relief. The pain would answer his need and clear his head. A bloody slice would wash the mess in his head away, if only for a little while. He released his nails and traced the half moon indents in his arm. He tried not to be sorry he didn’t break skin.
“What happened?”
Isn’t that what the doctor is supposed to figure out? How the fuck should he know? “I guess I was feeling too much. I don’t like being overwhelmed.”
The therapist nodded his approval. “What are some other things that you can do when you’re submerged in too much emotion?”
“Take a walk. Talk to a friend. Draw a picture. Read a book. Take a bath. Do something else.” Do something other than what everything in him said he needed to do to survive one more minute of his fucking life.
The therapist crossed the room to his obsessively clean desk and opened his top desk drawer. He pulled out a handful of rubber bands. “Put one on your wrist and when you are overwhelmed, snap the band.” The therapist demonstrated. “Ow!” He rubbed the red line encircling the top of his wrist.
What a wuss. Cutter resisted the urge to crack up as the therapist warned him to be careful with those. A rubber band didn’t quite compare to the pain caused by alcohol poured into a fresh cut, but he knew he needed something. He needed to hurt externally to allow the pain from the inside a place to manifest so everything would temporarily disperse.
When the session ground down to a halt, the therapist did his usual send-off speech. “I’ll see you on Thursday. If you have any problems or issues, you have the number. Call and speak to someone immediately.”
“Sure, Doc. Catch you later.”
Damn, he had time to kill before visiting hours so he read and attended a painting class. He
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