“I lay on the floor for an hour.”
“How often do you feel depressed?”
“I would’ve like… stayed there longer, but Nasty made me get up. And I did… but for what? Seriously. What do we do here?”
“Have you ever tried to harm yourself?”
“No, but, people are calling me a faggot, and today some ass burned a hole in my jacket with a soldering iron. I’m not gay! Ms. Nasty says I'll have to leave the class if this continues, like I’m some distraction—”
“Is anyone in your family depressed?”
“—Everything you tell me ends up being wrong. My team is not really a team, my friends are not really friends, and my parents say they care— but they send me here. To this fucking— no offense— fucking place where just talking to someone… I mean, really talking, not that stupid fake-talking I do everyday… is like defying gravity. They don’t see me for twelve hours a day, but they make decisions about what I should do. They think I have it good since I’m not starving in Africa. And when I grow up, I already know that the best I can be is to be like them. What’s the point?”
“Why don’t you tell me…”
“Are you even listening?”
“People with depression often view situations as hopeless. It’s a chemical imbalance that can be corrected with proper treatment. You can be tested for it, Mike. I have the form right here...”
“Maybe this stupid school causes it— the people. Maybe it’s normal to be depressed.”
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