#it's somewhere around this point that all previous therapists/psychiatrists just...give up

[march-for-no-reason]

.

No, you are not being difficult...but your mind is. [yes you totally are] The plus side, it’s helping, for now. It’s reached that point again where therapist and I clash, and they cannot give me a sufficient reason to concede anything further.  They always say that I’m overthinking, using too much jargon...Why is it so structured? Why big words? Could you simplify it? Yes. Okay.  Okay, it’s clear but...can you just state it as is, how you feel, and not...so technical.  Er. No. That’s as much as I can boil down. I don’t know what you want, this is how I’ve always been. Is it that odd to have structured thought if you want it to come out of your mouth? It’s either non-communicable abstract half-thoughts, or translated into coherent sentences. There is no in-between. Is it such a crime to be actually...think in an orderly fashion?  It’s difficult, (yeah I know) and she concedes that this has helped me so much over the years, but ‘could you say what you think, without the rationalization’. Um. No.  She pressed me, it came out, even more ‘technical’ as she claimed. Tried to stop me part way because I was thinking it too much again, allegedly. I interrupted and just talked. I asked her what part is unclear, if she had clarification questions. No, I was quite thorough and clear, concise this time. The unspoken part lingers heavily - that’s not how ‘normal’ people speak. She keeps trying to tell me to not worry about being ‘normal’, but keeps telling me to speak in a ‘normal’ fashion. Squeezing those half-thoughts into words. That was painful. Shaking, crying, and difficult to breath. She tells me to make eye contact. I can’t, I know I’ll break down if I do, it was already a chore to control it. I can do it sometimes, far more difficult under stress, why is this such a...mandatory part of communication. I’m not mumbling, I’m not incoherent. Just overwhelmed. Your method of thinking is distressing you, look, you, it hinders communication, you can’t breath....Yeah, I don’t think it’s the thought process. But it could be?  ... I’m not anti-recovery, I hate the stress and distress it brings me. It’s the frustration of being quite clear - yeah, over-explaining some times, but still not understood. What more do you want from me? Clarifications? Questions? Nope, I understand but I don’t comprehend. SO WHY IS IT SO WRONG WHEN I DO IT? I’m not comparing myself to some standard of normal, I’m not looking at other people and feeling inadequate compared to them, the background processes are tiring. That’s it. I can’t just shut them off.  Have you tried to? (Yes.) Try interacting without all that, it would be so much easier. (Duh.)  Yeah, I can’t function. I become mute, I get rooted to the spot, I short circuit. Try to...not?  Please elaborate. Grounding, mindfulness?  Yeah. No. That doesn’t help with the urgency of the task at hand, nor does it resolve the issue. I’m just stuck. Syntax error. BSOD. More information required. Nothing much, just, clear, literal instructions.  I had to write out an entire page deciphering ‘You didn’t try [hard enough] to help [at doing task] [well], in a way that my sister understands. The youngest was upset, screaming at her. Amy was in the middle of helping, and then went to pick up the phone, dealt with it quickly, and came back, by then I stepped in and finished the task. She got hung up on the ‘try’ and ‘hard enough’ because she did, and it’s not as if the phone call was expected nor should be just ignored. I had to explain, after much thought myself, that our sister was just upset at the gross wad of shower drain hair, that she was left alone with it for less than a minute. People regularly flip between saying what they mean and saying, but meaning the opposite or something completely different from what they say, and they think we’re weird for not being mind-readers.   Bonus: You keep telling me how uncomfortable you are at (x,y,z), and how they affect you after, and how upset you can be...but you’re still doing it. YES. I’VE BEEN SAYING THIS FROM THE START - I can if push comes to shove, it’s really unpleasant, I can hide it really well, which is mistaken for ‘improvement’, and keep it up, I just crash... But you are doing okay. Yeah, not really... You look to be doing better. ‘Appears to be...yeah’ It’s like making someone with a physical disability perform a strenuous task. Can they do it? Perhaps, but it can be painful, taxing and cause pain for days or weeks after the task. Except I should - simultaneously not brush it under the carpet, be okay with expressing it, but don’t . you are trying to get better, you work towards not being like this, being this way is not normal. You set boundaries through trial and error? You don’t want to push yourself to the point of a meltdown? It’s hindering your communication!  I’m trying to work out a safe way of gaining some ways of appearing to function normal. I’m being told - don’t need to try to appear normal, but oh btw, all those things, yeah, don’t do them. Do make eye contact, do not make distressed noises, do not shake... Things too much, you need to set boundaries. Oh, you say this is too far into your discomfort zone? You’re closing yourself off. I got told that ‘High-functioning’ is a mild form of autism the other day, by someone from the mental health vocational services. The unspoken ‘you can appear to function, therefore you don’t actually have a threshold and can just choose to...function. What do you mean you can’t keep it up? You’re doing fine (no, I’m not, but give me space, happy things, music, don’t push me, and I might be).  Enough of that. 

[bloodstainedlamb]

Something something season 1.

As run-down as he feels, Will doesn't decide to cancel his appointment with Dr. Lecter. The last thing he'd like to do is talk, but he refuses to miss it.

It's strange, still, wanting to be around another person. He teaches, that counts as being around other people, but he's never let anyone close enough to know him on more than the surface level. Doesn't speak to his students, only at them.

Until he was pulled off course by Jack Crawford, he'd wrap up the class, gather his lesson materials, and drive home to his dogs and his books. That was his routine. Deviations were uncomfortable unless he planned them himself, but he knew full well that he couldn't refuse Crawford when he requested his help. They'd only had minimal interaction beforehand, yet he could tell that he wasn't the kind of man who'd take "no" for an answer if he'd prefer it to be a "yes."

Now he's here, discussing the inner workings of his mind on the regular with...a psychiatrist. He generally turned to stone while being questioned in the past, eyes flinty as he turned them away. Thwarting every trick they tried, because he knew them all and none of the shrinks would understand anyway. "I am not to be studied" was the flag he flew.

Dr. Lecter is....different. He can see Will. Really see him. He sees, and he doesn't think less of him or treat him like he's made of glass. He isn't studying him.

So Will sits there in the waiting room, blinking at an elaborate, tastefully framed painting on the wall. Dark colors. Dark figures. He's not looking at it, he just needs somewhere to point his eyes. It's a bit macabre for a therapist's waiting room, he's seen that much, but Lecter isn't quite like any therapist he's ever met.

The previous night's sleep had been lackluster, punctuated by jolting awake out of vivid dreams. Nothing new about that. He absently reminds himself he has to wash the towels he's been wrapping his sweaty body in.

Lecter's office door swings open, accompanied by a pleasant greeting from the man himself. Will stands, nods his own "hello" as he enters the room. He doesn't want to sit in the "patient" chair, so he doesn't.

That was one of the first curious things he noted: Lecter never asks him to sit, allowing him to roam as he pleases. Will doesn't want to think of himself as a patient, finds it deeply gratifying that he isn't being treated like one. Like they're equals, almost acquaintances, and this isn't a doctor's office.

Dr. Lecter rarely bothers with the stereotypical questions, not after the first time Will rebuffed him, but today he does. Wearing an expression of concern, he asks, "How many hours of sleep have you had within the last week, Will? You look haggard, if you don't mind my saying."

After removing his jacket and brushing off any debris, Will sets it down on the fainting couch and takes a seat there. He rubs at one of his eyes, gives a bit of a laugh - a brief, bitter thing. "I don't mind." Lecter isn't one to sugarcoat. It's refreshing.

"And I don't, um. I don't know how many. Not enough, probably."

"Your dreams wake you in the night?"

Despite himself, he smiles. It's a soft lob.

"Oh, no. Obviously not. Didn't I just say I slept like a fucking baby?"

The doctor smiles back at him, amused - by both the statement and the coarse language in it, no doubt. No matter what Will says, he can never throw him off or offend his Old World sensibilities.

"Of course not... Your mind continues to contemplate the horrors of your work even while you are far from them. They follow you into your safe haven, your home. That couldn't possibly be conducive to nightmares."

Will sighs, giving up pretense. Lecter has a habit of gently nudging him into discussion by catching the threads of his defenses, drawing them out until they start undoing themselves. He allows it.

"It's... It feels like drowning, being lost in my sleep. Drowning in my own mind. Melting. Sometimes I arrive at the scene of the next killer's crime and I'm not entirely certain that I'm awake."

He almost adds, "Not entirely certain I'm awake now," decides to omit it. The doctor has his merits, but Will doesn't want him thinking he has complete unfettered access...though he sort of wants to let him have it, in a muted way that itches at the back of his skull. He looks up to see Lecter watching him with interest, as usual. His head at a slight curious tilt while he observes, almost reptilian in nature. Will's noticed he's not shy about looking, yet he never feels like a psychological zoo animal under his sharp eyes.

Lecter's interest isn't clinical. Will would feel it if it was. "Clinical" was always marked by a clear sense of separation: "I am the doctor, looking to go spelunking through the caves of your mind, and you are the patient, obligated to let me explore." No, it's something else, but he can't get a read on exactly what. Whatever it is, it's genuine. This doctor is both confusing and oddly comforting in that way.

"Lack of satisfactory sleep can do that to the human mind. We begin to confuse dreams with reality, reality with dreams. You say it feels as though you are drowning, do you mean this literally or metaphorically? When you wake, does it feel like you are back on solid dry land or still fighting to keep your head above water?"

Will hunches forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, folds his hands together between his knees. Stares at the floor. He doesn't like the implication of the questions.

"Careful, Doctor. I might think you're questioning my sanity."

"Or prodding me into questioning it myself."

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1207]

Ellana Lavellan has been referred to over ten different doctors in just as many, or as few, months. Morrison will be her eleventh. Notes from previous doctors aren't very helpful. They mention childhood trauma, altered or fabricated memories, an inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality, mood disorder, sudden personality changes, signs of PTSD — really, nothing new. There’s even a charming note from one of the doctors that says Ellana has imagined herself through an entire fantasy life of troubles and hardship, and for whatever reason seems to feel like the reality is the one she needs to leave behind.

Ellana Lavellan lies down on the couch without much prompting on Morrisons behalf for her to get comfortable. Morrison half expected as much. The woman has been to eleven different therapists in ten months. She’s sure there’s even more than that, but after going through the notes of eleven different doctors Morrison felt just a touch overwhelmed. And worried about those notes giving her a potential bias against a clearly troubled person in need of help.

“We’ve spoken over the phone but I’d like to introduce myself in person. Get a face to a name. I’m Doctor Morrison Pern. You can call me Morrison, if you want.”

“And you know that I’m Ellana Lavellan. Narnia child extraordinaire.”

“That’s a charming term for it.”

Ellana Lavellan, for all intents and purposes, appears to be a woman in her mid thirties who hasn’t slept enough and probably hasn’t eaten enough. She looks thin and pale and tired. But within her is the mind of a child who hasn’t gotten past the age of fourteen. It’s understandable in a way. Ellana’s entire zip code was wiped off the map at age fourteen and she was the only survivor. Anyone could get stuck there. Anyone would rewrite reality, their own memories, to escape it or try to logic their way around it.

Such alterations of the memory are the mind’s escape. It’s a self-defense mechanism.

Ellana’s haunted eyes stare flatly at her. Her lips are chapped terribly. It looks painful.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be the one — the only one - left behind?” Ellana asks.

“No,” Morrison says. “I can’t begin to imagine it.”

Ellana turns her gaze towards the ceiling.

“They’re out there, somewhere. Or they’re dead by now. It doesn’t actually matter which. The part that matters is that I’m here. Alone. And I’ll never see any of them again.” Ellana blinks. Slowly. Like she’s about to go to sleep but at the last moment remembers she needs to be awake, so drags her eyes back open again. “I want you to know that you cannot fix me. There is nothing to be fixed. I’ve told all the doctors, the therapists, the psychiatrists, the herbalists — literally everyone who’s gotten stuck with me. I’ve told them this. I know you aren’t going to believe me. It’s been almost twenty years since I came back to this world. Twenty years since the disappearances. No one’s believed me in all that time. I don’t blame them. I don’t blame you. It is beyond your capacity to believe. If I were in your position I wouldn’t believe me, either.”

Ellana sighs. A long, hollow thing that makes Morrison feel tired just hearing it.

“I have three mandated sessions with you before you can say you did your best and you can foist me off onto the next one,” Ellena says. “We can cram that into one a week and I can be off to the next whatever you see fit to suggest me to see by the end of the month.”

That explains the truly long list of referrals.

“What makes you think I’ll refer you out?” Morrison asks.

“You cannot handle me, doctor,” Ellana replies, hands folded on her stomach. She doesn’t sound upset. She sounds tired. Like she’s given up. Morrison hates it when her patients have that tone. You can’t give up. There is no one beyond helping, but you can’t help a person if they don’t want it. Ellana turns to look at her again. “As you said. You can’t even begin to imagine it. How can you help me? I don’t expect you to. At this point, I’m beginning to think my case worker doesn’t expect it either. We’re all just going through the motions.”

“Can I at least try, Ellana? Would it hurt to try?”

“You more than me,” Ellana shrugs. “What do you want to try? Medication? Guided meditation? Hypnosis?”

“Can we try talking?”

Ellana’s mouth curves up. It could be a smile. But that would be a stretch of the word.

“Sure, doctor. If you like. What do you want to talk about? Don’t worry. Nothing is off limits with me. I’ve had over twenty years to get over them.”

“Let’s talk about that, then,” Morrison says. “Twenty years of talking and no one really listening, I imagine. I can’t say I understand. But I’ll listen. Talk to me about — all of it. Whatever comes to mind first. Was it hard to speak of, at first? The deaths?”

“The disappearances,” Ellana corrects. “Well. I suppose they could be dead now. Time passes strangely here. But they were not deaths at first. We were all disappearances.”

Ellana sighs. It’s a long sigh. A longing sigh.

“At first I was very defensive about it. Well, no. I said much of the same things I say now when I talk about it, but I was a lot more — it was so much more vivid then. Recent, I suppose is the correct word. One day I was a woman, married in a house of my own with friends and family all around me. The next I was a fourteen year old girl covered in ash surrounded by still smoldering ruins. I was very confused. Rightfully so, I should think. The part that none of you can understand, but must, is that I lived over fifty years in that other world. I had wrinkles. I’d had a husband. My parents were white haired and forgetful. I had students. I had a whole other life in that world. And I never expected to come back to this one. And now I’m back here, and I don’t think I’ll ever make it back across to there. Not to as it was. I have lost two lives. The life I had until I was fourteen — long reconciled as lost over those decades — and the life I lived after that. And now I am on life number three — and this time without any of the people I had known before. I am completely alone for the first time in a combined life of almost ninety years. A century. How can you fix that in me? How can anyone fix that in me? Even if they believed the truth of my story? You cannot. That’s simply all there is to it. I am not sick in mind, doctor. I am sick in heart. It is grief. I have been taken by grief.”

[hopefulcollectorsweetsworld]

Student Counseling Services: Do they really help the 'mentally ill' ?

(The writer is a student of IIT-Delhi. However, the conclusions of this article applies to many of the universities.)

Let me begin by a story.

Once upon a time, in a college, there was a boy and a girl. Both strangers, the boy and the girl, were passing thorough the university corridor, when they bumped into each other. The boy fell down. The girl fell down. When they got up and saw each other, it was love at the first sight. And after that they started spending their time together. Many months passed. The boy finally proposed the girl. But the girl rejected her. She broke his heart. The boy wasn't able to face this rejection. He slipped into depression. He started taking drugs, alcohol, cigarette to escape from his depression. His academic performance went down. His mentor(senior) saw his behavior. The mentor(senior) took him to the counseling center. He received some counseling at the counseling center. The things started improving. He started to attend classes again, went to the library, and started scoring good marks. He quit drugs, smoking, and alcohol. He overcame his broken heart. He became happy again. He graduated from the university. Happy Ending.

This was the story which was shown to me on the orientation day through a video when I came to the university as a freshman. I was just 17 years old then. This was the image in my mind before visiting the counseling center: the center helps the students when they are going through a tough time, that the center tries to solve the root cause of the problems of the students, that the center is purely confidential and the personal information is not shared with anyone. Overall the center had a good image of them in my mind.

But I have realized now that it was just a marketing strategy employed by the counseling center to attract the troubled students. There are many strategies employed by the counseling center people to attract students example:- showing this video which do not give the real picture of functioning of the counseling center.

Many people including my seniors and juniors do not know the reality about the counseling center. Whenever they see someone struggling thorough their inner problems, they would advise to visit the counseling center. The reason being the conditioning of students by the college and the counseling center by their utopian propaganda.

What I have experienced: confidentiality is a myth in the counseling center. They say that your personal information is not shared with anybody. Anybody means ANYBODY. What they don't say that they are allowed to break confidentiality when they see you as a threat to yourself (like the possibility of committing suicide) or to others. Generally they contact the parents of the students whom they think might need some psychiatric help.

Back then I was an optimistic person. I used to think that counseling center would help me to resolve my inner conflicts. That visiting the center would do some good to me. I have realized that most mainstream “mental health” is more damaging than helpful.

Then is visiting to the counseling center a good option: I would say No. There are better options available.

The decision of visiting the counseling center has played a very crucial role in my life.

Earlier, I did not think that there would be any stigma attached with the counseling center. I thought all sort of people go to the counseling center. It was also written on the university website that people who visit the counseling center aren't mad or weak rather they show some willingness to solve their problems. I never have realized the stigma until I went myself there.

I went to the counseling center of my home university. It was like giving my future into somebody else's hand.

So I reached the counseling center. I met the student counselor. She handed over me a form in which I had to fill some questionnaire. We had some conversation most of the details I didn't remember. When I filled the form she asked me the contact number of my friend. I gave the contact number of my senior(a girl) to the counselor. The counselor called my senior to come around 4'O clock.

These days if the student counselors saw any problem with a student visiting the center, they send him/her to the see the psychiatrist.

The counselor told my senior that I needed help. And if Deans saw me in this condition, Deans would told me to go home. They were there to 'help' me. So the duty of the senior girl was to take me to the hospital and to see the psychiatrist. And that day I and the psychiatrist had a long conversation, but in the end he prescribed me some sort of anti-psychotics. Now I had to take the anti-psychotics.

The night I received a call from the senior saying according to the counselor I had to go back home because it was vacation and I not had been allowed to stay alone in the campus. I had to leave the campus and came back with my parents when the semester would start.

You see, when you reach the counseling center, they can even interfere in your personal life and the college life. You have disclosed your most valued secrets to somebody and somebody used your secrets.

What is the better option instead of visiting the counseling center: Do seek any professional help if you need but don't go somewhere your information might be used against you. Visiting a therapist outside the campus is no problem because at least they could not interfere in your college life and could not put restrictions on your freedom.

I had not told my parents about me taking medications, visiting the counseling center, and the psychiatrist.

I took medication for some days and I was feeling different. It was as if someone had put tape to my mouth that I could not smile much. I was feeling side effects of the medications. I visited the counseling center to tell the counselors that I am feeling the side effects of the medications. They did not believe me. They thought that it was the disease returning. They thought that I was not taking my medications. So they called my parents.

My parents arrived and they were told to sign a semester withdrawal form. The reason which was given by the counseling center people to my parents was that my mental state could go worse if I stayed here. They were forcing me to take semester withdrawal. The counseling center among all the universities have the same policy. Students are told to leave when they feel suicidal or mentally troubled. Me and my parents did not like the idea of semester withdrawal. We thought it would be better to consult the psychiatrist. I had good grades. The psychiatrist based on my previous academic records told me not to take the semester withdrawal as I can perform good in the semester. So I did not take the semester withdrawal.

But my parents were told to stay with me in the apartments inside the college so that one of my parents (my mother) could monitor me taking the medications. I had to vacate the hostel. I feel it as a discrimination against the people with a mental illness.

The counseling center people are so smart that they even signed my signature and my parents signature on an application written in first person, from my point of view, saying that I take the responsibilities of all my actions. That meant if I committed suicide by chance, the center had the record so that no blame could be put on the college administration. What I feel is that they were trying to protect the college's reputation in case I committed suicide. However, I did not think they helped even a little bit of me in resolving my conflicts.

They just give the semester withdrawal so that you can swallow the medications at your home. (Taking a semester withdrawal on this basis is not a good option. They won't return you your tuition fees if you took a semester withdrawal mid-way. And maximum that can happen when you don't take a semester withdrawal is that you fail every course, means no credit passed in the semester. You would not get any course credit too if you take the semester withdrawal.) And the next semester when you came back to join the institute again, you are required to meet the counselor to prove that you are in good mental condition to continue your studies. You would have to submit your medical report to the counselor.

Counseling center people argued that so many people came to the counseling center to visit and given the number of students visiting the counseling center and number of counselors, solving everyone's problem would take much longer time. It is not possible to help each and everybody effectively. I agree on this point.

Do I regret going to counseling center ?: Yes, I do.

Was my inner conflicts resolved ?: No.

Was my privacy intruded by the counseling center ?: Yes, many-a-times.

Were other students told about my mental illness ?: Yes.

Was my confidentiality broken ?: Yes, many-a-times.

Do they really help the 'mentally ill' ?: Not to the core.

What counseling center generally do:

Give you a semester withdrawal (sometimes forced semester withdrawal).

Give you an accommodation where you can live with your one of your parent who can monitor you taking medications. (sometimes forcing students to take medications)

Keeping your personal medical records with them.

Would I recommend anybody to visit the counseling center: Not highly recommended. Proceed at your own risk.

See Also:

https://www.madinamerica.com/

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/28/us/college-suicide-stanford-leaves.html

https://www.nj.com/mercer/index.ssf/2014/03/student_sues_princeton_university_says_the_school_discriminated_against_him_after_suicide_attempt.html

https://www.newsweek.com/2014/02/14/how-colleges-flunk-mental-health-245492.html

#iitdelhi#mentalillness#studentcounselingcenter#universityhealthservices

[linseysezines]

Short Story: With Both Feet

Elena’s mom had once told her that she was the bravest girl she’d ever know. But she died and Elena stopped believing that. Elena’s life had taken a downward spiral the day her mom chose to take her own life. She had come home that evening from a hard day at school along with her little brother Austin whom she would pick up afterward too. Elena did her best to help her mother out on most days especially after her father left them for another family years back. She never wanted Austin to feel a gap in his life without an important parent figure so she felt that it was necessary for her to step up and fill the gap. She wanted to be there for him.

Elena had been very successful for her age as she was the best swimmer in her small town as she had beaten much of her town’s old-time records. She had been a local competition swimmer and a part-time lifeguard but now she could barely go near the water. Elena remembers exactly what happened five years ago. The memory is still fresh and would forever be stained in her memory, unerasable and frozen in time. She remembers coming home after a tough day and calling out for her mom and searching for her through the house with her little brother. It became much harder after her mother died. The only people who had legal custody of them after their mother was their father.

As the years went by Austin became more and more of a handful for her to handle. It wasn’t a better life. She didn’t know how to raise a delinquent. Forget raising him, she was barely an adult herself and she had the whole world on her shoulders while the whole world stood and watched. Elena was completely wrong about Austin being in need of a father figure in his life. Austin would do just about anything to get the spotlight on him whether it be getting into trouble at school because to him any negative attention was still attention. Elena learned that it didn’t matter who the parents were, what only mattered was her the proper aspects of the relationship such as guidance, support, and care. However, this was something that was way out of her hands. Now being 22 years old with a job she was able to move out, take Austin with her where she could give him the life she’s always wanted to give him. The only thing that was stopping Elena was the lack of courage she had from all the previous failed attempts of trying to get up on her own two feet. What’s silly in her opinion was the fact that her faults and failures didn’t make any sense by they were there like her fear of water she’s been having for five years.

Five years ago Elena’s plans were much different. The future she’d painted for herself was much more colorful and it was what she wanted. Her future wasn’t for the greater good, it was all for herself and what she wanted. She had her future all figured out. She was going to enroll in a university for her academics including her beloved sport, swimming. Maybe when her SAT results came in she could even consider an institute in the United States. However, her plans ended up having to take a detour. The evening she discovered her mother's dead body sitting lifelessly in the bathtub with a toaster is something she would never forget. Nothing confused her more than to why her mother did that to both her and Austin. It made no sense that a mother would do that to her two children who were dependent upon her for almost the entire lives. None of it made sense. Her mother was selfish, not only did Elena’s mother take her life but she also stole all of Elena’s passions and ambitious as she left this Earth. She was ripped of them that day which left her feeling naked and vulnerable as if there is no safe place for her to go to in this cruel world.  Unfortunately for her, it seemed that the world was moving on and she was the only one who was still stuck in the past unable to move forward. Elena had also lost some of her friends because of this unusual behaviour too. Some of her past friends would point out how strange she is and that she needs to move on from the past. The only problem is the fear that was built up in Elena’s mind. It was the fear that everything would not work out the proper way and that everything would fail and crumble in her heads. Elena has rejected promotions at work in fear that she would lose what she already had, she wouldn’t take any vacation leave unless it was absolutely necessary and she didn’t buy anything over expensive for herself either. For someone Elena’s age who is working, she was living a very limited and minimalistic lifestyle only hers wasn’t. Her lifestyle is just built out of fear of failure and fear of drastic change even if it’s for the better. Some of her friends would mention to her that it would be a good idea if she visited a therapist or psychiatrist for her issues especially the ones revolving around her mother's death and the fears she is left with. Some of her friends have gone as far as to tell her that there may be something wrong with her and she must have gone through some sort of huge shell-shock the day she witnessed her mother lifeless body in the bathtub. Elena herself did not want to believe that this has taken a toll on her life and that it is affecting her to such an extreme extent especially after five years.

Elena was in the kitchen table as she flipped through the newspaper when Austin finally came through the door and sat across from her. It had been a while since he had done something of that nature because usually he would just grab something and leave with uttering a single word, but this time was different. It was as if he wants to discuss something important, at least that's how Elena felt from his presence. However, nothing prepared Elena for what Austin was to ask. “Can we go to the beach”, he asked her quietly. The beach was somewhere they hadn’t gone for five years especially after the death of their mother. There were many great memories on the beach that was near and dear to them. When asked that question Elena froze in shock. For the past five years, they hadn’t done anything they had used to do in the past, but that was all because of Elena. “No”, she immediately replied without even giving it a second thought. Elena thought that it was for the best that they just avoided these type of things. “You know it’s crazy that we haven’t done anything fun for the past five years”, Austin yelled at Elena in frustration and with what seemed to be like bottled up emotions from years back that was just coming out now. “I don’t understand, it’s been five years and ever since then all you’ve been doing is living like a nun”, Austin continued ranting to her. “Everyday after mom left, I watched you fade away. I watched you slowly lose yourself. You are so scared of losing things that you are scared of normal things like change. Change is okay. Change has to happen for us to move forward. Look, moms not going to come back like...ever and I’m sorry, but don’t make me a prisoner to this”, Austin finally puts an end to his emotional delivery and walks out of the kitchen leaving Elena in shock. It was definitely the first time she had heard Austin release his pent up emotions like that and it was also the first time he had yelled to her in that sort of nature. They were really some good topic to chew on. To Elena, it was one of the biggest wake-up calls to her especially because Austin was the only family left of hers that she cared very much about and all she’s ever done is to give him a life he’d want. Learning that she was the cause of how he felt like a prisoner was tough because she thought that she was doing everything right by keeping him inside. Elena sighed and got up from her chair.

She started walking out of the kitchen and towards the hallway in the direction of Austin’s room. Once she’d reached the door, she stood outside for a minute observing him from the door the was left ajar. He was listening to music with one ear-pod in. Elena knocked on the door lightly to get his attention before entering the room. She sat on the duvet covered mattress for quite sometime before she finally decided to speak. “Let’s go to the beach”, she finally let the words flow out of her mouth that she once dreaded. “You mean like right now”, Austin asked in surprise as Elena nodded with a light smile/ It was at that moment that Austin’s eyes lit up like lanterns like they never had before since five years. Austin had already started smiling like a goof in happiness. “Oh my god, we’re going to the beach, Oh my god woohoo”, Austin hollered in excitement as a million dollar smile lit up his face. Elena would have done this sooner if she had known it would change the way she felt in a long time and most of all how her brother felt. She’d never seen a seventeen-year-old teenager get so excited over something very simple like the beach. Seeing Austin smiling meant the world to her and as long as she had that she thought to herself that she was willing to do anything for it to stay that way.