I swore that something was going to happen today. Not like I’m going to be genuinely happy even though it’s been months since I last felt even a sliver of happiness. Not like I’m going to ditch school because I’m so tired of watching friends walk by in the hall and know that it’s the one I’ll never have. I mean like _something. _

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Every step I took today felt weird, almost _wrong_. My heart wasn’t hurting when I walked alone through the crowded halls of my school. And on the drive to my millionth therapy session my eyes stayed dry. That little prick of tears never came, not even as I climbed out of the car and followed Mom into the building.

“So,” My therapist said crossing his legs as we all took a seat. Mom sat next to me on the couch and Dr. Turner was on the chair on the other side of the table that sat in between us. “I want to know what would you describe your anxiety to be like?”

My neck already starts to ache as I slowly turn my head to my mom. I always turn to her for help when I come here. I don’t care what she does I just want her to make him stop talking to me.

Mom shakes her head slowly giving me an encouraging smile that says, _You got this. _

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_No I don’t! _ I think as I turn back to face Dr. Turner. What does he mean? Shouldn’t he know how it feels? I mean how is he supposed to help me if he doesn’t even know what it feels like?

“Remember a few months ago?” Mom whispers, her voice filling me with comfort. “How the doctor told you what anxiety means. How he gave you that example of the Ferris wheel?”

I nod once, that terrible day filling my mind. I know what anxiety is, but I wouldn’t describe it like a Ferris wheel. It doesn’t feel like my thoughts keep spinning around unable to slow down. It feels like I’m on a leash, being controlled by some evil force.

“It feels scary,” I say, playing with the zipper on my hoodie. “Like I’m on a chain.”

Dr. Turner leans forward scratching his forehead. “Can you explain?” He asks.

I take in a small breath, my nose filling with that terrible smell of a summer breeze. I see happy flowers and the sun with a huge smiley face. This place isn’t happy so why does Dr. Turner make it seem like it should be?

“Some days,” I look down at my hands as I pick at the zipper. “I have more links on the chain. Something is letting me have more room to escape. But if I do something that’s uncomfortable the links slowly start to disappear. I can’t do what I want, I’m being controlled.”

Dr. Turner sighs rubbing that back of his neck. “Okay, why don’t we go over some coping skills that will help—“

The rest of the session becomes a blur. I nod every once in a while to give the illusion that I’m paying attention, I can tell by the worried look in Mom’s eyes that she saw right through me.

. . .

It’s dark outside by the time we’re on the road. The trees are barely visible outside the window, just like shadows in the night.

“Maisie,” Mom’s voice is so calm that I almost think she isn’t going to bring up the appointment. “What are we going to do?”

Now the familiar prick of tears creep into my eyes. “I don’t know.” I mumble, keeping my eyes on the world outside.

Mom sighs. “I want to help you.”

No one can help me. I’m a mistake a terrible mistake. If I was meant to be helped I would have been a long time ago.

“Can you turn on the radio?” I switch the subject, trying to make Mom stop talking about my flaws.

The radio switches on, a One Direction song is half way through which only makes my night worse. I don’t even get the full song, just a piece.

Mom adjust the mirror above her, taking her eyes off the dark road.

It was just for one second! I think as Mom tries to swerve out of the way when a car speeds into us. I scream, shutting my eyes as the car rolls on the ground. My hair falls onto my face as trash falls from the bottom of the car to the top.

My head throbs as a cool drop of blood creeps down my face. The song is still going, filling the night with music.

“Mom?” I mutter, my eyes rolling to the back of my head as everything around me floods with black.