•Simon•

"Well, it appears you have Bipolar, Simon."

The doctor entered the room, swiftly. Her coat was as white as a sheet and her slicked back blonde hair was swishing as she sat back down opposite me.

"Oh." Was all I could manage to say, fiddling with the sleeves of my hoodie.

It was a strange feeling that lapped at my insides, and it made me want to scream and cry all at once. I knew it was there, I just didn't want the label to actually exist.

I could feel her eyes boring into me, as if she expected me to react more dramatically. Which if she was, she wasn't gonna get anything more dramatic than my mumbled 'oh'.

The small consultant room consisted of crisp white walls, sheer wooden floors and a large gathering of medical supplies settled on an off white desk. There was a bed behind where I was sat and a window to my right. The black plastic chair I was sat in, now starting to cause another health issue.

"Is that why I'm so depressed sometimes and crazy other times.....?" I mumbled again, slightly looking up only to catch a glance of her piercing green eyes.

"Well, yes. People with Bipolar disorder can become high, over-excited and reckless, or imagine that they are more important or influential than they are in real life. They can also become extremely low, feeling helpless and depressed, with difficulty making decisions or concentrating. Some people mainly experience highs. Some experience mainly lows, and some experience both extremes — becoming profoundly depressed or over-excited. The person may then behave in an uncharacteristically irrational or risky manner. From what I've established and from what your papers have told me it seems you experience both on an extreme level, would that be correct?" Her words came out so fluently, as if this was a second language to her, filling the room with her voice.

I kept my eyes focused on the wooden floor beneath me but still allowing myself to listen and process what she was saying.

"Right..." I answered truthfully, still without realizing it, playing with the sleeve of my black hoodie.

It was way to big for me, it basically swallowed me whole. I liked it like that, it hid how lanky and gross I looked and it was also comfortable.

A thought suddenly clicked in my head.

"But there's a cure, isn't there? I'll be fine won't I?" My words slightly fragmented from the rush of my speech.

"Here's the thing, Simon. Treatment can reduce the symptoms. Treatment should generally include a combination of medication and community support. Both are usually essential for the best outcome. But your case is extremely sever. I'm worried about how you will cope, especially if your wanting to go to college." She smiled in pity, resting a hand on my shoulder.

My heart sank.

I shot my head up so my eyes meet with hers, and she gave me a reassuring smile but it made me want to cry.

"B-b-but... I-i. What a-are you gonna d-do then?" I stuttered, feeling the depressed extreme finally fully set in.

"Look, I can give you medicine that should reduce the highs and lows like your experiencing now. Or I do have another alternative that could benefit you in the long run and help me understand your disorder throughly." She stated, removing her hand from my shoulder and turning to the computer on her desk.

Her fingers tapping away, the keyboard making a consistent clicking noise.

The sunshine from outside the window began to pour into the room, littering the ground with golden specs. I glanced out the window, not really wanting to be here anymore. I wanted out.

I saw a tall pale figure walking along side a shorter darker skinned boy over the other side of the road, I watched closely as they stoped out front of 'Busters Arcade' and jumped the fence. The sun illuminated both of their outlines, giving a crisp image of them. It would have made a awesome photo.

The place had been abandoned for decades, why were they going in there? Why?

The shorter boy caught my eye most, he was wearing light blue denim jeans and an oversized grey hoodie. I smiled lightly at how similarly dressed this boy and I seemed to be.

Jeans, baggy jumpers, sneakers...

I studied the way they walked, they way they talked, the way they were... holding hands?

Being so caught up in watching these two young boys go about their business, I barely realized that Dr. Bradley was trying to talk to me.

"Simon? Simon?! Hey, Si? You there buddy? SIMON!" She finally raised her voice, giving me a urgent signal to rip my eyes away from the two mysterious figures and toward her. 

"S-sorry. What?" I slurred quietly feeling immediately bad and guilty for zoning out on her.

She sighed and smiled gently.

"Here is some information and a prescription. But I've also got a document here that explains the Therapy house and all it's benefi-"

"Wait, what?! Therapy house?" I burst out, feeling uncomfortable and nerved.

She couldn't seriously want to send me to a therapy house?!

Could she?

"Simon, so many people who have been to the therapy house benefit a lot from it. You get to met people with your disorder and get to understand other people's disorders. It would be really good for you and it helps me really understand you. It would only be for 2 or 3 months and then you can leave and you don't ever have to go to a therapy house again." She explained, but my thoughts were running to fast and so many bad things kept swirling their way though my head.

Therapy house....

A therapy house?

Tears began to leak from my eyes without permission and I grabbed the papers and bolted out the room, my heart leaping in my chest.

I needed to get out.

I ran out as fast as I could past the waiting room and out the main door onto the cold streets of north London.

I heard washed out cries behind me, begging me to go back but I had to get out. My feet moved me in a direction. I couldn't process anything, just the panic and sadness that seemed to engulf my insides slowly picking at the rest of me.

I ran.

My feet taking me where I needed to go, and where I needed to go was home.

The breeze rushing against me, my nose growing cold from the cool spring air attaching my face.

I couldn't even fathom my own thoughts or where exactly I was, my flat was a good 5 km from the doctors.

Whatever, I didn't care. I let the papers that were latched in my hand, go free, releasing them in the wind and taking off.

God knows where those papers ended up, but I knew I didn't want them, so where ever they are is better than with me.

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