This Little Problem of Mine

You say it is up to me to do the talking. You lean forward, place a box of tissues in front of me and your black chair groans like a lightning storm. You ask me how this happened, and if I had ever been through this sort of a thing before. Do you really want to know? Do you mean it when you say everything will be okay? Or are you just waiting for our session to be over, so you can get back to your own precious life?
Of course my pathetic life means nothing to you. You have everything you could possibly want. You have a lovely family, a fancy car, an extraordinary house, and very expensive jewelry. You only listen to me because you get paid for it. You only tell me that it’s up to me to do the talking because you yourself have nothing to say. I hate you.
Although I hate you, I admire you as well. I admire the fact that you sit here with me, even if you don’t care about me. I admire the fact that you have such a great life. I admire everything about you. I can only dream about having a life as great as yours. Yet, I don’t dream. I don’t experience the fantasy’s and wonders of dreams. I experience the fright and terrors of unconsciousness.
I have never experienced a dream. No, dreams are to special for someone like me. I have only experienced the mutilated thoughts of my mind, while sleeping. I hate it when I sleep. Some say the reason I have these issues is because I don’t sleep enough. I say I would be worse if I did sleep. I would drown in the melancholy of my mind and never wake up.
You nod your head once again as if you know what I’m talking about. You seem tense, almost worried now. Have I struck your heart in a sensitive way now? Do you actually care about what I’m saying? Or are you just lying to me and trying to pretend like you did before?
I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need these sessions. You think I do, just because I’m here right now. I don’t choose to come here. I wake up, and I see your face every day. I don’t need this, and I don’t need you. Just leave me alone mother! If you cared about me, you wouldn’t have disowned me!
“Why is that kid over there screaming?” asked the little boy. “The kid over there is screaming just like he does every day at this time.” replied the old man. The little boy and the old man watched as the kid off in the distance started crying and laid down on the floor. “oor guy.” said the little boy. “Aye, ‘tis a sad sight to see. After all he’s been through” said the old man.
“What has he been through?” asked the little boy curiously. The old man replied, “Just one year ago, he was in a devastating car accident. The boy survived, but his mother died.” “So why does he scream at that same tree every day?” asked the little boy. “He screams at that tree because that is the tree he and his mother crashed in to.” replied the old man again. “So he hates the tree because it killed his mother?” whispered the little boy. “lease, don’t talk about this anymore.” said the old man. “It breaks my heart to know that my daughter disowned that boy before she died.” “Does that mean the crazy kid over there is your grandson?” yelped the little boy. “Yes he is. My only grandchild is now handicapped, scarred for life, and will never be the same.” “It’s such a pity too. He was just one year away from graduating from high school.”