I have therapy today. It’s been a week since the worst day I’ve had here at Whaley…
I did a very bad thing. I tried to hurt myself…bad. But, I deserved it, and I don’t want to live this life anymore. Miss Kathy is here. She looks sad and nervous. She asks if I want to talk about it. Nope. She doesn’t leave. We watch T.V. She asks why I tried to hurt myself. I tell her I’m a bad kid and everyone knows it. She tells me that’s not true and all the staff think I‘m funny, generous and nice. The little kids think of me as a big brother and the older kids are my friends. I don’t say anything back. I know it’s not true. She’s just lying, like every adult out there. We sit and watch T.V. for another hour. I want to say something, but just can’t. I don’t know why.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what Miss Kathy said, but I know it’s not true. I’m bad. Bad things happen to bad people. Miss Kathy is really making me angry today. She’s asking about things I don’t want to tell her. She thinks I’m mad all the time because of what happened when I was a kid. I deserved that to happen, remember? Bad things happen to bad people. My mom did drugs and drank when I was little because I was bad. Her boyfriend used to hit me and my brother because we deserved it. I wasn’t ever supposed to be here. That’s why he tried to drown me in the bathtub when I was four. I’m a bad person, and I deserved it all. I still remember what it felt like to not be able to breathe. It was scary. I hated my mom’s boyfriend, but it made me hate myself more. I feel so f--king angry just thinking about it all. I am the reason all of those things happened. I am the reason I will never see my mom or brother ever again. It’s all my fault. I hate me. I hate everything about me—every last sh--ty thing about me. That’s why I talk back to adults and hit and break things.
I can’t believe I just told Miss Kathy all that.
I haven’t told anyone all of that in a long time…and definitely not all at once. She’s just looking at me for a second, but now she’s starting to talk. She’s telling me that none of this is my fault. She says sometimes bad things happen to good people. That doesn’t make sense. She says I’m a great kid. I guess I am sometimes. She asked if I remember the last time I helped someone do something. I did help cook breakfast this morning…actually every morning I do that. She asked what kind of grades I get…mostly As and Bs. She reads a letter from my science teacher that says she likes having me in class and that I always help the other kids who are struggling. Hmmm…maybe I’m not as bad as I think, but, honestly, I don’t know what to think.