A Record of my Therapy Session

June 12, 2017
By CampbellJM SILVER, Wyckoff, New Jersey
CampbellJM SILVER, Wyckoff, New Jersey
7 articles 0 photos 2 comments

I reside in a world where crying is not allowed. Though it’s not quite fantastic, miserable, or right in between, our country is always cheerful, satisfied, and proud. Not one person glares out the window, or gazes at their shoes, in fact, it’s illegal to feel blue. Infants’ tear ducts are sealed the moment they are born; not a wail or cry comes from each hospital room. And if a peep comes from the small child, the parents are punished for creating anarchy, and the child will vanish at the hands of our governmental leaders.
No one quite knows where they go, though, we imagine it’s quite grand! Adventure to a sunshine and rainbow filled land, we guess they get pampered and play all day in the sand. The proposal to us was to change the small babies and all that they know, so when they return, tears will be absent. The mother and father may follow along. Though it is not required, a loving family will stay together as a beautiful trio. Otherwise, they’re thrown into a room, a squishy one with pads and beds like balloons. I’ve heard it’s very fun from kids at my high school, but no one knows for sure, except for those who went. And those who go often don’t return, because “who would want to leave a place of so much fun?” we are told. And those in the ROY G BIV hills never return, because happiness and fun take all their lives to learn.
In elementary school, playground fights are no problem. If a little girl falls, she quickly thinks of a poem, a book, or her favorite stuffed animal. She won’t cry or she knows she’ll be banished to the principal. But that never happens, except for one time, I don’t remember it well, but she was scrutinized for her sadness over a small abrasion on her palm, they kept saying, “You’ll be happy where you go, just stay calm.” Her weeping was a sign of an imperfect world, but no worries, she was just a blemish, and she has been forgotten, delivered to the place of balloon beds and sunny days.
The drama of middle school, in all of it’s glory to put down the kind, make the discourteous holy. But the one thing I learned from the urge to cry, and the ability to not, is that I am a much more courageous person than I thought. “Not sturdy enough” they always assumed me to be, they did all they could to melt the tears out of me. But they never would fall, through all of their torture, at least until now, since I ended up here. In high school I knew it would get better, I went through the worst, so there’s nothing to sweat or to worry about, at least that’s what I imagined. But as you can see from current position, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I walked down the hall as I had done before, and I walked alone with my headphones until I got to the door of my next class, the last one before winter break, and I noticed a small note with my name sealed with tape. It doesn’t matter what this note said, or who wrote it, or laughed, I had reached my breaking point, a leak not able to be patched. Not a poem, or a book, or my teddy bear from second grade, could get rid of the tears they had finally made.
It was not a single tear, not one drop or drip or cup or bucket. It was a waterfall like in illegal cartoons where children stub their toes and wail. It was an outcry of so called anarchy.
My puddle of tears surrounding me as I shook on the floor, was an eruption that would cover the world with ash. The protocol goes as follows; the principal is notified, the school is evacuated, the authorities rushed in. The memory is wiped from those in the room, and I am shipped off to the land of balloons.
Not a goodbye, not a memory to bring with, not a t-shirt from home, or a picture, or a kiss good bye.
Only now I know the world of balloons is bright, but not sunny. The people here are insane, but still funny. The walls are full of air and bounce when you hit them, but there are no balloons. There is not frolicking in fields, not one blade of chartreuse grass grazes my toes, just cracked colorless corpses of those who were once people. People who once felt the emotions that made us humane, and were punished for feeling alive. Causing turmoil and desolation that destroy the land of balloons, and bring up the land of phonies, and liars, and grey.

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