They sit me down and I have this sinking feeling in my stomach because their faces say 'we know we know' and I tried so hard to hide it and God knows I tried to stop it

"We think you should go see someone"

Silence. I almost laugh. Their faces say, with tightening eyes, 'tread gently we don't know what kind of grenade we have here gently gently'

"Think about it, at least"  

I've thought about it, oh I've thought about it. What else could i think about but all the possible checklist methods to get myself out of this half-existence? Talk to someone. Of course. because i am a perfectly rationale human being whose words don't come out like crushed ice through a broken dispenser, whose thoughts and motives aren't foreign and terrifying as a black hole in deepest space like a person i don't even know could begin to find a beginning or an end to this cycle of bizzare emotional wreckage that has become my identity.

"Okay"  

They leave because they don't want to scare me away. The rabbit can only bear so many rustling footsteps and cracked twigs before it shoots off like a bullet from a gun into darker forests.

i lay on my bed but i can't listen to music because my iPod is dead so i just listen to the cracking sound my lungs make when i breathe.  

Then i get up, go into the bathroom, and lock the door