My story: Part two

  Hey guys, remember me? I hope the last part of this wasn't too weird for you, because I have started this, and now I'm determined to finish it. So here's the second part of My Story.
 Now, when I left off, I talked about getting caught. So I guess I'll talk about that.
 I got caught on a Tuesday (or maybe it was a Monday.. one of those.) and I remember because we had an academic bowl meet that day.
 Here's what happened: as I said before, my math grades weren't the best anyone has ever made, so I was asking my teacher if I could have some extra credit. Apparently, one of my bracelets had slipped up and you could see my arm. I noticed she kind of stared at it, but I was hoping she'd ignore it. Fortunately, she didn't. A minute later she called me back over to her to push up my bracelets, and asked me what happened. I lied and said my dog did it, but apparently I'm a bad liar. And she's a good one, because I bought it when she shrugged it off.
 So about two classes later, in science, I got called down to the guidance office, where the scariest thing in the world was awaiting me. Our school guidance counselor. Ms. Frye(ghtning..). She is quite possibly the most horrible person to be interviewed by about your problems. Because for one thing, I'd guess that she is around my mother's age, who is 54, and she tries to act like she's 21. And the only things she has in her shelves is anger-management work books. I do not have anger problems. I have depression problems :P
 So the first thing she does is make small talk like I don't know why I'm here, and then it goes like this:
 Her: A teacher says she's worried about you. Do you cut yourself?
 Me: o.e ...
 Her: Will you take off your bracelets?
 Me: *take off bracelets*
 Her: Do your friends know about this? Do you ever cut together? Are you trying to kill yourself?
 Me: Yes, no, and no. Can I go now?

 And that's pretty much all that happened.
 Now, after it had been a week and my mother hadn't said anything about it, I started to think that I was safe and that I wasn't going to get dragged away to a nut-hut. But, one fine Thursday, my mother picked me up from school and took me to a counselor who was MUCH better than Ms. French-Fryes. At first I would have done anything to NOT BE THERE. I said as little as possible, and cried as little as possible. Then, she told me that I had a chemical imbalance, which basically means that the happy chemicals in my brain are less abundant than the sad chemicals, so I can't help that I'm sad. Then, she sent me to a doctor and I got a prescription for ten milligrams of Prozac.
 Surprisingly, it helped me. Very much. And I even stopped cutting for a while. But that was just until something ELSE happened.