Early one morning, I came into the family room. This was a long time ago. Before I began to use my room as the only room in the house. The family room is a dirty green carpeted spacious add on room. When my mom moved in, that room wasn't even there, nor was the garage. My grandfather helped build it with my dad. I remember them telling me stories about how my brother was little and he would steal some of the supplies they were using and hid them in various other parts of the ground. Every time I'm in that room now, I don't think of it as something that was built by my family. I think of it as the place I lost my best friend.
“That’s what Alyssa’s going to be.” My grandpa said pointing out the window at a psychic building.
“Right, because they are even remotely the same thing,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Well, you’re going to be a psychiatrist, right? They said similar so that’s something.” My dad said.
“No, I want to be a psychologist. Totally different thing.” I said.
“They’re the same thing. They doth don’t know what they’re doing.” My grandpa said, giving off one of his deep throated laughs.
“Why do you want to be a counselor?” Jon asked me.
“So I can get paid to tell people they’re crazy,” I said joking. He rolled his eyes in that way he always does. When he wants more information and he’s tired of me giving him the same old safe answers.
“Bullshit.” He said.
“I want to help people the way I wanted to help my best friend before he killed himself. I sat helplessly as he drowned himself in his own sorrow. I’ve watched too many close friends destroy themselves.”
“That’s awesome, I just hope it works out exactly how you imagine it to,” Jon said.