Where do you begin when you need help? It might start with you. Who knows you better? Only you know your problems more than anyone else will. It was you who was there. Your mind. Your body. You lived it. What more advice is there?

A bright sunbeam peeked through the area where Nick was nervously tapping his foot as he sat in the waiting room. A lot of solid memories had brought him to this point. He knew this well and good. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the thick, white appointment card and held it in his hand for a moment.

He needed this. The hardest thing next to living is asking for help. And he was, doing the right thing for once. For him? Yes, he believed it was. It had been an ongoing battle in his mind for a long while.

Sometimes you just can't fix things yourself no matter how much you want to.

He scratched the back of his neck and leaned against the rough comfort of the stiff chair. He cleared his thoughts. Everything garbled was thrown out. He needed to cleanse the murky past. All the blood was rushing to his feet yet they were firmly planted onto the ground as glue had stuck them there.

He opened his eyes, still not moving his head and started at the red light near the door. That unholy timer, telling him its OK, life is fine. The bandaid will come over all the wrong things in his life. It will dictate what needs to happen. He will feel safe. Once that light flashes, things will change. For the better? He doesn't know. Asking for help has never been his mantra. His way of life. He kept to himself and replaced his calm, cool exterior with rage and misconduct. He wasn't this person.

He knows himself to well to believe this is all his fault. His parents, sisters, his brother. All the factors adding up to nothing getting solved. There was never any reason, but more importantly, there was never any reason why. Being pulled into something that had nothing to do with you is the worst thing any parent can do.

Here he is, hanging onto to the possibility that it might have more to do with him then he may think. This is what he believes. Maybe it's what he's fixed to believe. Nick doesn't think so, but its the truth. Its hard enough talking about your problems already.

He picked up the card and held it to his eyes, "This is for me, this is about me, I'm going to get better. I have to. I can't live like this anymore."

The red light flashed. It burned bright, letting him know things might change. But he was shaking still. His hands, the shakes were prominent and revealing. He willed his foot to stop fidgeting. He stared at the light and stood up steadying himself. All the blood came back to his body and it felt like a monster head rush.

The door opened and the doctor came out, dressed in a faded pressed business top and tight khakis. She wasn't a vision thank god. Nick doesn't need anymore good-looking women in his life. She held this innocent look and motioned for him to follow her with a wave of her hand.

"Follow me," she spoke softly but directly as if commanding the suggested action.

She left the door open and had already turned on her heel toward her office down the hall when Nick realized his body was still stagnant.

He took a deep breath and moved toward the door. "Gotta get over this shit."