TF2rp- Admittance of Problems

Kart walked into the waiting room, seeing the receptionist across the room on the phone. He walked over to her desk and stood there, not sure if he should say anything. He ventured a glance at the woman and noticed her looking to him and giving him a 'one moment' jester with her hand. He looked around the small room, taking in the mahogany panelling and the odd plants that seemed to live in the room's corners. He saw a couple of patients in the room, or rather he assumed they were; one had a weird twitch. He averted his eyes from that twitcher when he looked over at him, making it look like he was studying one of the paintings on the wall instead. "Yes? How can I help you," the receptionist's soft voice asked. He turned to face her, keeping his eyes on the desk between the two of them. Why was he even here again? He obviously didn't fit in with the 'clientele'. "I have an appointment…at two?" he said hesitantly, tucking some hair behind his ear nervously. He heard a rustling of papers before hearing her again. "Ah yes, Mr. McCloud. Please have a seat over there until you're called for okay?"

He did as he was told and took one of the few seats in the room, the farthest one from the others. The cushion beneath him was hard from years of use and he had to shift around a bit before finally feeling somewhat comfortable. No, that was a lie. He wasn't comfortable at all. This whole 'going to a shrink' business was uncomfortable. The only reason why he was sitting in that room was because he was told that he needed help, not that he wanted it. He fiddled with the zipper of his jacket as he slouched in his chair; he should have brought something to distract himself with as he waited. It felt odd being out in public again. It had been how many months since he joined Well and this was the first real outing? Welcome to the outside world again, he thought with a sigh. He sat there, in the room that smelt faintly of wood, for who knows how long, lost in his own little world to keep himself preoccupied. "Mr. McCloud? Is there a James in here?" a portly man asked from one of the corridors that fed off the room. The voice sounded a bit strained, as though he had been calling his name for a little while. "Ah, yes. I'm hear," Kart said, awkwardly standing up due to his feet that were asleep from lack of movement for so long. He walked over to the man and was greeted with an earthy smile. "Hello, come with me please," the man said, his voice deep, a bit gravely.

Kart sat down in one of the plush seats in the room that faced a large, dark wooden desk. What little lay on it surface seemed out of place, forced to lie on the cool surface. The other man moved through the room, closing the door behind him before taking a seat in the large chair on the other side of the thing. It felt like a large block between the two men, physically as well as mentally. It didn't make sense as to why the man had such a thing in the office. The man coughed slightly, drawing Kart's attention from the desk to the man sitting across from him. He pushed some of his hair out of his face and straightens his clothes a bit as he sat, finding something, anything to distract himself with. The man's voice was calm, gentle as he spoke, "Let's start of with names. I find they are always a nice place to start things off. My name is Dr. Richard Phillips though most people call me Ricky." He chuckled a bit, as though he was sharing some sort of private joke. "And you?" he asked tentatively. Kart looked up at the man in front of him, his eyebrow cocked slightly. "You have my file in your hands Doctor," he stated plainly. Surely the man could just read it himself.

Dr. Phillips leaned against his desk, his fingers interlocking over top of Kart's file. He gave a warm smile and he tilted his head slightly, his small round glasses dropping down his nose slightly. "True," he said at last, "I would like to hear it from you. If you would be so kind." Kart leaned back in his chair, his legs crossed and his left hand took the other, holding it, cradling it. "James…James McCloud," he finally said quietly, looking down from the man. He could almost hear the smile in the doctor's voice as he spoke, "May I call you James?" Kart's brow furrowed slightly at the name. He hated it. He hated hearing it, hated being called it, hated it with every fibre of his being. "No," he replied sharply. "Oh?" Dr Phillips' voice sounded a bit shocked, "what would you-" He couldn't even finish his sentence when Kart cut in, "Mr. McCloud is fine."

Kart shifted a bit in his chair, the cushions no longer feeling plush underneath him. "So…" Dr. Phillips started. "Why are you here?" he asked encouragingly. Kart looked up to see the man open his folder, fountain pen poised to take notes. He sighed slightly as he looked away from the doctor and started chewing on his lip a bit. "I was advised to come by my doctor, as well as one of my bosses," he said quietly with a slight shrug of his shoulders. There was a long pause as the doctor waited for Kart to speak. "Go on," he prompted gently. "Surely there's a reason why they would tell you to seek my assistance." Kart looked down at his hands, wanting to keep his attention away from the only other person in the room.  "They say…that I should see someone about what's going on in my life…" he tried to stay vague. Really he was unsure if he even wanted to speak to the man.

Dr. Phillips pushed his glasses up his nose with a stubby fore finger. The small man who sat across from him was physically trying to shut him out. He could tell in the way that he averted his eyes from the man; how his hands interlocked forcing his shoulders to buckle forward to lock his chest away. Even the way he crossed his legs looked defensive. Weither the young man in front of him knew it or not he was closing himself off from the doctor. He wrote a few notes on the letter head before him, his scrawling cursive writing filling up line after line of notes. Even if Mr. McCloud didn't speak much his body language spoke volumes. He looked back up to the small man from across his desk and smiled warmly. "I already took the liberty of contacting your present doctor. He gave me a psychological profile from when you first joined this "Well" to present. I must say that I was surprised to hear of such a dramatic change in character." He paused, unsure if perhaps he had given too much information too soon, though to be perfectly honest he needed to be up front with the young man. Judging by the symptoms the other doctor had taken he needed to show James respect; to be honest with him or he wasn't going to make any progress with him. He stood up, his stout figure brushing against the hard wooden desk and went to the small coffee maker he had in his office. "Care for some coffee Mr. McCloud?" he asked looking back to the man as he grabbed a couple of mugs from one of the cabinets in the room.

Kart shook his head as he looked off to the other side of the room, looking out of the windows. "Alright then," Dr Phillips said gently, "hope you don't mind if I pour a cup for myself." Kart heard the man rustling around a bit before sitting back in his chair. "Care to tell me what's on your mind?" He asked. Kart sat there, watched as the traffic moved below them, a few stories down. "Not really," he finally admitted. He shifted a bit in his chair, to give him a better angle as he looked towards the window. He didn't like how this man had already phoned back 'home'. It felt like he was peaking in on his world and it made him uncomfortable. "Alright then," Dr. Phillips' deep voice said reassuringly from across his desk. He could hear the man swallow some of his drink, his swallow loud in the quiet room. "Let's talk about you a bit then." Kart wasn't sure if the doctor wanted him to continue on, to say anything so he remained silent. "…Such as what you do for a living," the doctor prompted. He watched as a mother walked her child in a stroller from across the street. "Mr. McCloud?" Kart closed his eyes for a bit before opening them before answering him. "I'm a…I run."

Dr. Phillips raised an eyebrow as he looked to the young man, his fingers drumming lightly on his coffee mug. He boy certainly had the build for it. He looked down at James's file. He was last weighed at about a hundred twenty-six pounds. The doctor's eyes raised to the man who sat across from him momentarily before he picked up his fountain pen again. He certainly didn't look that weight anymore. "That's very commendable of you Mr. McCloud. Not every one is cut out to be an athlete. (Even if it's not very practical)." He thought the last part to himself, though it was evident in his tone what he had thought of James's job. He sighed a bit as he watched Kart look out the window, the boys hand had moved across his body to rest on his shoulder. He certainly didn't want anyone penetrating his defences. Perhaps if he spoke of things closer to the heart he would be able to get some sort of response out of the man. "I care about your well being, as a friend Mr. McCloud. You understand that right?" He paused, waited until he saw a small nod on the other man's face. "I'm not going to force you to seek help, but you're friends seem to be worried. I'm sure even your family or loved ones care." He say the man shift uncomfortably a bit as he mentioned family, noting that little subject for later.

Kart's brows furrowed at the mention of family, his body unconsciously shifting a bit as he remembered his father. "Yeah…probably…" he said slowly. "Do you have a girlfriend Mr. McCloud?" Kart could have sworn his heart just stopped at that moment. Should he be honest with the man? He couldn't well lie. "I have a partner, yes," he finally admitted. The fingers on his shoulder started boring into it as he kept his gaze outside. "What's she like?" the doctor probed gently. Kart thought over his options. As great as Well was, at least there he didn't have to hide the fact of what kind of relationship he was in. This, on the other hand, was the outside world. As much as he wanted to correct the man he couldn't without being labelled as 'sick' or 'deranged' or even worse. "She's…" Oh God that felt odd of him to say. "She's good to me." He could hear the doctor's pen scratch against paper, more notes. This man seemed to like taking notes and he had hardly said anything to the doctor. He couldn't be taking that much in the way of notes. "How is she taking this change?" Dr. Phillips asked. Kart looked over to the doctor, seeing his pen poised over his paper, before looking back towards the window. "As well as can be expected." The doctor didn't say anything in response which made Kart look back over, the doctor's face expectantly looking at his own. "She was worried. Was one of the people who supported the idea that I should see someone."

Dr. Phillips nodded his head in understanding. "That's very nice of her. It's nice having loved ones who care about it isn't it," he commented in a gentle tone. He looked to the boy sitting across from him, his face keeping it's never lifting blank slate across it. He saw a small nod, a small "Yeah" escaping his lips. The doctor adjusted his glasses as he looked back down at his notes and he noticed a word he had scratched into the margin of the paper. 'Schizoid.' His eyes drifted back to Kart as he thought. It definitely seemed to fit him. The manner in which he dissociated himself from his surroundings, his withdrawn nature, his indifference to the praise or criticism the Doctor threw at him. Even the notes he had gathered from his current doctor voiced his withdrawal from his colleagues, his inability of forming real warm social relationships. The boy didn't seem schizophrenic, though he circled the word just the same. The two of them sat there for a long while before Dr. Phillips spoke, his ever-gentle voice sounded deafening in the quiet room. "What kinds of things do you do in your past time Mr. McCloud?"

Kart furrowed his brows slightly. Why did that even matter? Kart licked his dry lips, his hand moving from his shoulder and his fingers intertwined in his lap. His thumb brushed roughly against his wrist. "Stuff," he finally said. "What kinds of 'stuff'?" the doctor probed. Kart thought it over before replying, "not all that much. Read, cook, that's about it." He heard more metal scratching on paper, more notes. "Why do you do those things? How do they make you feel?" Kart opened his mouth to answer before closing it again. Why did he do those things? It's not like he received any pleasure from it. "It gives me something to do. I don't feel anything when I do it. It's just…something to pass the time." He heard the doctor move in his seat, repositioning in it, the tired sound of groaning metal coming from his direction. "Why not pursue something that will bring you pleasure?" Kart's shoulders shrugged slightly just as he started speaking, the sound of his leather jacket rustled close to his ear. He hadn't even bothered to make himself comfortable. Not wanting to. He was only going to be in there for the hour he had sighed up for. It made no sense to settle into the room. "I don't really feel like doing anything though. I need to do something though to pass the time so that's what I do," he stated simply.

The psychologist shuffled through his papers, grabbing a new one. He made jot notes as he continued asking questions. "Have you had any troubles concentrating?" He watched as James shook his head, a small no escaping his lips. That was on odd thing with this boy. He seemed to evade his vague questions yet would answer the direct ones. As much as he'd rather just get the boy to speak freely he obviously wasn't going to allow that. He would have to probe him proactively if he were to get the answers he was looking for. "Having any difficulty sleeping?" He kept his eyes on the small man across from him. There was a pregnant pause before James answered him. "Yeah…I have. I've already looked into dealing with that though." Dr. Phillips tapped the end of his pen thoughtfully against his desk. "Have you always had difficulty sleeping?" Again, another long, awkward pause. "No," came James' quiet voice, quiet as a mouse. The doctor sighed quietly, it wasn't looking good for him. With the symptoms he was exhibiting… He leaned against his desk, his thick fingers removing his glasses. "Mr McCloud. I'm going to ask you something, and if you don't want to you don't have to answer but, have you had any thoughts of suicide? Again, you don't have to answer me if you're uncomfortable with the question."

Kart kept picking at his nails as he mulled over the doctor's question. He thought of death often enough. That was part of the job after all. Death was part of the job. Whether he wanted to or not he was forced to think of it on a daily basis but did he proactively think of killing himself? "I…I don't really…" He inhaled deeply as he thought. "I guess I have, yes." He didn't hear any pen scratches, which seemed odd. The man had been so intent on taking notes. "Mr. McCloud…look at me," Dr. Phillips ordered softly. Kart looked across the large wooden desk at the corpulent man behind it, his gaze finally resting on the doctor's nameplate. "Mr. McCloud, how often would you say you have these thoughts?" Kart didn't respond to the question, didn't want to. It was bad enough that he had even admitted to having thought them in the first place. "Mr. McCloud, this is rather serious. How often would you say you get these urges?" Kart lowered his eyes back down to his lap, his fingers tightening around themselves. "I don't want to talk about this." He heard the older man shuffle behind his desk, hearing a small sigh. "I don't want to pressure you into talking about things, but for something of this scope…If it's serious enough I might have to proscribe you antidepressants. Have you ever had these thoughts before?" He could feel his head involuntarily nod though he didn't verbally confirm it to the psychiatrist.  "Mr. McCloud, I would strongly-" "I don't want to take drugs," Kart cut the doctor off for a second time their session. "But McCloud, if you're experiencing those kinds of impulses we need to stop them. To correct the chemical imbalance in your head." Kart shook his head as he stood up abruptly. "I said I don't want to take drugs," he said looking directly at Dr. Phillips, the first time since their meeting. "We need to cover your options. I'm just looking out for your well being." Kart stood there defiantly before turning to the door as he stated, "I'm leaving now."

Dr. Phillips sighed as he watched the man walk across the room to the door. "You'll be charged for the full hour. You may as well stay," he suggested. He felt as though he was making slight progress only to have a door slammed in his face. If the boy's depression were as serious as it sounded, perhaps anti-depressants wouldn't be enough for him.  They may have to look into electroconvulsive therapy…though the side effects sometimes out weighed the positives of the therapy. It was definitely something that had to be considered but at a later date, it was far too early to even think of such a thing. He noted the thought regardless as he saw James open the door, standing in the door frame. "Fine," he said. "Same time next week Mr. McCloud?" the doctor's voice was gentle, hiding his irritance in himself. "Fine," was all that was said before the door was closed again, leaving the psychiatrist in the quiet room. He looked down at James' folder only to close it, giving it a bit of a pat. It felt like he had just gotten himself into something over his head though, only time would tell if his suspicions were correct.