Im Not okay

Can they really blame me for not wanting to come here? I pleaded and begged with my parents but they told me that checking into a mental institution would benefit me and make me a better person. But I think they just couldn't stand having a suicidal son, so they decided to make me someone else's problem.
My dad pulled his stunning, red Camaro up to the entrance of Green Meadows rehabilitation center. The thick glass doors showed a large receptionists desk centered in the center of a small room.
"All right Frank. we'll come visit you every Saturday, have a good time!" my dad said shifting his wait to face me in the back seat. This is it. They're not even going to walk in with me. No hug. No goodbye. I stared at him and my mother for a second amazed how they're reacting to their son checking into a rehab center. I grabbed my large, blue duffle bag off the seat next to me and got out of the car, making shure to slam the door behind me.

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