1Just tell me about one thing in this stupid stupid world that's perfect. Go on. I DARE YOU TO TELL ME WHAT IN THIS FRICKING BLOODY WORLD IS PERFECT.
Nothing.
Not pretty miss Something Somethingham in her latest Gucci and Cartier, not Mr. I-attract-instant-moshpits and certainly not Vanessa Falton's music composition for the week.
Alright then. I've just told you what's on my mind, so, go on... tell me I'm just a stressed out teenager going through a difficult time due to my unbalanced hormones. Wow, guess you couldn't have told me that without your honour-merited doctorate from the blah blah school of psyche, huh? You know what? I may as well strip down to my bedroom slippers and dance the eternal naked dance of the amazonian women trying to provoke rainfall. Yeah, it's just a fad. It'll pass. I'll mature someday. And maybe, I'll even get rid of this POUNDING headache, and the tears threatening to drown me from the inside if not the outside, will all dry out. I mean, how do you explain something like this? And who really listens? My father could pay for someone to sit and analyze me, but we all know what that crap's worth. The fact is... the best I can really explain it, is that, I know I'm being irrational. I know it. But then, it doesn't make sense for me to continue, does it? That's just it. I fucking hate myself for who I am, and what I do. Not just what I do, but what I do to MYSELF. Hell, I don't even know why I do half the things I do. Ok... this doesn't look as good on paper as
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"FOCUS Eisha" I sighed and rolled my pen away. Fat lot of advice that was... focus my ass. This wasn't helping me. I looked up at the helper with as much poison I could muster. Well, for all the effort I put into looking like a psychopath, I just got one of those irritating 'understanding' looks. I lowered my gaze again.
"Are you having a hard time with this exercise?" The sound of her honeyed voice was enough to make me want to stick my finger in the pencil sharpener. "Because... Eisha honey, it's all about you here" And make me want to twist the sharpener round. "And I completely understand if this exercise gets you frustrated" Then pull my bloody finger out. "Eisha" The intonation was a bit sharper this time. But hell, I wasn't going to look up for her. I cleared my throat instead. "I- I uh.. need to use the restroom please" My voice was quiet. I don't remember being this quiet before.
I stood up abruptly and pushed the chair back with a little more force than intended. The spindly little thing fell back, making a lot more noise than it looked capable of. Patients and helpers around the silent room looked up; some in annoyance, and some grateful for the distraction. I muttered an apology and made my way out to the corridor, ignoring looks from the mentally-deranged.
Once safely in the sanctuary of a toilet cubicle, I sat down on the floor and covered my face with my hands. But then stopped myself and bit my pinkies. What a typical movie-scene. What was WRONG with me? The first question pounding on my mind's door(and nearly shattering it) was.. why was I here? I wasn't ILL. I certainly didn't have a mental affliction... well, as far as I knew, I didn't. And then, secondly, why was I analyzing everything little thing I did? It's bad enough having these helpers- these leeches, asking you about your every emotion every waking hour... but why do I have to go and criticize myself as well? At this rate, I'll be dead before fall. There I went again. the tears flowing down leaving lovely stains to show off back in the room. See, there I proved to myself again, that there was definitely something wrong with me. I mean, if there wasn't, would I be bursting into tears for no reason at all? I banged a fist on the cubicle door and swore. But then what was everything anyway? I KNEW there was something wrong, so obviously, I was capable of fixing it myself. And then, maybe it was just 'normal' for people at this age to feel like this... GOD, I hated that cliché. I gave up all hope of avoiding dramatic scenes and flung my head into my arms and sat there sobbing, my body rocking back and forth.
A soft mechanical sound made me look up, and what I saw, got me madder than I'd been before. "BLOODY SECURITY CAMS IN THE BATHROOMS?!" I yelled out a couple of swear words in a few languages and stomped my way out to the corridor again, where I was met by two 'helpers'. I snorted in disgust.. they certainly didn't seem to be helping me now.
I just stood there quietly, as my quota was. My hands were balled up into tight fists and I was sure I'd glimpsed a pale furious face on my way past the mirrors.
Lydia, one of the more mulish helpers, came forward and patted my shoulder. "Eisha, how nice to see you again" I didn't move an inch. I could have been carved out of stone. The other helper, I'd never seen before. Who cared? They were everywhere, and all looked alike. This one had a green plastic badge pinned to her, that said 'Andrea Parton'. I shivered involuntarily. I knew well enough what the green badge meant... it meant medical department. And not in a healthy way. I eyed that one cautiously... expecting her to pull out a syringe and stab me any moment now. "Eisha, you must be missing a session. Why don't you run along darling?" I hate the way she included my name in every sentence. As if I was one of them... And excuse me? I was no darling of HERS. But I'd be willing to act in compliance just this once, to get away from this heavily scented buffalo.
I strode down the corridor, painfully aware that the two followed my departure with their eyes. I was so damn tempted to duck into an elevator and stick my tongue out at them before the doors closed. Tempted, that's all. I knew better.
Half an hour later, I was lying on the floor, with my arms and legs stretched out comfortably. This was possibly the only part of therapy I could bear. I could just doze off and the helper would never know. But today, I felt tensed up for some reason. It was probably just that brush with the camera. I let it get to my head. I rolled my head to the right. There, lay Harry; the mousey little boy with brown hair down to his lashes and pretty green eyes. He was alright. He'd been here a while... just recovering from acute Schizophrenia. Turns out, he was one of the many miraculous cases here. I was tempted again, to ask him whether he'd been bribed. But in honesty, he was the only friend I'd had here for a while. I turned to the left and looked at the other two people I'd befriended; and lost. Amanda and me had bonded the moment I'd showed up. She was only a year older than I was.. and actually seemed normal. I mean normal in the sense of not being like the others. She laughed often enough, and loved playing basketball. I'd never really understood what was wrong with her. At times it seemed like schizophrenia, and at others, like chronic hysteria. The strange thing was that she only suffered fits when she wasn't busy doing something else. I found that rather odd.. and when I asked her about it, she'd replied frostily... saying it was perfectly normal, and that I shouldn't stick my nose in where it doesn't belong. We haven't talked since.
The other figure, was Ben. I'd protested on Ben's part a number of times. Ben was deaf and dumb. He didn't belong here! This was a mental asylum; a loony bin. Ben was a fine young boy who was capable of much more than most of the retards here. I'd defended his case quite verbally, and finally, his parents had come in to speak to me and were quite offended that I should try to extract him from this 'haven'. They'd ordered him to stay away from me. More strictly speaking, the helpers were made to keep an eye on me. As for my parents... I doubt they could care less about how I was doing.