Summary: A girl believes she has murdered her best friend but no one else believes her.

A/N: OMG, I am SO SO SO sorry it has been over two months since the last update. I was busy all August, but I have no excuse for July. I was experimenting, writing other stuff. But again, I'm sorry. I was disappointed with the reviews though! I only got three reviews, and two of them don't really count because they are my real life friends. Thanks to Alley Rhodes for reviewing. So, please consider me and review!

P.S.-There is a part in here that does not reflect at ALL how I feel, so don't leave a review and get all pissed off. It is simply Sarah's cynical opinion. NOT mine. And, of course, italics are diary entries.

Disclaimer: The stuff written here is MINE. Do not steal and do not copy. I worked hard on this. The characters are not based on anything and have nothing to do with anyone in real life.

Why do I even bother with believing that people are on my side? No one is ever on my side. What side do I have for them to take? The side of a killer? The side of a depressed maniac?

Oh yeah, that is really the side that everyone is jumping up and down to take.

I am just sitting here, listening to Paverson drone on and on, tuning her out as usual. It's not like she ever has anything important to say. My mind wanders to places untold and unexplainable. Random thoughts cross my mind and I pick at them for a few minutes before releasing them and waiting for the next victim.

Why does someone choose to become a shrink? I mean, who really wants to sit around all day listening to other people bitch about their pathetic lives? Paverson should be glad that I don't say anything. You would think she would welcome the silence, the break from listening and pretending to be interested in what people have to say.

Although, Paverson is the kind of person that would actually be interested in the everyday triviality of life. Without even really getting to know her, I can already tell that she never feigns interest. That would just be rude to the patient and she would be denying herself of something.

On to the next thought, which, oddly enough, is also about Dr. Paverson. For once, it isn't really all that different from the last one. I must be making progress.

What happened in her life that made her decide to go to school for an extra billion years just so that she could sit in front of a rich loser and listen attentively while they pour their hearts out? Maybe, it was that no one ever took the time to listen while she poured her heart out. Or perhaps it was that she genuinely wanted to help make someone else's life better. People like that, people who volunteer all the time or give up their entire life for some charity, bother me.

They always want something. Recognition for putting a million hours into helping the Blind Miner's Society. A big tax break for helping Brain Dead Mountain Climbers every Monday for the entire year. Helping out at the Kittens Who Can't Eat Center for community service hours to get into the great college. Making up for the wrongs committed earlier in life by slaving away at Homes for Children Orphaned by Construction Accidents. Becoming a shrink because too many of their friends' problems went unsolved.

See what I mean? It's all just to gain something.

Don't get me wrong; I'm sure that there are people out there who sincerely help those less fortunate because it is the right thing to do. But come on, not everyone out there is that much of a saint. If there were more people like that, then Hell would be vacant and Heaven would be overcrowded. We can't have that now, can we?

I guess I have been seeing shrinks for too long because I know what Paverson would say. That my view on the world is twisted, ugly, and inaccurate. Notice, however, that it is my view, not hers. Therefore, I am entitled to my opinion just as much as she is entitled to opposing it.

Oh, I have it! What happened is that her parents sent her to a shrink, and he/she totally turned her life around. So then she wanted to become one just so that she could do that someone else. While she was studying hard for hours at a time, I am sure that some lame thought about how it would all be worth it if only one person could be helped, went through her head.

Self-righteous. That's what Paverson is. I suppose that is what can be used describe her. She is always so freaking perfect. She never looses her cool, she never gets too upset, a single strand of hair is never out of place… Okay, so the last one isn't self-righteous, but it's true. Me, I don't even bother with my hair anymore. I mean, who am I trying to impress? The lady who brings my meals every day? Paverson herself?

Right, 'cause we all know I try so hard to impress Paverson. What with the sadistic silence and panic attacks… What, you didn't know silence could be sadistic? Oh yes, silence can be every emotion in the book. Silence speaks volumes, you know. Volumes. No one ever says that words speak volumes, so silence is pretty powerful.

For instance, after you piss someone off and they are giving you the silent treatment. That silence can be described as arrogant. Or when someone is pissed off at you and they ask you a question and you don't answer. There, the silence is ashamed. Because I am giving everyone the silent treatment and I really don't care what they think about it, my silence is sadistic.

What can I say? I have had a lot of time to analyze silence. Chatterboxes would do well to learn from my example. Maybe then more people would be like me and I wouldn't be viewed as being so odd.

Oh wait. That's right. More people can't be like me. To be like me, they would have had to kill someone and then lapse into silence. Looks like I will always be the odd one out.

Donna and I were always unique, so I don't see why being even more different should bother me. We used to mock all the people that were all the same. The popular people. Those people who said they had a million friends, but would be lucky if one person had their back. I never understood what was so great about being popular.

We would also mock the real popular people. You know, the people who actually fit the definition of popular? Some one who is liked by many. If we all followed that definition, all the "popular" people would be social outcasts, seeing how no one actually likes them. So why mock the people who deserve to get the title of popular? What we would ask is what is so great about being known by a bunch of people? That way, someone is always gossiping about you, no matter how nice you are. Besides that, popular people just get on my nerves; both real and fake. It's kind of like the people who volunteer all the time. They are popular to get something out of it, whether it be a lot of friends, or the jock boyfriend.

Basically, I believe that everything can be related back to human nature. It is human nature to want to get something out of everything. No one can defy human nature. You can try, and a lot of people have tried, but you just can't. For that reason, there will always be violence. We can dream and hope and pray that one day all the violence in the world will be resolved, but it won't ever be. Violence happens for a multitude of reasons. Jealousy and greed are the biggest factors. But then there is the fact that some people are just plain jerks. There are those who believe that to get something done right, you have to use war. Politics is another huge contributor.

Face the facts and move on. Get over the fact that there is no such thing as world peace. Those people who spend their whole life dedicating themselves to making the world a better place aren't necessarily wasting their time; that's not at all what I am saying. Just because there will always be violence of some sort doesn't mean that we can't work on lessening the violence. What if we could get it so that the only violence is petty crimes? It would be better than nothing. So if you absolutely MUST put your talents to good use, then work on that. Don't set your sights on something that will never be attained. That's all I'm saying.

I think that is a conflict of interest though. See, before the whole killing thing, I was a total environmentalist and peace advocate. Vegetarian, tree-hugging, liberal-minded and a volunteer. The community was a place not just for me to live in, but a place to express my opinions. It was a place to start changing the world.

See? A total conflict of interest. I guess you could say my views changed because of the depression. After all, everything can be blamed on depression. Perhaps the difference is because of George and his evil ways. But I always say go with the most obvious one—it is the least complicated and probably the right one. Killing Donna changed my views. Wouldn't murdering someone change anybody's views?

Is it just me, or do I always end up at the same spot, no matter where my train of thought started off at?

A little timer goes off and Paverson stops mid-sentence.

"Yet another hour wasted." She actually sounds somewhat mournful. "I will see you tomorrow, I suppose. And could you at least pretend that you're paying attention tomorrow?"

It is the next morning and I am sitting in my favorite (and the only) chair in Paverson's office.

The morning chitchat starts off as usual with, "Anything you would like to discuss today?"

One of these days I will actually answer with some smart-aleck remark and just watch as she sits there dumbfounded.

Per usual, once again, she sighs heavily and shuffles her papers, giving me a second opportunity to speak.

Per usual, I don't.

This is where the conversation can go in a couple different ways. Option one is that Paverson will spend the entire hour talking about how talking would make me feel better. Option number two is that she will start spewing about how Donna's death wasn't my fault. Or, my favorite, she will just ramble on and on about useless things that are supposed to aggravate and/or guilt me into talking.

So when she says something about my grades, I am completely caught off guard.

"The school sent over your report card yesterday. I am very disappointed, Sarah."

What are you, my mother now? Why do they send you a report card? Isn't it the parent's responsibility to take care of grades? Oh, that's right! Dear ole' mom can't take care of my grades. Because her daughter is crazy and was forced to go into a facility such as this.

So what, does that make Paverson my mom now? Should I start calling her Mommy or Mama?

"Sarah, we give you as much time as you need to do your work. What is the problem? Is it that they aren't sending over your work? Or is the work too hard? All you have to do is ask and someone can help you."

I've never been good asking questions. Even before I became a mute. I don't want people's help, and I don't need it.

"Being here is not an excuse to slack off. When you get out of here, you're going to have to worry about the real world. Don't you want to go to college?" she asks.

That's a good question. Do I want to go to college? College always sounded so appealing when I was younger. Now, with only one year left, I'm not so sure. Then again, am I ever going to get out of here? I'm required to spend at least another three or so months in here, and then meet biweekly. It is, however, the psychiatrist's sole discretion as to when I can be let out after that. At the rate this is going, I will never get out.