Rehab//Cliffoconda

Day One

~Coraline~

I think I'm a freak.

In fact, I know I am one.  My entire being just oozes weird.  I even have a name that helps add to the freakishness.

Creepy.  Disturbed.  Insane.  Abnormal.

Many words of our vocabulary could describe what I seem to be from another person's perspective.

What they don't understand is that deep down, past the injection bumps and slits on my wrists, behind the seemingly permanent frown, I'm human.  

Even if I feel dead, and I'm barely hanging on by the imaginary noose, I'm there.

        I think about this every day.  I'm forced to.  Because everyday, what's left of my family sits me down at the breakfast table, makes a poor attempt at poofing away my problems, and shoves me off to the absolute hell called school.  

        Now, I don't think school is hell because of class, or homework, or tests.  No.  It's the kids.  And the teachers.  And everyone.  They tease me, and bully me, and push me near my limit.  They are partly the reason why I am the way I am:  Dead.  But does anyone try and comfort me?  Do they ask why I'm hurting?  Do they feel sympathy when they see fresh cuts on my wrists?  No.  They never have. It's disgusting.  It seems as though they were born without a drop of pity in their bodies.

Quoting My Chemical Romance, "Teenagers scare the living shit out of me.  They could care less as long as someone'll bleed."

        All anyone ever wants to do is shove me, or put me on medications.  Neither is very beneficial on my part.  The medicines just make me crazy, and have they ever magically taken away the bullies?  No. They never will.  My typical day is filled with this name calling, bullying, and hurting.  I suppose I've learned to deal with it.  As much as one can deal with bullying of this magnitude, that is.  But, sure, all it ever does is make me come home, cry, and hurt myself.  Yeah, the cocaine was only a simple, mild numbing solution.  No big deal, right?  It doesn't seem like anyone thinks it is.

After coming home from the harsh survival of another "regular" day in hell, I heard the four words that changed this all in the worst and best possible ways.  

"You're going to rehab."

So I know I have a ton of other stories that I don't update, but I was listening to Amy Winehouse, and I thought this would be a good, deep story.  Btw, Coraline is a bomb-ass name so I personally don't think it's freakish, but the character does.  I am trying to recreate the feelings of depression and lost hope within this stoy, so I worry that I might suck at that. However, I hope you guys like this :)