Everything And Nonsense

Treatment

I was a bad kid. Awful. One of the worst it seemed.

One day I was at school, being a little brat as usual, running out of the classroom, being defiant, the norm for me. Mr. Luckette, my teacher, was probably sick of me, but was always so nice either way. He was also my 3rd grade teacher the next year. I was seeing a therapist regularly. This building I only knew as "407". My grandpa took me here every Friday. I had a really nice therapist. Don't remember her name though. Well, it was a Friday, and grandpa picked me up. I went into the room, and this time he came with me. The therapist sat down and explained this would be my last meeting with her. Why? I was being sent to a new school. It wasn't a normal school, it was for the bad kids. The ones who yelled at the teachers, threatened people, ran away from class. Kids like me. I cried. I hated change. But you know this already. Whatever, I went home that day, and on Monday I was arriving at the new school, Children's Treatment Center, or CTC for short. I was sent to this office with a woman named Mrs. Renee. And no, that's not her last name. The staff used their first names. She was an old lady, very kind, reminded me of my grandma. She was my therapist/counselor now. We went to my classroom, and I was the only female student in there. Made friends with this kid named Michael. The teachers, Ms. Lindsay and Ms. Megan, were pretty nice. They were kind, but of course, I was not. I mean, why else was I there if I was a nice kid? I pulled the same things I did in my old school. You already know the deal. Even started banging my head on the walls for added "flair", and said bad words. Hm, maybe that's why I forget recent things so easily and have a hard time thinking now? Curse you, 8 year old me! Well, it got so bad that I was sent away AGAIN. Not to a different school. Oh no, this was worse. If I had social anxiety then, I was gonna have it worse now. I went to school that day and my grandpa came to get me as usual, but he had my suitcase with him from when I would visit my auntie Cheryl in California every summer. But this was different. It wasn't summer yet. Instead of us getting on the bus together (we rode in this white and blue van/bus every morning and every day), he took me to the office. A teacher was waiting. His name was Mr. Andrew. He said I wasn't going home today. My grandpa gave me the suitcase. I entered this white van, and as I basically begged to go with my grandpa, he walked off. I was sent to this house. They called it Marin House. Michael was there. I asked when I'd go home, and they laughed at me. They fucking laughed and said "You can't go home until your behavior improves. None of these kids can. They know what's up, too.", and I felt sick. I had the biggest outburst I'd ever went through. They held me by my arms and legs, like a "restraint", and said they wouldn't let me hurt anyone. I didn't want to. I didn't plan to hurt anyone. But I desperately wanted to leave. Now you may be thinking "This is bullshit, this never happened.", and God do I wish I could agree. This was easily the worst thing I'd been through at the time. And it only got worse from there. My grandpa came to visit, and I was so upset with him, asking why he left me. He was my best friend basically, and he just...left. But then he said he didn't want to.