Harrison Woods is a 17-year-old girl attending Arbor Coast High, a boarding school in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Her dark past including her rocky relationship with her parents and her esteemed older brother's suicide are the reasons she landed herself at...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I woke up in the usual cramped concrete jail cell. I laid on the tiny bed that resided in the corner, and there was a disgusting composting toilet in the corner directly to the right of it. There was a desk at the foot of the bed with the most uncomfortable chair you could ever imagine. It was practically nothing more than a piece of metal. Nothing about the environment surrounding me was homely. But I guess that was the point of the whole jail concept.
My door swung open, and I groaned as 2 police officers made their way into the room, forcing me up and out of the bed. I wouldn't say they were the most gentle when it came to dealing with me. I complied, standing up and following them out of the cell and through the hallway. The part of the jail where I was staying wasn't that of a typical jail where you could see into the other cells or hear the unbearable noises of inmates yelling profanities at God-knows-what. It was different in the sense that each jail cell had its own stainless-steel soundproof door. There wasn't even a window on the door to see out, which made the inside of the cell even more blah. It was the side of the prison where the true criminals were kept: serial killers at large, of course.
The police officers lead me into the cafeteria area where all of the prisoners were eating breakfast. Suddenly, all eyes were on me. The only people who were ever escorted and monitored by police officers were the people who had committed multiple heinous crimes. I, apparently, was one of those people.
Innocent until proven guilty? That definitely wasn't the case.
My memory of the past couple of weeks was foggy as I had been in and out of dissociative states. Or, at least that was what my psychiatrist, Gina, had told me.
Harrison had visited me 3 weeks ago, but I didn't remember any details of what happened when she did. Gina told me that meant I had dissociated upon her visit. So instead of Harrison speaking with me, she'd gotten the pleasure of speaking with my awful second personality. I was then informed on what exactly went down when she visited me, and to say I felt remorse would be putting it lightly. Hearing about how badly I had scared Harrison unsettled me. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her, but I realized that was all I was capable of anymore. I even learned that she tried to kill herself after seeing me. After that, I had come to the conclusion that I really was a certifiable monster.
Over the entire time I had been seeing Gina about my disorder, she had tried doing a few psychoanalysis sessions with me. She said it was in an attempt to bring my unconscious memories or thoughts to my conscious, but it never worked out. Repressed events from my childhood would pop up every now and again, but nothing explained to me why I would have murdered nearly all of my ex girlfriends. It was all still a mystery to me, and it was one I didn't expect to ever understand.
The officers lead me over to the table where my psychiatrist sat. She would come certain mornings to have breakfast with me and chat about my mind. She said that it was beneficial to talk in a setting that was more natural. Although, I couldn't find a single natural thing about the prison environment.
