Journaling Schizophrenic

Original Ending

Author's note: I realize that I've left this sitting here unfinished and alone for almost two years and I feel really awful about it (especially when I look at the number of reads). I don't know how many of you will still read this or if you even remember what this story was about - truthfully since I technically wrote this in 2009 I barely remember any of it myself - but I want to at least give some closure to those of you who want an ending.

The main reason I never posted this ending is because I felt this story could continue farther and be so much better if I kept writing, but it's been two years and nothing yet. Maybe this year I'll revisit this story and do it justice but until then I hope these two (and a bit) chapters will suffice.

Oh and I included a link to a video of Not Ready to Go by the Trews in the external link if you wanted to listen to it.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this :)

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Entry thirty:

Fix You. Isn’t that a great song? I hope we can both fix each other. I don’t know how though! I’m just a schizophrenic teenager who is learning about love and trust and relationships. How should I know anything about breaking up with emotional teenage girls who may or may not be having your baby?

I’ve been reading a compilation of Sylvia Plath poems lately and I decided to write you something about what this all makes my think of in the same apathetic tone she tends to use. Here it is, I wrote it in Psychology by the way, if that makes a difference.

The smell of the smoke preludes the image of the burning cars. One is toppled in the most interesting angle, lying next to another car that looks as if a huge child has come and slammed it into a wall – fascinated by the bent metal and the burning, peeling paint.

The broken glass lies glittering on the ground, reflecting the sun that shines through the billowing smoke. And the dark cloud that cloaks the piles of metal billows above and around the wreckage. The crimson blood pools and covers the shards, glinting a warm welcome in the orange fire light.

The blue and red flashing of the ambulance’s light shines through, rushing to help, just a minute too late. The fire has already consumed all that is flammable.

Can you tell that I was just describing a horrific car crash? It’s awful I know, and definitely won’t make anyone feel any better, but I just felt like sharing. I hope you don’t mind.

Gavin is here right now, he’s just gone to get a drink – non alcoholic of course. We’ve been talking about it and all we’re still both reeling a little at the fact that you could do something like that. But I guess considering the conversation we had a couple days ago, it just seems a little unreal. In any case you can obviously tell that we’re going to tell you not to let her abort, if she actually is pregnant. But I can tell you this – if she’s sure she can do it without feeling guilty afterward then don’t give her any ultimatums or anything, after all she’s the one who would be forced to walk around looking ridiculously fat and having people talk and whisper about her, not so much you.

As for the problem of not wanting to be with her anymore, I suggest you take her to see a therapist about her situation at home. I know she won’t be very happy about it – she might even feel you’ve betrayed her for suggesting it - but keep gently telling her that it will help her and that she needs to work things out with herself and her family if she’s ever going to be capable of having a normal relationship. If you get really desperate you can promise her that you’ll be there for her if she promises to work things out, but you just can’t deal with the pressure of having to be careful about every single thing you do and say around her. Also, try not to mention me when she’s around.