Beautiful Dreamer

Epilogue

 Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has read and kept up with this story because I love you all a lot and I'm hugging you through the computer screen right now ok

Epilogue

I never ended up going home.

As it turns out, the hospital has a special care plan for patients who have attempted suicide. And since that's the story I went with, I was forced to follow their rules. They thought that I was a danger to myself, so they took me out of Callery and moved me to a rehab center in Philly. They said that it would help me, and anyway, my friends could visit whenever they wanted.

It just made things worse.

I hardly ever sleep anymore. Those little whispers in my head have gotten louder, so that now sometimes it's like the monsters are screaming inside my head. It didn't take long for that to become too much, and that's why I'm still here. Because one day, in yet another one of those countless therapy sessions, the psychiatrist had asked me what was wrong and I'd broken down and told her the truth.

Or, as she called it, the “falsified reality.”

She didn't believe me, of course. Who would? I've given up on trying to convince them of my sanity. Every week, they ask me what happened, and I tell them the same thing each time: the truth. Now they all think they've lost my mind along with my will to live.

I know they whisper about me back in town. When I close my eyes, I can practically see Jan and Raissa parked in front of the general store, discussing my mental state behind their hands when my mother walks past. Logan tells me about it, too, how all around the streets they talk about the girl who lost her mind.

But I'll be released soon, or so the nurses tell me. They've been preparing me, gently, for the day when I go home, when I'll no longer have these white walls to protect me. They think I'm excited; I guess, usually, people can't wait to get out of this place. I don't particularly mind it here, though. I don't think I'm ready to face the reality waiting for me outside these doors. I'm not ready to be labeled as insane.

And I'm not ready to be out in the open, where the monsters can find me again.

I know where they are: I know that they're inside my head, and they're trapped there. But I also know that it only takes one bad dream to bring them all back. The constant fear of a nightmare has turned me into an insomniac; I can barely close my eyes anymore without automatically jolting awake. The bruising bags beneath my eyes have become permanent installments. I thought the fear was over, but it's slowly been seeping back in and taking over my life.

My friends come in sometimes. Juliette pops by on the weekends with cookies and a confused little smile; she doesn't know the whole story. Logan stays for hours on the days when he doesn't have school, just sitting and talking to keep boredom at bay. He brings me homework from Dr. Hennessy’s psych class, because the professor was so kind as to let me stay on top of my studies while I'm locked in the nuthouse. My mother drives up every single day without fail, and our relationship is better than ever.

But I'm still afraid to leave. It's been four months, and they've been long, but I get food and a television and my room has a nice view. I feel safe here. I don't trust myself to be safe anywhere else.

I'll manage, I guess. Somehow.

You know, though, they were right: writing this down has helped me, though not in the way they hoped. It's made me realize that all of this has really happened to me, and that no matter what they say, I'm not insane. When most people look at me, they feel sorry; I can see it in their eyes. Every doctor and nurse and shrink has pity lingering in their eyes. They shouldn't feel sorry. I'm not broken. I've just been stuck here for a while, because they think I'm broken inside my mind.

They think I'm crazy. But I'm not crazy.

You believe me, right?

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THE END

(hallelujah it's over i'm done and six completed stories holy cow)