Darkest Twists

Introduction

I guess you're wondering how I got in the hospital. Probably wondering why there are only two people there waiting for me, huh? I mean honestly, I've been in an accident bad enough to kill me, and only TWO people came? Yeah, I'm not much of a people person. But I suppose I'll start from the beginning, tell a little about myself, kind of an introduction. So my name is Angel Marie Silvers. I have long bleach blonde (Im talking so light it's almost white) hair, and yes it's an "emo" hairstyle. My eyes are a deep emerald green, yet they're bright and luminescent. I have pale skin, I never could tan. Im a short person, and I'm sixteen now, though I was only fifteen when my life started raining on me. I knew water was necessary to make lemonade, but this was ridiculous. Plus, I haven't even gotten the lemons yet! Maybe that was the beginning of my life. Ah, my childhood was great. Toys, friends, too young to understand the cruelty of the world, or comprehend drama. Those were the good ole' days. Not everything was perfect, but I was too young to know that. Yep, I'm talking about when I was five. Then reality paid me a little visit. My wondrous life turned into a world of pain and tears.

I realized my dad was a dead-beat drug addict. The only time he ever worked was when he felt like it. Any other time, he'd mooch off of someone else stupid enough to let him. A lot of the time, those stupid people were me and my mom. She saw it as an opportunity to spend time with me, but he never really did. He'd come, say "Hi," and "I love/miss you," get what he was after from my mom, and leave. Sometimes he'd need a hideout from the cops, so he'd live with us. When the coast was clear, he'd take off again. Over time I got used to it, and stopped caring. Sometimes he wouldn't be hiding from the cops, but from some crazy woman he was seeing. I can't count how many of them tried to hurt me to get to him. Of course, he never cared enough to get rid of them when that happened.

I've always lived with my mom, and I loved her. But sometimes, it seemed like the only reason she ever had me was so she would have someone to yell at and take all her stress out on. When she got angry, she would hit me or yell at me and call me "worthless" or say that I'm "good for nothing but to take her money and give her headaches." Over time, I got used to it. So I got in even more trouble when I didn't react how she wanted me to. Eventually, she realized there was no use in hitting me, so she stopped. I started losing respect for her the more she smoked pot, and the more I realized she was a drug addict. But nonetheless, I loved her to death, and there wasn't anything I wanted more than to make her proud.

Through it all, my big brother, Jake, and my cousin, Dillon, were always there for me. All my life, they've been my role models. But later I realized my brother just runs away from everything, and always abandoned me when I needed or wanted him most. And as for my cousin, he became a slacker. Failed school, smoked, couldn't do anything for his self, even went to jail. So much for role models. But still to this day, I have hope for them, and still look up to them. Today, Jake has a family, a job, a home. I know Dillon will work things out for the best. He used to be such a good kid... I guess too much pressure has that affect on people.

In elementary school, I had two best friends. For the book's purpose, I'll call them Pink and Blue (I'm Purple). Well, us three had it all figured out. Our future plans for school, work, and kids. When two of us were in a fight, the third would be the reasonable one to calm them down. It's how we worked. But when Blue moved away, Pink and I kept fighting and grew apart. Pink found new friends, and I turned into the loner I am.

I've always been pretty good in school, myself. Naturally a straight A student, when I got a B or lower, I'd end up yelled at. I was in third grade reading at an eleventh grade reading level. So listening to others read was a real bore, but regardless, I was always polite. Until about seventh grade, when bullies got so bad I couldn't stand it. So, I set an example for myself. One day a football player decided to run by and push me into a locker. When I yelled at him, he told me to shut up and do something about it. So I stomped his toe, ironically he grabbed his head and not his foot, when he did I punched him in the gut. His head went down and I grabbed it, brought up my knee, and slammed his face into it. Of course I was suspended, but from that day on, people stayed out of my arms reach when they picked on me, which was good enough in my mind.

Seventh grade was the grade I met my best friend, and my brother. We had some classes together, always hung out. We had been through a lot, and trusted each other with everything.

I told him about my schizophrenia, how I hear voices telling me to do terrible things and make me depressed. I told him about how I use to cut, how seeing the blood made me feel better because I knew I was that much closer to death. Yeah, I'm one of those people. Now I'm on medication for depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and violence. Not to mention my ADD and acid reflux. I have to take, like, eight pills every morning. I told him about my family's history of being mental. I told him my hopes and dreams. I told him everything, just as he did to me.