Becoming Jane Doe

Chapter 1:

I am lily; a sixteen year old girl with immense sadness that cannot medically be called depression at this time, though it must be. I also was graced with the great thing that is anxiety which has led to me not having one friend to call my own. They say your illness doesn't define you are but in a way it does. It influences your choices and by doing so shapes who you are as a person. By having a mental illness or any illness for that matter your life is different than another persons' who doesn't have an illness. You've made different decisions because of that illness that without it you wouldn't have. Maybe you never went to see a certain movie because you were at home crying and you never realized things could get better resulting in your suicide a month later. Maybe your mom was driving to the pharmacy to pick up your anti-depressants and she got into a car accident, causing you to be riddled with guilt for years to come. They say your illness doesn't define but see how having a mental illness can change things.

I lay on my bed as the darkness swirled around me. The only company I shared in this quiet room where my dreams had gone to die. My body felt heavy and empty at the same time. The arch of my back ached from hours sitting at a desk. My eyes felt like black holes on my face putting so much pressure on my brain that if felt as if it wild pop any second. No pain medicine could dull the feeling this gave me, I've tried a scaringly high dosage of different type of medical drugs to no avail. My, four days unshaven hair on my legs stood straight as goose bumps covered my freckled skin. This was caused by the cool wind blowing through my open window onto my 98.6° f body that felt like the sun had been cooking it for hours. The air was humid and made me anxious for no reason at all. My red hair was spread out over my pillow and it tangled around my ears. It was matted to my scalp due to a mix of sweat and dirt from not washing it for a few days, maybe more than a few now that I think of it. This is how tended to spend most nights. Words pent up inside me, lodged in my throat. It was as if I was being strangled by my own mind night after night. I could feel a set of hands grasping my throat and with every night they got tighter. There was a pit in my stomach that made my body surge with nausea. I fought back the feeling you felt right before throwing up. I bit my lip stopping myself from crying out into the night for fear of waking my family. Why am I so pathetic? This question had been gnawing at my brain all for awhile now. In response to this question my body always started to feel weak and my tongue got dry while my palms became sweaty.

Today I had left junior year of high school. One more year and I could say "I made it", right? Graduation was the point I which you've made it, you've worked through twelve years of school bullshitting your way through course after course on topics that you never discussed outside of the classroom, and now you're at graduation and you've made it. You go to school get good grades and graduate, then college. You go to school, then you become in suffocating dept from college. You go to college to further your education on, again, useless courses to inevitably get a job at a local fast food restaurant. So you've graduated high school and college and you get a job, soon you're married, have kids and then you grow old. You've lived the dream life; you've made it. If that was "making it" then I definitely didn't want to make it.

I looked around my room in the dark; I needed to escape these thoughts so I mapped out my room in my mind. I was lying in my bed. It had no frame supporting it and didn't have any sheet covering the mattress, this wasn't because my family couldn't afford it; I'd been offered them many times by my mother. It was simply because i felt safer on the ground. Nothing could be hiding under my frame. I didn't believe in any supernatural but there was a very high chance I could be wrong and if I was in fact wrong I didn't want to find it out at 1 A.M. when a ghoul attacked me. I also kept my sheets off because by not having a sheet I didn't feel the urge to doodle on the expensive cloth that used to cover my mattress as I had done many times before to my parents dismay. I looked up into the darkness and pictured the space around me. I had arranged my room as artsy, or as some called it "pretentiously" as one could with such a small space. My bed was on the floor beside the window I always kept open. Two house plants resided on a shelf that was placed just above my electric piano, which I never played. It's not that I didn't appreciate the piano I really appreciated it and in theory I always seemed like I could play it; I was focused to a fault and I had long slender fingers. The reason I never played my piano was because the timing was never right for incorrect notes to ring through my house. I wanted to play early each morning and late into the night because that was when I was most creative and focused but unfortunately according to me parents "music was made for daylight hours when everyone was awake". The problem with that was either in school or using my time wisely by taking naps in the "daylight hours". This was probably the reason I was awake right now at four A.M., sleep wasn't a friend at night, at least not for me. I shook my head sending my overactive mind away for now. I turned to the left and examined the black wall. I didn't need to the art hanging on the wall; I could remember each piece exactly as it was. I owned a framed print ot The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh which I was proud of for some reason. I'm not sure why, I didn't paint it. Paling in comparison to Mr. Vincent, was some of my own work. My last wall was home to a floor-to-ceiling book case. There wasn't anything to talk about here i didn't own any great books because once i owned the book that i perceived to be great then somehow it miraculously became less great than before I owned it and my mind looked for something better to replace it. I sold those once great books to have money for the next great book.

Though I tried my best to take my mind of the bad thoughts I couldn't. "You'll never amount to anything" kept repeating in my mind. Then it got worse "there is no point in you living anymore, Lily," I heard the mocking tone in my head. "You're a useless piece of shit." I couldn't stop these words from flooding my head with their depressive and suicidal messages.

"Why am I like this?" I whispered to myself.

I just laid there in that sheet-less bed. I had cried so much the tears were soaking my pillow. I always had nights like this but something about tonight was worse, a lot worse. The makeup I was too weak to take off seeped into my eyes and stung quite a lot. They mixed with the salty tears and fell down my face.

I needed Kyle, the love of my life. We have been together for about 4 months but I knew he was the one. The only one. I needed to be in his arms and then I'd be able to put these bad thoughts aside and be happy, at least for tonight. I had to sneak out to see him. Now a lot of people would think what I planned on doing next was very stupid but there's no point in trying to change any of their minds. I sat up in my bed and looked around the vacant room and listen to hear if my parents were awake. When I heard none of the floor boards creaking I picked my heavy body up. I knew where the creaky floor boards were because I had spent many nights sneaking out to see him, Kyle. That wasn't even the type of person I was, I never snuck out until I met him. But he was in college so I felt I needed to be a grown up about it and give him the things he could go and get with another girl or I'd lose him; I would do whatever I could to keep him,he was the love of my life. I stepped quietly through the house though it was hard because my body was shaking excessively. I took my car keys from the bowl that always held them in the hallway leading to the front door. They clinked against my mom's keys. After taking my keys I stepped hesitantly across the boards; this hall was the creakiest. I got caught sneaking out once by my dad. I lied. I just lied to him and said I had come out to get a snack and I dropped a ring. The next morning I had to pretend to look for it. I got to the door and opened it slowly. I was now outside. The cool air of early spring blew my air around. It felt nice on my sweaty body. I got into my car. The leather seats were also cool against my thighs but I knew they would soon become sticky with my sweat.

I put the key in the ignition and started driving to him. I was out past the curfew, so as long as a policeman didn't see me I'd be fine. He lived just on the edge of town in a trailer park. It wasn't much but I didn't care as long as I was with him. My Kyle, he is the one thing in this darkness that was my life that I could call mine. A smile spread across my face as I thought of kissing him as soon as I saw him. I imagined cuddling up to him in his bed. I always felt so safe in his arms. As I drove I couldn't wait for that warm feeling I got whenever I was around him.