"You're a star now, welcome to the big league. They all wanna pic. They all wanna see what you're made of, what you're gonna do. Is life gonna get the best of you?"
(Written 12/5/15 - 2/20/17)
(Under editing from 2/21/17 - 6/27/17)
Main Instagram: c...
(I made an Everytime/hospital aesthetic even though she doesn't have the long blonde hair)
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(Trigger warning, mentions of rape, self harm, suicide, etc)
I itched at my arms. I was craving methamphetamine and I couldn't get it while locked up in here. My throat was sore from getting my stomach pumped in the ER. I cringed at the thought of the tube down my throat.
Because I had tried to kill myself three months ago, I was admitted to Pillbox Hill Medical Center's psychiatric/rehab ward for treatment. My blood had been tested and found traces of drugs and alcohol on top of that, so therefore rehab was involved.
I sat in a plastic blue chair in the group therapy room with my knees pulled to my chest and my cheek resting on my knee as I listened to other people just as messed up as me talk about their issues. We all wore pale green scrubs that was thin like paper, intended for one time wearing. Some of us had our real clothes. For me, I was wearing a men's yellow t shirt and the green scrubs with fuzzy socks.
"He held me down and just... kept going. I scratched and kicked and yelled but he relentlessly kept going." A girl with black hair and pale skin sounded horrified as she explained her rape experience. My mind flashed back to the time I was almost used by the Merryweather guard in my room. That could be me saying those words.
Soon, she couldn't speak anymore. She was sobbing too much. "It's okay, you can stop now." Dr. Lee comforted her. The girl, her name Ana, nodded and put her face in her arms.
"Alana, would you share?" She prompted me. Everyone's head turned to me. Dr. Lee sat at the wooden table with a clipboard and a pen, writing down what people say to pry into their lives.
I shrugged. "I don't have anything to say."
"Sure you do, everyone has a story."
"Don't know where to start."
"I understand you did a lot of reckless driving?" She said. Michael and Amanda must've filled her in because I know I haven't said anything to her.
"Well I wouldn't consider it reckless." I shrugged, lifting my cheek from my knee.
"Whys that?" She asked.
"It's all I've got to keep myself sane. Drive all night, drink all day. Repeat the next day. It's all the same to me. Not reckless. I love driving fast," I said. "And hearing the bird in the summer breeze. And I'm always alone." I belted out facts. I turned my head to her. "I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy. And..." my eyes searched the pattern on the carpet. "I'm tired of driving until I see stars in my eyes."
