After being checked into Corvallis Farm Home High School And Psychiatric Hospital (dubbed Psych-School or C.P.H.S. by the other patients), Magena Mai Abque is forced to come to terms with her past and present mental state. Stuck in the middle of no...
Now, you can probably guess I'm an introverted girl. Sort of a no-brainer. I spend a lot of time in my room and usually, hang out by myself. Socializing is not a strong skill of mine. Yet, I get by pretty well. At least, I think I do. Well, to me, I get by pretty well without much human contact or interaction.
But, today wasn't a day that contained a minimal amount of human contact or interaction.
Unfortunately.
After breakfast, I asked McKai if I could go back up to my room. He said yes, and walked me upstairs. Before unlocking my door, he told me, "You have a therapy session at eleven thirty. Either me or one the other staff members will walk you down there." I looked at him. Therapy session? Why? I didn't need therapy. I didn't need to be here. And I sure didn't need therapy. Only those really lonely divorced middle-aged men with two children who he only saw every other weekend were the ones who attended therapy sessions.
I decided to sit down and draw since that often helped me clear my mind. Opening my sketchbook to a fresh page and grabbing a pen, I just drew the first thing that came to my mind. I felt isolated, scared, and different. Torn up, depressed, lost, confused. Most of the past few days were mostly blurred memories, smeared snapshots of fighting, drinking, cutting, stealing, and crying. My arms were cut up. Not those little scars. I cut pretty deep.
And like papa fanku says....
My arms are scarred long ways. No attention seeking here. Just trying to find results. But, I never get a different result. Einstein did define insanity as "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Well, there were times where the results were different, but that's because I'd added something to the mix.
Anyways, after processing how I felt at the moment, along with some physical and mental traits I had, I came out with something like this:
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Slamming my notebook shut, I stood up, nd stepped away from my desk. My emotions were scattered. I'd never really learned to properly process and express emotions, so I just kind of used humor and self-deprecation to hide my emotional issues and unhealthy mental state. And, for maybe about a year, it worked. Nobody ever took my jokes seriously. Nobody ever asked if I was okay, or if I needed someone to talk to. I learned to accurately mask my depression.
Until I did it too often. Often enough to where people were more concerned than when I didn't mask my depression. So, I changed it up a bit. I kept my mouth shut. And that worked even better. I was that quiet girl in class that sits in the back, always wears band shirts, draws, listens to music, and never gets called on. Or if she does get called on, she answers quietly.
Yeah, that girl was me.
And I was going to do my best to keep the persona as long as I could.
