Lauren Sanders is struggling to rebuild her life with her aunt and cousin after her family's tragic death. But what no one knows is the truth about two things: how her parents really died and her battle with schizophrenia.
One day, Lauren stumbles...
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On Friday morning, I went to a counseling group, missing my first and second classes. Near the gymnasium, counseling groups are held. There's this room where they assemble students who have been in and out of counseling for months. I was told by Clarissa and Ms. Wilson that they all felt it was a smart idea to get me out there. Let my story be known. I can't help but chuckle at the thought as they told me about it, considering that most of the people in this town already knew what happened.
"Hello," I say as I was getting up from my chair. It had already been my turn to discuss and tell my story. Emily, who sat next to me, had just done sharing hers. She told everyone she has OCD and couldn't stop worrying about evening out the odd numbers. She claims that when one number stands out, it makes it special. To her, at least.
"My name is Lauren," I say, "Lauren Sanders."
All of them are looking at me, quietly. Slowly, their eyes judged me from head to toe to my face as to why I was here.
"I have been clinically—and mentally—diagnosed with anxiety and depression," I say, leaving the most important thing out: my schizophrenia.
There have been rumors circulating about this school. Janice's rumors circulated after she found out about my psychotic episodes. She convinced everyone that I was insane and then was left branded by people as a psychotic woman who had just fled from the psychic ward.
It was like I was wandering around with a note, stuck to my back that says crazy woman: beware. It had been going on for a year, and when the teachers had a meeting, they all stopped and gathered the students at the gymnasium, educating us all about mental health, and that if anyone hears someone make fun of other students, they'll have to report them instantly and they'll get kicked out automatically.
A guy with thick-rimmed glasses lifts his hand as if I were a teacher wandering around asking for questions from someone.
"Yes, Andy?" Ms. Reel, the woman assigned to watch over us and listen to the group looked over at the guy who was raising his hand.
"I have a question for Lauren," Andy says, making me furrow my eyebrows.
Ms. Reel looks at me then looks back at Andy, "I don't—"
"I don't really mind answering questions," I cut off Ms. Reel. She looks at me as I gave her a nod and a reassuring smile that it was really okay even though I'm not too sure.
"People say that you have been admitted to a psychiatric ward. Is it true that you have escaped?" Andy asks, pulling a pen and a little notebook out of his jean pocket.
Ms. Reel grabs the pen in his hand and says, "Andy, we're here for counseling not for your newspaper."
"No, it's not true," I deadpanned. It was a simple answer to a complicated question that I wanted to add an explanation to but if I do, I'll end up looking guilty.
