camp || m.c. (on hold)

six

Sarah and I talked for a little while longer, but then it was silent again. I struggled to find sleep, so I turned on the lamp by my bedside and grabbed my journal and a pen from my bag. I started to write.

Dear Mom,

Today was my first day at Camp Hill, and I managed to scrape through a social gathering and I talked to three or four people without a major breakdown. I was pretty proud of myself, but it was pretty easy to do here. Everyone was so open and accepting.

The girl I share a cabin with is named Sarah. She has insomnia and depression, but she says her depression is starting to diminish. She says she's a lot happier now.

There was a big bonfire for the newbies like me to perform the tradition of letting go of something from your past. You'll never believe what I did, because I don't even believe it. I cut almost all of my hair off. I haven't looked into a mirror yet, but Sarah said it looked good, so I hope it doesn't look like I completely butchered it.

There was a boy at the picnic today named Michael. He has bipolar disorder, but he was still really nice. He talked a lot about how when he went out on the lake he felt calmer. I kind of want to go on a boat. I think I'm going to go with Michael next time he goes.

I guess Camp Hill isn't so bad after all. But it's still early, and today was just a warm up, I'm sure.

I love you.

Madeline

I, of course, had no intention of sending this letter based off of my 1:15am thoughts, but it was a small comfort to be able to talk to my mom about everything that was going on, even if she wasn't physically responding. It felt good to put it on paper. Even if my real mom thought I was a hopeless case, my hypothetical mom was always there for me.

My creative urge satisfied, I clicked off the lamp and rolled over onto my side, falling into a dreamless sleep.

---

I woke up in the morning to Sarah shaking me roughly by the shoulders.

"Wake up, Mad, Jesus you're a heavy sleeper!" she shrieked, and my eyes flew open.

"Who's dying? Is there a fire?" I shouted and shot up out of bed. Sarah chuckled, but she was still red in the face from trying to wake me up.

"Maddie, we have Group in like, 8 minutes. Get ready, please!" Sarah chortled, walking toward the exit of the cabin.

"Wait for me!" I called after her as I struggled to pull on a pair of pants and threw on a tee shirt. Sarah raised her eyebrow at me, and I poked my arm through the second sleeve hole and followed after her.

---

It was a little bit of a walk to cabin B-7, but we took our time.

"Sydney is gorgeous in December, isn't it?" Sarah remarked quietly, and I nodded my head in agreement. Summer in general was beautiful in Australia. The sunlight filtered through the leaves hanging delicately on the tree branches, dappling the forest floor with a golden light. The temperature was cool for summer, mostly because it was in the morning. Thankfully, my sweat was kept to a minimum and we got to the cabin with a few seconds to spare.

"Almost late, girls," I heard a heavy Australian voice warn us, and I gave him an apologetic smile before turning back to look at the group. It seemed that groups had been divided, because although I saw Michael, I didn't see Calum. I was disappointed again. I really wanted to talk to him.

My palms were sweating profusely as I sat next to Sarah on the edge of the group, and I struggled to calm my racing heart. Sarah put a hand on my knee, which was bouncing up and down nervously, and I stopped abruptly. These people wouldn't hurt me. Not here.

"Welcome to Group Sessions. I'm Ashton, the camp counselor in charge of treatment. I see a new face or two, so hi. I don't know your names, sorry. That's fit to change here in a moment. Just go around the circle and state your name, age, and the reason why you're here." Sarah looked at me in amusement, and I grinned back at her.

The Group went around in a circle, landing on Michael and Sarah before coming to me. Michael was apparently 18, and Sarah was 14.

It was finally my turn, and my mouth went dry. I ducked my head as I struggled to recompose myself, and Sarah stifled a laugh. I glared up at her and cleared my throat.

"I'm Maddie. 17. Social anxiety," I whispered, and Ashton leaned forward on his toes.

"Come again?" he tilted his right ear closer to me and cupped a hand around it.

"Maddie. 17. Social anxiety," I said a little louder, and Ashton rocked back onto his heels. I shot him a steely glare as his mouth formed a small 'o' shape, and he smiled apologetically. I huffed, leaning forward so my elbows rested on my knees, and I attempted to shield my face from the eyes of the other campers. Ashton droned on, about the diagnosis and treatment process, and he said something about individual sessions that would be occuring two or three times a week for each of us.

It was nearly an hour before Ashton finally stopped his melancholy monologue and dismissed us. Just as we were reaching the door, however, he stopped us in our tracks.

"Homework for the next two days: do something you're afraid of, and write about it. Whether it be in a journal entry, a poem, a short story, I expect everyone to submit one by next group session in two days. Breakfast is in the dining hall; a few of your individual sessions are tomorrow sometime. The rest of you are going to be doing team building or community service tomorrow, depending on the group you're divided into. Dismissed."