Draw my Eyes

Open the door.

I wake up to the sound of screaming. I stare at my wall clock, it's 6:05AM. I'll leave for the psychiatrist at 9:40AM.

It is my first time at the psychiatrist, but why am I going?, if I have no mental illness. They all want me to believe I have one, but I know I don't. I better get off bed and start to get ready.

"Clementine, wake up, you have one hour to get ready and thirty minutes to eat.", my mom said behing my bedroom door.

I hate my name so much, I hate everything that I am.

"I'm on it", I replied.

I do not consider myself as a "fashionista", but I like to dress with style. I'm not a common girl, I like things that most girls don't, and I have a great and open imagination. I have good grades and I'm actually on my Junior year, it sounds almost like a perfect life, doesn't it? That would be great though -it would be also perfect if money grew on the trees at my neighborhood, but it doesn't, so I'm pretty screwed up-.

At this point in my life, I can think by myself and take reasonable decisions, but, as always, my family thinks I'm not capable of doing this, because I have a mental problem.

If being anti-social, loving to read and listen to music, and have a great imagination is a mental illness, then I consider myself sick.

I hate everything. I can't say I dislike my country, because I don't, what I dislike from my country, is the lazybones and corrupts that live within it. I dislike how mind closed they are, they are not the kind of people I like to be around.

My dream is to leave this country full of people that will not lead me to the road of success, and find a great life in a foreign country, and I know I will live my dream someday.

I take a bath really fast and start to dress up. I put on some dark blue jeans, a The Beatles t-shirt, and my black vans. I put on some eyeliner and mascara and I'm ready. I grab my cellphone, which I don't check too much, except for twitter, and I'm ready to have breakfast.

Food is a problem in me, I'm too thin, and it's not because I want to, it's my body that want to be like this. I've been called anorexic, which I'm not, and other stuff just because of my body. Of course, not everyone makes fun of it, other people tell me I'm fine, that I look beautiful, but I know they're lying, I know, I see it in their eyes and feel it in their voices, the tough way their tone makes vibration in my ears make me realize that I can't trust anyone in this world.

Just behind this bedroom, this door, is a great, wide world which I think I'm ready to explore, but, am I really ready?

Doors hide great secrets, just like your eyes, the doors to your mind.