shattered

chapter 1

There had always been a war going on inside my head.
Two sides fighting for supremacy.
I never knew what one was going to win on any given day.

Four months ago, my family decided they had had enough of dealing with me and my "depression".

Like I was faking everything.

It's not like I woke up that morning and decided I was bored, so why not cut my wrists for attention.

So now here I am. Crazyville. Well. It's not actually called Crazyville. It's just the psychiatric ward at a large hospital.

Four months of medication, counselling, talking about feelings, and plastic cutlery. I guess it's better than having my hands tied to the bed like the first few weeks. I'm actually allowed to roam... but only in designated areas.

I live by a strict timetable. Pretty sure it's easier in the military. The staff here don't care if you don't want to eat, or if you vomit it back up. They will just tube feed you. They don't care if you are so bored, you want to smack your head against a wall because at least that would be entertaining. They don't want to understand you. They think that they're perfect. What a joke.

Yes, there are group 'art therapy' lessons, things I can go to; but come on! I don't want to be around people! Trying to shove people down my throat by 'sharing experiences' is not going to win me over.

Every day for the past four months has been the same. It doesn't change, but... I have made a friend. Her name is Sera. She's in for bulimia. I think she's actually the sanest out of all of us in here. There's always other people around us. I think she attracts them all, she insists it's me. Don't know why. It's not like I talk to them.

There's a tinkling noise coming from the sound system. Time for lunch. That means there's one hour until group counselling. I join Sera in line to get my meal of over cooked food. The only good things on my plate are the chocolate milk and raspberry jelly. And that's because it's pretty hard to fuck up something that's already been prepackaged for you.

I slump into a seat, and rub my hands up and down my legs. I'm feeling anxious today. I recognize the signs, and I know the feeling wont go away until I face whatever is going to happen. That's always the way.

Everytime there was a test, or something big was going to happen, I would get anxious and rub my hands on my legs; and then when the feeling kept happening for a couple of hours, it started itching, so I would scratch. Then it felt like there was something under my skin that wanted to get out and that's how I ended up here.

I pick at my food. Not really having an appetite with how I'm feeling.
"_____. You need to eat." Sera whisper shouts at me. A few other people at the table look at me.

"I know, but I feel funny."

"______, you'll get in trouble."

Some days it feels like I'm a small child being told to eat their vegetables. We get 2 warnings, and then for the third... we get tubed.

The "staff" patrol around the room. Making sure we aren't stealing the cutlery, and that we're eating the food.
I can feel someone directly behind me.

Shutting my eyes, I take a deep breath and with a final swipe against my legs I pick up the fork and start eating.

Finally I am finished. Just in time as well. The tinkling for group therapy sounds.

Everyone separates into groups. Those with eating disorders go in one direction. Schizophrenia and the likes in another. The depression group heads to the left of the day room doors. Some days it's like we're all mindless zombies with how we shuffle. I think to myself with a low giggle.