Me vs. me

Chapter 1

    I want to help her, I do. Something is screaming at me to stop. My stomach is churning, telling me to stop. My mom gave me my daily anti-depressant pill while I got dressed for the day. I hate going to school. I have to see her in pain. And that pains me. My mom says that I don't need friends. She says that friends will drag me down from what I really want to achieve in life. All I care about right now is helping her. She is so alone, and so am I. Honestly, it doesn't bother me being all alone. It should, i guess. But it doesn't. 

     As I arrived at school I noticed her on the bench under the old oak tree. I wanted to talk to her so badly. She was reading a book. I hopped out of the passenger side of my parent's truck and waved my mom goodbye. "Be careful!" She said. What did she think I was going to school to do? Jump out of classroom windows? I started to walk to her, but my mom was watching. She is a little over protective I think. I passed Isabelle and her book and she looked up at me. I gave her a quick smile. My mom didn't see that. She couldn't have. I stopped at my locker for my English book and went to class. Isabelle wasn't in any of my classes except for my last two. French and World War 2. As the day dragged on, I couldn't stop thinking about her. 

     She was always on my mind. Her blonde hair, her blue eyes, everything about her was amazing. I just wish I could talk to her. In French, she always had the right answers. Her hand was always up, despite her obvious shyness she seemed to enjoy French. French was the only class I had anything lower than a 95 percentage in. Other than that I had straight A's. Foreign Languages are just not my thing. She is something special. Anyone can see that if they look hard enough. Most of the people at this school take one glance at her and assume the worst. They don't even give her a chance. People just avoid me because of my disorders. I don't feel sick, but mom and dad say I am. I supposedly have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Anti-social Personality Disorder. I don't like to talk about my traumatic events, because they frustrate me. To the point of rage sometimes. The thing is, I don't know what the traumatic events are. All I know is that they were traumatic and I am not supposed to talk about them. 

     After school my dad picked me up. This was unusual, my dad rarely ever came out of the basement where his lab is. He is a at-home scientist working for some secret company I guess. "Hey Tyler! How was your day?" He asked. "It was fine. Why are you picking me up today? Where is mom?"  "She is busy right now." He said. My dad was more like a hard-working zombie now days. He didn't really hang out with mom and I anymore, or eat with us or anything. He slept in the basement, ate in the basement, worked in the basement, he was constantly in the basement. After a while it didn't bother me as much, but in the beginning I hated it. I miss the old dad that took me to baseball games and watched The Simpsons with me. Unfortuantely it isn't that way anymore. Nothing is the same. My mom is different. I used to have friends. They all disappeared. Everything about me disappeared. My old life, before everything was gone. And it wasn't going to come back.