Suicide Pact

Suicide Pact 3

2 months later...

Today I was being released into a world Ive been hidden from for two months. A world of lies started by ill minded people. People who knew nothing of our circumstances.

Although I wasn't particularly excited about picking up my life from where it was supposed to drop off, I was anxious to leave the hospital.

Because, as ridiculous as it might seem, horror movies do a magnificent job at showcasing themadness of a mental hospital. Although my fellow patients werent pshycotic murderers or posses ed by demons, they were frightening. Well, if you consider people who peel there own skin off piece by piece and rip there hair out scary.

Other then the repulsive behaviors of mentally unstable people, the doctors were constantly showing needles into my arm and pills down my throat, without any consent or even knowledge from me or my family. I suppose they believe its hard to think about suicide when your constantly asleep or to high to blink.

Also, the promised therapy from a professional is better known as an uncaring school counselor ranting about the ungratefulness I've shown.

And no one visited. The most I got to see my family was when the TV in the high corner of the room was switched on to the news. Small clips of mourning families at there child's funeral played on the screen. My mother attended each. There was one last clip of her rushing to her car, her hand over her face, blocking the many cameras.

A nurse walked into my room, the metal door hitting the frame and swinging back. My room ate was a old woman who, thankfully, slept most of the time. When I was alone, I often checked to make sure she was still breathing. I haven't the slightest clue why shes in here, but she doesn't seem to likely to be leaving any time soon.

"Come on, Claire." she said in a breathless voice, staring at me apprehensively through dark lashes.

I stood awkwardly, still depending on my week knees. My feet were cold on the linoleum floor. I stepped forward, accidentally dragging the IV along with me, forgetting its presence in my arm.

She hustled over, mumbling angrily under her breath, as she removed me painfully from the IV, bandaging me up and tugging me out the door into the long stretch of the hall way, where for the first time in a 2 whole months I saw my mother.

We were silent, our lips in a permanent frown, as we made our way back to her somewhat familiar car, traffic arose as soon as we left the front doors of the hospital, photographers, new reporters, cameras. All competing to see me. Me....the most intriguing thing to happen to our smallish town of Evansville. Me...the epidemic of the century.

Me....the failure of our suicide pact.

But this is where my story begins.