The Truth - Creative Writing Frame Paper

January 25, 2010
I woke up to a buzzing noise that I had heard only once before, when the door of my cell first shut. When I opened my eyes I saw a girl standing in the same blue jump suit that I was wearing, puzzled, I kept starring. Of course we all wore the same jump suit every day, that’s not what I was puzzled by, this girl looked clean.

She must be new, I thought to myself only new girls were clean, but why was she in my cell? This was only a single. My question was answered before I could even say it out loud, the door opened again and a cot, the same size as mine, was shoved into the corner parallel to mine.
“She’s with you now, try not to kill each other” said the warden while nodding in the new girls’ direction. She winked, and then left. I turned towards the wall to go back to sleep but the new girl started talking before I could even shut my eyes.
“So what do you do here to pass the time?” She smiled.
I turned back towards her, why was she smiling? Was she happy to be here? If she was happy to be here then she really was crazy. I looked her up and down, she brown hair was pin straight and looked very soft. I almost wanted to touch it. She had big brown eyes, just like my mother did…
“Well, I like to sleep. But since you’ve woke me up already, we can talk I supposed.” She smiled quickly and sat down on her cot, neatly folding her hands in her lap. This girl was weird. “So what’d you do to get in here?”
“I’m not crazy; I just don’t think I am worth taking up space and air.” She said this so calmly, it was as if she wasn’t suicidal at all. I looked at her wrists and there were plenty of scars to show that she was telling the truth.
“Well I’m sure by you staying here for the next few years; you will feel totally worth it!” My sarcasm made her smile, this girl just kept getting weirder and weirder.
“What about you?” she questioned.
“That’s not important, the point is that we all have stories and they are either ones we share or ones we don’t. That’s what my father always says at least. Anyways, now that you are here I supposed we will have some more entertainment! Though, I’m not that interesting, but I’m sure you are.”
The new girl blushed and shrugged her shoulders, “What your father said is very true, but stories, both good and bad, are also what teaches us to learn from other mistakes. That’s something my therapist said.”
“She must not have been very good, ‘cause now you’re here!” I laughed, the new girl shrunk into her bed a little, she seemed completely normal to me, she didn’t belong here. The hallway filled with shrieks very quickly after that, chanting and sounds of all sorts echoed against the cold concrete walls. The new girl looked at me concerned; I quickly explained to her that this is a place for crazy people, and this that was a daily thing.
The new girl began to scratch and twist at her arms, “do you happen to have any books I could read; my therapist said that would help calm me down if I was overwhelmed.” Obviously she was overwhelmed way too often when she said she had already read the three books I offered her.
“Oh wait, I do have one more, but it’s not a book it’s just a story my friend sent to me in a letter..and I will have to read it to you, she has horrible handwriting.” Her face lit up and she nodded her head in agreement. And so the story began…

They said it was all going to be over; that everything would be okay, that a fresh new start would fix everything, and that I could live normally again. Since when are ‘they’ ever right? My name is Aubrey Martin; well at least that’s what everyone in Cloverdale thought it was. I’ve never been a normal daughter; I’ve never been able to look back to the memories of taking long walks with my mother in the park nor could I recall playing catch with my father in the backyard. I never had a confidant; never had a close friend that I could confide in and tell everything to. I never had a boyfriend either, for some reason I wasn’t allowed to get that close to anyone, but no one would tell me why. My memories were much different, much more faded, and many would consider them disturbed. The doctors said that that’s a normal symptom of my disorder and that if I took my medication properly, it would help me remember things more clearly, as opposed to the distorted blurs that filled my head. But then again, they said that about a lot of things. Living in Central Ohio’s Mental Health Facility, while undergoing many psychiatric services and counseling, wasn’t what I needed. I needed to get away from my traumas; and escape the world I wasn’t a part of. And that’s why I left.
I needed an education; one of the aspects to living a normal life. After all, I had been only ten years old when my parents died, landing me in a mental facility at the age of ten and a half, leaving me to make up for nearly seven years of learning. First it was West Simsbury’s Master’s boarding school followed by Concordia Academy; neither were a good fit. As the New Year crept around the corner, I was instructed to leave midyear and to return to Ohio to continue my treatments. Cloverdale High was my last hope. If I didn’t make this work, I would be placed into a mental institution until I was twenty-five. I knew that this was my last chance, and I dedicated every moment I could to creating my story. Being kept away from society wasn’t the worst of my nightmares, but it sure was up there. Failing was not an option; I had to pretend to be someone else, someone normal; someone who wasn’t a schizophrenic.
No one could know the truth about me. It wasn’t that they believed I would tell someone, or that it would be obvious. It was more along the lines of someone already knowing; someone against me and my deceased family; someone who knew everything. That was our worst nightmare. Soon Aubrey Martin became a reality; slowly taking over, and Aubrey James started to disappear. I was no longer the ugly new girl. My chin length hair had been dyed and threaded with blonde extensions. I guess this was their idea of blending in. They made me wear make-up, get my ears pierced, and many other torturous things. I had always been natural and now being in this embellished body felt foreign.
As I got ready for my first day at Cloverdale High, I noticed that something felt different. It was me. Had the clothes changed me somehow? Was the make-up making me a different person? Was dressing up in this clown costume the real medicine I needed to recover? Whatever the reason behind this feeling, whatever this meant for me in my future; I liked it.
To the regular students of Cloverdale High, it was just another crisp Monday morning, another chance at fulfilling their goals to obtain as much knowledge that their school could offer; or at least that’s what the brochure said. I scrunched down into my seat, shivering from the cold air blasting from the car’s air vents, and looked out of the window to see my new school. Each time I did this, the same reaction rushed over me. Nothing. Absolutely nothing, not a single emotion swept into my mind. But, this time was different; I felt a sudden sorrow coming over me.
As I turned away from the emotion-provoking window, the car jolted to a stop, and the man in the black suit turned to me and whispered ‘It’s time.’ This had been the third ‘time’ this year. My junior year of high school was supposed to be filled with excitement and preparation for the next years to come, arguably the most challenging year academically. Most kids my age would be filling out college applications and worrying about school; but I was worried about blowing my cover. This was my last chance to show everyone back at COMH that I could be normal, even if I was faking it.
Finally getting out of the car, I grasped my vintage book bag and took my first few steps onto the grounds I would supposedly be spending I next two years, only turning back quickly to see a blonde reflection in the window staring back at me. Students flew by; girls giggled as they shared their weekend adventures, guys high-fived as they bet on professional sports teams. I was not used to this kind of environment; I was overwhelmed. My hands started to shake as I felt my breath quicken, I felt a warm hand creep upon my shoulder, my panic stopped, knowing it was my sympathetic driver, he was used to my behavior. He was always so kind to me though we hardly spoke. He gently gave me the push that I needed and drove out of the parking lot. The warning bell rang. I was alone, and late.
That day was a blur. I didn’t meet any friends, I didn’t impress any teachers, and I didn’t alter the social balance. I blended in. Fortunately, that’s what had always happened. My whole life I had always faded into the background, into my own perfect and safe little world. No one tried to get me out of it either, not even the doctors. Wasn’t that their job? They probably figured that my daze was a result to the treatments I was receiving. Again, they were wrong. Each day of the next week, life repeated as a blur. No one noticed, no one cared, nothing changed. Until that Friday, October 13th, when all my secrets, even the ones I couldn’t remember, were exposed.





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