Call Me Crazy

September 2, 2011
By Anonymous

“Any history of abuse?” the old woman asked. She looked away from the computer and stared at me from the tope of her glasses.

“Yes.” I said softly avoiding her gaze.

“What kinds?” she said without any expression looking down at the keyboard ready to type a response.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said looking down at my broken hand.

“You won’t get out of here anytime soon if you aren’t willing to work with us.” She said half annoyed.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, answering a list of questions.
“When did the cutting start? How often do you smoke marijuana and drink? Have you ever attempted suicide before?”
I stared at the clock it was 2 a.m. and my high had worn off. I tried to force my closing eyes open. The jingle of keys startled me awake.

“You’ll be on the adolescence ward, follow me.” She said holding open the office door.

I slowly got off the chair and followed a lengthy distance behind her. It smelled like hospital around every corner. With a buzz and a click two large glass doors opened up revealing a huge nurses station and a lounge area.

“Here.” She handed me a folder for the psychiatric hospital wih name printed in the right-hand corner. “You can sleep and skip breakfast if you’d like.” She said and then walked away.

I looked in the mirror on the wall, and staring back at me were two sunken eyes. It wasn't me. I was already dead.


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