May 24, 2014
By reyess_anai BRONZE, Corona, California
reyess_anai BRONZE, Corona, California
4 articles 0 photos 21 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Every deep thinker is more afraid of being understood than misunderstood." Nietzsche

It all started on a Monday morning when I noticed that the sky didn’t look quite right. It seemed red from where I laid in the grass. Suddenly I could feel thick drops landing on my face. One. Two. Three. When I raised my hand to wipe them off, I saw red dense liquid splattered on my skin and clothes. It was raining blood.

As I realized this, I stood up shrieking my head off. I scanned the park and noticed everyone was walking around as if it was usual. I crouched and picked up my towel but it was dripping red. Flinging it away, I turned and ran.

Terror filled me as I ran to nowhere in particular. People stopped and stared as if I was insane. How could they not notice the bloody downpour? Why were they just standing there?

Still screaming, I sprinted out of the park onto a residential block. Out of nowhere a dog barked at me furiously making me fall back. I tried getting up but I kept on slipping. I slipped again and again. Blood ran down the street as a flowing river. Frantically I got up trying to squeeze the blood out of my clothes. I spinned wildly searching for help. There was no one, no one at all. I was alone, completely alone.

I stood there for a few minutes horrified at the scene in front of me. I screamed non-stop at the dark maroon clouds. The yards were soaking red and the blood clouded my vision. Suddenly all I saw was red. Somehow the blood was seeping into my eyes.

Blinded, I screamed. I turned my head. This way. That way. I still saw nothing but red. Terrified into stupidity, I began to run. I don’t know where but I ran. In the middle of the street, I was because I heard a honk. I screamed even more, frustrated at not being able to see. I shut my eyes and red was all I saw.

What was going on? What was going on?!! First blood rains down on me then I go blind! And the people don’t even care!! I fall to the floor, pulling my hair. Tears run down my face as I hear a door slam.

I yelled at the person to stay away as I crawled back. Being blind and paranoid, I was scared, really scared. I calmed down a bit when a few minutes had passed. People surround me, I knew that but I couldn’t move from the ground. Anyone who tried to get me off the road ended up with scratches and throbbing ears.


I got released from the hospital a few days ago. Physically there was nothing wrong with me. Now they’re going to have me take the DSM-IV-TR test. There’s no point for that I’m not insane. I’m just not. I don’t know what happened that Monday but I’m not crazy.

The appointment with the clinical psychologist is on Tuesday. My mother plans to take the day off just to drive me there. It’s at 11:30 A.M. so my brother will be in school.

I don’t like my mother. When my father committed suicide five years ago, she isolated herself. Sean was eight and I was eleven. I had learned not to depend on anyone since then. I used to spend my days at the mall with a group of “friends” but now I’m usually in the kitchen eating.

Yesterday, I ate little compared to today. It’s probably because Mother wasn’t home nagging me all the time. She’s been so annoying these days, fussing all over me. I don’t like her being overprotective but she is a mother. Life was better, though, when she didn’t notice me. I was used to that. But I guess that as a mother she has to worry about me.


Today went bad, really bad. After the appointment that lasted two hours, my mother took me out to lunch. She started questioning me about the session and about Monday. I did not want to talk about it, especially not with her. I was being “uncooperative” so she got mad wanting to know where she had gone wrong.

This ticked me off. Ever since I was nine everything she did was wrong. Never asking me about my day at school. Making food and letting serve myself. Preferring my younger brother over me. The list will never end.

Anyways, I walked out on her without answering. She yelled after me but I didn’t stop. She ran after me, violently pulling me to a stop. Enraged, I slapped her across the cheek leaving a red mark. I can still remember her shocked face clearly. Her mouth was wide opened and her brown eyes filled with hatred. Even though she was my mother, I wasn’t surprised. She never liked me and I never liked her.

When I arrived home an hour ago, it was 10 o’clock. Everyone was sleeping. My own mother hadn’t bothered to wait for me to come home. She didn’t care. I didn’t care. I remember tripping on the last step on my way up. Yes, I had a few drinks but that’s it. I forgot to put my hands out so I landed on my face. There was a racket after my fall.

My scream and the loud thud I caused woke her up. My mother. When she opened the door to her room, I had to force back a scream. She was terrifying. Her eyes bulged out. Her eerie shadow spread over me even though it was dark. When she stormed towards me I knew this was the end. I was about to die.

I was wrong. Instead she pulled me by the hair, shouting at me to get up. Blood flowed out of my nose onto the carpet. Quickly standing up, I pressed my shirt against my nose. Once standing, my mother pushed me towards my room telling me she never wanted to see me.

I guess that coming from her it should hurt but it didn’t. I was feeling too empty to care. I never wanted to see her again. I’m serious. Life would be better if I was in a foster home than under the same roof as her. The thought of running away has crossed my mind many times but I always return. I know that when she sees me she’s unhappy so I stay. If I can’t be happy, neither shall she.


I returned to school yesterday. No one asked why I was gone. No one knew what had happened. That’s good because I don’t want anyone nosing around in my life. If they knew what my life was like, all my friends would leave me. When I came home, I went straight to bed. So tired from the past week, I didn’t wake up until 6 o’clock.

Anyways, I didn’t do any school work but I didn’t care. After first period I was already worn out so I decided to ditch. It was actually pretty easy. All I had to do was jump the fence where there were no security guards.

My feet automatically took me to the park where I had the incident. Everything seemed perfectly normal. I knew it hadn’t actually rained blood but I couldn’t accept I had mental issues. I just couldn’t. I can’t.

I left the moment the images began popping up. I continued walking. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know where I wanted to be.

Honestly, I’m a confused wreck. Sometimes I forget who I am. Sometimes I lose my mind and it takes me a while to get back on track. I try keeping myself together but things happen and I lose control.

Last night when I couldn’t sleep, I imagined someone by me. I spilled my past out, crying. Suddenly I turn cold and hateful. The next minute I would break down crying again. I would try to be strong but fail. I’d be sad one moment and the next I’d be forcing myself to keep it in.

I know there’s something wrong with whom I am but I can’t do anything about it. Confused or empty, I go to sleep each night. When I need to cry, no tears come out. When I want to keep it in, they rush quickly out of me. I hate not being able to control my feelings.
Some days I just don’t know
Who I am at times.
Sometimes I feel so low
I feel completely lost.


I’m in the hospital. Mother pushed me down the stairs. All the doctors think I threw myself. I’ve been here since Friday. I’ve had no visitors beside the usual doctors coming in to ask me questions.

I don’t tell them anything. I stare at them silently until they finally leave. I can’t trust anyone. Not now when my mother is trying to kill me. They think she hasn’t visited because she can’t bear to see me like this. Well they’re wrong. She would love to see me in pain.

The only reason why she would fuss over me is so the neighbors would think her a kind, overprotective, and loving mother. She wants people to think her as a victim of tough times. People would offer help and she would kindly reject it saying she would be fine.

Here I lay in my bed with a broken ankle, a broken arm, and a few bruised ribs. The Friday when the results arrived keeps replaying in my head. I have nothing at all in this world. No family. No friends. No goals. No anything. Not speaking a single word to anyone, I’ve been here. My eyes never closed for longer than three seconds, afraid my mother would jump out of nowhere.

At times when it’s dark I would start screaming. I’m scared of being alone. I feel so abandoned. Technically I am abandoned but there must be someone out there who cares about me. Right? The silence, the darkness. It’s all just too much I can’t stand it.


I’m writing with a black crayon now. A pencil is too sharp they told me.

Yesterday I was interrupted by a nurse while I was writing. I quickly tried to hide this journal but it fell out of my hands onto the floor. The lady reached towards it. I couldn’t let her read it. I lunged for the journal but missed and crashed into a nearby cart. Screaming at her to give it back, I attacked. The nurse ran out of the room declaring me possessed. When a few other doctors came in, I was huddled in a cushioned chair hugging my journal.

I remember being scared but that’s it. The next thing I remember is waking up in a smaller room with no windows. Soft white walls. No bathroom. Surveillance camera. I was in an asylum.

I still am. Even since I figured that out I’ve been in a corner, rocking back and forth. This couldn’t be possible. Why was I here? I am not crazy. Am I? No. I’m perfectly fine. I just have small issues controlling myself.

Maybe I died. No one has come to see me. I hate the loneliness. This is probably where people like me go once they’re dead. I’m relieved at the thought of no meds, no mother. Mother. She probably killed me. It doesn’t matter how I died. I’m happy I don’t have to live anymore.


I’m not dead.


I wish I was dead but I’m not. It has taken me a while to get used to the fact that I was alive. On I believe Tuesday a doctor came in and I started freaking out. I was supposed to be dead. No doctors.

They had been injecting me with an anti- psychotic drug. Yesterday I began taking anti- depressant pills. I’m getting better. I think. I don’t want to be like this forever.

Even if I wish I was dead I wouldn’t kill myself. It’s not because I have nothing to do it with but because I’ll be just like Father. Also I wouldn’t want to die. I’ve had such break being able to live relieved.

I know that my psychiatrist is going to read this but I don’t care. Writing is the only way I can stay calm without the drugs. Plus it makes me feel less lonely.


I don’t like writing with a crayon. It slows me down. Why can’t I have a pencil? It’s not like I’m going to stab myself. Even with all my issues, I love myself. Please?

Anyways, life has been better considering the food is amazing and there’s no mother. The stressful days are over. Yes I’ve been locked in this room for five days but I’m calm. The nurses come and visit once in a while. I don’t have to worry about anything a normal 16- year- old has to worry about.

I think I’m falling,
Falling into the darkness.
I think I’m lost.
Lost in the silence
I can’t see a thing
Can’t see my way.
Falling slowly, quickly?
I can’t tell.

I try walking,
Walking to find the light.
Is there a light?
How do I get there?

Somehow I’ll make it,
Make it out of the darkness.
Someday I’ll speak,
Speak to quit the silence.

I will reach the top,
Reach my way back to life.
I will slowly make it.
I can tell.

If I have to I’ll crawl,
I’ll crawl just to get out.
I know there’s a light
Somehow I’ll make it.


Thanks for the pencil. ? I greatly appreciate it.

I can’t wait for tomorrow. I’m finally going to be able to leave this suffocating room. I’m not leaving the building, though, but at least I can get to be with people. I can go to lunch in the cafeteria I’ve been told about.

I’m going to my first session with my psychiatrist, Dr. Prentice. I’m a bit anxious and scared. I want him to change me. He has to fix me. I can’t stay like this forever. I do believe he can change me. Just by taking his time, he’s helping.


Dr. Prentice yesterday told me I suffered from a personality disorder called Borderline. He explained I also fell into paranoia, instability, and schizophrenia. I’m not sure what they are but he does. When he began to explain further, I walked out. I didn’t need to hear specifically what issues I had.

For the rest of the day I had to spend my time in my new room. I was supposed to be able to leave but not anymore because I had walked out on Prentice. I can’t stand being alone any longer. I guess now I have to listen to every word he says.


I was able to eat lunch at the cafeteria today! It was a nice small open room with tables organized in rows of three.

Oh and also they began to lessen the amount of anti- depressants I take per week. That’s good I guess. I probably don’t need them as much as I used to.

I’ll explain tomorrow how my session with Prentice went. I’m so worn out from exploring the building. I met a few people but I’ll about that tomorrow also. Good night.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.