Mental


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1. Chapter one

I was mental. Sick in the head. There was something wrong with me. Something very wrong with me. I wanted to kill people, when they were talking. So when they told me I could leave the mental hospital, you can understand my sudden surprise. They said it wasn’t going to help anybody, that I stayed there. My dad came and picked me up in front of the mental hospital. I had only seen the façade once and I was screaming and kicking, when I saw it.  It was the first day. They wouldn’t let us go outside so that was the first and last time I would see outside.  I had told myself that, but now I was standing here looking at the crooked windows placed in no pattern what so ever. I was afraid of myself. I was afraid that I was going to hurt somebody.  They had put me in there for a reason. I was dangerous to society. I didn’t remember when it had started. I didn’t remember much to be honest.  I guess it was my brain trying to forget the awfuk things that had happened. That was six months ago.

” How are you doing? “My dad asked me. I laughed. I didn’t really know why it just seemed funny to me.” Great, dad. Great." He didn’t seem surprised, when I said it. Of course I wasn’t okay. I was put in a mental hospital for six months. Six fucking  months. I understood why. I was danger to society. I was always mad at people. Hurting them without any reason. I ended up in weird places, with people unconscious beside me. I hadn’t killed anyone. Yet. I didn’t remember much, but that was what I was told. Danger to society.  That’s what they kept telling me.” I’m going to take you home. You’re going to go to a normal school, but you’re going to take a week of to get used to things, okay? “He talked to me like I was a child. Last time I saw him I was. I didn’t have much social skills, so maybe talking to me like a child, was quite clever. I had school in the mental-hospital, but half of the people there didn’t listen and the other half was screaming or kicking. I had gotten better the last few months, but I would never have guessed that they would have let me go. Go home. I didn’t even know what was home anymore. I remembered my room vaguely, but I didn’t know if they had changed it. I remember that almost everything I had was pink. Colors wasn’t a very big priority in the mental-hospital.  Colors gave you hope and there was no hope for you if you ended up there. I had thought that there was no hope for me anymore. Now I found out that maybe there was. My dad got into the car and so did I. The seats were soft and warm. It was leather-seats and I was afraid that I would ruin them in some kind of way. “Jonathan is waiting for us at home”, my dad said.  He talked in a slow and calm voice. It was comforting in some kind of way.  I remembered Jonathan.  He was my big-brother and was two years older than me, so he was a junior in high-school.  I was technically a freshman, but I hadn’t gone to a normal school, like I said before. He was 14, when mom died and 16 when I was put in the hospital. I wasn’t allowed visitors, so I hadn’t seen him in six months.  My dad looked pretty much the same. A few grey hairs, but still the same. I wondered how my brother was.  Did he still look like me? Or had he grown out of it? The chubby cheeks and the beautiful blue eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time, I had looked in a mirror. There was no point in dressing nice, when you spent most of your day playing chess with lunatics. I think that if you put a sane person in a mental-hospital they’d be crazy in less than 24 hours. It had somehow calmed me down instead. Made me sane. I couldn’t tell anymore. If I was sane or not. My dad was driving very slowly. I think he was afraid to trigger something by driving fast.

My dad went out of the car first and opened my door like a gentleman. I wanted to tell him that there wasn’t nothing wrong with the rest of my body. That I was just my head, but I didn’t. I went out of the car. I was wearing blue sneakers, a pair of new jeans and a red T-shirt. My dad had given me the clothes. It was way too big, but since he hadn’t seen me in six years he couldn’t possible know my size. I didn’t either. I was just given some clothing when I came to the hospital. It took a couple of months getting used to how things were at the hospital, but I was used to it now.  The crappy food, the beds that were hard like rocks and smelled like old pee. And worst of all the screaming. The endless screaming, the suicides and the talking in your sleep.  It happened to everyone.  Me too.  I came back to reality.  We were walking towards the door.  I was scared and excited all at ones. Scared of seeing everything again. Scared that everything was different, but also scared that nothing had changed.  Scared of hurting them.  I spent six years telling myself that I was a danger to society. I was excited about it all too.  Excited about everything was different, but also wanting everything to be exactly the same. Of course nothing was going to be the same. I had been gone for six years. Mom wasn’t there anymore.  She would never be.  My dad opened the door and waved me in. He smiled at me and closed the door behind us.  I tried to remember everything I had wanted to forget. Every day I had come home after school. I couldn’t remember it at all and it scared me. My mind had hidden it all far away. We came into a small room with shoes, jackets and stuff like that. My dad took his shoes of and so did I. “Are you hungry? “He asked.  I nodded and sat down on a chair.  I felt like I should say something, but I didn’t know what to say. I was used to only saying stuff like: Checkmate and I’ll eat the food. Only small things that would lead people to what I wanted.  Never any conversations about interesting things. I had eaten breakfast in the hospital, but it was close to afternoon so I was actually getting really hungry. My dad went into kitchen and came out with a bowl. It looked delicious.  I attacked the food like I hadn’t eaten in days.  

“Thanks”, I said. “Best food I’ve had in ages. “I said.  Six years to be precise. I heard a door open and in came Jonathan. He was big, but not like before. He was all muscles and not chubby like he was when I saw him last time.  He was wearing a pair of black pants and a basketball shirt. To my surprise he looked very handsome.” Hi, Alicia.” He said. Nothing else. I hadn’t seen him in six years, and Hi, Alicia, was all that he could say.” Hi” I said. I didn’t know what to say either, so I didn’t blame him too much.  It relieved me that I remembered him. I looked at the clock. It was past four. There was a pause in the conversation. I wouldn’t actually call it a conversation.” I’m going to head out for a while”, He said directed towards dad and not me. “No, you’re staying. You haven’t seen your sister in six months”, my dad told him with a serious tone. “It’s not my fault she’s mental.” He said. My dad looked angrily at him. Jonathan looked like he couldn’t give a damn what anybody thought.” It’s okay. I’m just going to get some rest if that’s okay?” I said. It was true. I was really tired and I didn’t want to talk to anybody. “That’s okay. Your room is upstairs. I’ve changed a little, so everything’s not pink.” He said. That was nice, I thought. In the last six years I haven’t cared much for the color pink.  Our female doctors had pink clothes on. My dad followed me up to my room.  He was just about to leave, when he stopped with one foot in the other room. “You should just ignore what Jonathan says. He cares about you, he just doesn’t always show.” My dad said. I nodded and he left the room. I lay down in the bed.  There were a lot of posters on the wall. Mostly posters of bands and actors. I didn’t care much for either anymore. I had a bed, a chair and little table in my other room. There was nothing that was mine in the room.  They told me belongings would make me want home more. They made med convinced I was never going to see my family again. That I wouldn’t see the real world again. In a week I would go to a school. A real school, with lockers and real teachers and sane people. I felt the same mixture of fright and excitement. I was afraid that people would think I was crazy. That no one would like me. I wasn’t a very likeable person I had realized that.  I don’t even think my dad liked me. I fell asleep on the bed.

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