16 year old Sophia Brooks has just lost her father. She's in therapy for depression and doesn't talk to her mom anymore since her dad's death. But when she leaves her notebook in class after having an emotional breakdown everything changes. Her boyfriend Derek distances himself from her and a mysterious boy dubbing himself "A.Q." writes back to her in her journal. Will Sophia get over her depression? Will she find out A.Q.'s true identity? Will love blossom between the two?


10. Entry Ten

September 30th, 2013


This is the order of things we do at the facility when I come in. I mean after they strip me and ask me a list of questions about my past. After they ask me if I’ve ever experienced psychosis or been manic to which I answer “no” to both. I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been manic and went on shopping sprees and been promiscuous and slept with guys whose names I couldn’t recall if I tried. They ask me if I’ve ever been suicidal and that’s when I say “yes.” I’m sitting with a nurse with dark hair. She’s black. She readjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose and licks her finger when she thumbs through the sheaf of papers on her desk. I see her tick off a few checkboxes with her ballpoint pen. She asks me what I attempted to do and I tell her about the bathtub and the slitting of the wrists. I tell her about the prior hospitalizations and PESS. I tell her about the screening process and where I was hospitalized and how at school on the first day I had a panic attack and tore out of the room as if I was possessed by some ghost.  I don’t tell her about the notebook. I don’t tell any of the staff there about the notebook.

She just “mhms” and  keeps writing and occasionally she looks at me and then at one point she shakes her head, black hair flopping wildly from side to side. I ask her what’s the matter and she takes off her glasses and says frankly she doesn’t understand why all these young people commit suicide. I think of you then and the syringes. I think of you and the nights partying until 2am. I think of you, traipsing on your tiptoes, gingerly, with purpose up the stairs. I think of you creeping into bed. I think of the fresh needle tracks on your arms. I think of the time you injected between your toes because there wasn't enough throbbing veins left in your body to plunge toxins into. Drugs consumed your need for love after dad passed away. I pray every night that you find peace somewhere else, Edith. I think of you every night at peace even though this may not be the case, even though you died with too many pills in your tiny, lithely body, even though you were taken away too soon.

My room is small. There are two beds with flimsy covers and pillows. They have standard hospital-issued pillowcases and covers. A thin blanket that smells of sterilization and mothballs shelters me. I’m reclining on the bed reading. When I had fallen asleep I’d dreamt of you. I dreamt of your dark hair spilling like satin pools in the water of the bathtub. I thought of your fingertips wrinkled from the absorption of water into your skin. There was the freshness of your sun-kissed skin, bronzed like our mother’s. I dreamt of you. Your voice filled my ears. You were the songstress of the family, singing like a bird, your voice fluttering like a hummingbird’s in the tiny cage of your body. It pulsated and reverberated off the walls. Now I’m in this room. The television blares softly outside. It is a day or two after I’ve been admitted into Willow’s Creek.

They give us our prescription pills in the morning. I’m prescribed 10mg of Lexapro which is an antidepressant and they also prescribe me about 10 mg of Abilify which is what’s medically known as a “booster.” What it does is boost the effects of the antidepressant. The antidepressant Lexapro, from my understanding, is an SSRI, selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, it manufactures serotonin, one of the “feel good” neurotransmitters in your brain. Depression is caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain, this is what one of the nurses tells me as she hands me the cup with the white pill that’s supposed to color me happy. Happy is supposed to be yellow like a child’s imagining of what the Sun looks like. I’m not colored happy yet but I down the pill and take the ice cold plastic cup of water anyway. I force myself to be colored happy.



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