It's Called Murder, Baby

They thought they could cure our insanity with pills and test, when in reality they were the mad ones.

(Also can be found on wattpad made by my wattpad account @-chemichael)

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1. Prologue

I think people who are different, don't know that they're different because they have nothing to compare it to.” - Norman Bates, Bates Motel

+   We were all somebody at some point. Someone’s child, someone’s lover, someone’s best friend. But all of that changed after we were admitted. Now, at the sound of our names, people grimace and glare in disgust. When they see us mentioned in the newspapers, they just flip the pages, completely ignoring our existence. The people we loved turned their backs on us.   It happened to everyone here in the Griffin Hospital for the Mentally Ill. Once we were diagnosed, we were shipped away without a second thought. No goodbyes. No "I’ll miss you." Sometimes, if you were lucky, you got a handshake or a squeeze but for most of us, we were dropped off and never thought of again. Right when you step foot in the facility you're automatically doomed. Labeled a psychopathic mental patient, people never look at you the same. They don't look anymore, they glare and push their children behind them.   The mentally ill aren't the serial killers you see stabbing people to death, we're just ‘mentally different’. Me specifically, I see things. Not ghosts or fairies or dead people. Things that can be normal. Like your best friend, but she's not really there. Or your deceased brother that still reads you bed time stories. To get here all you need is a diagnosis. Mine was written in blood.  

June 18, 2010

  "Do you see people?" The psychologist asked, holding his notepad. He adjusted his glasses as he scribbled down some notes.   "Well I see you, don't I?" I furrowed my brows.   "I mean, have you seen anyone that just- disappeared into thin air?"   "Oh, you mean Ashton and Michael. I just assumed they moved back to Australia." A small tear left my eye, they were the few people who I liked.   "Were you close?" He raised his eye brows.

 

"Very." I sniffled. A string of memories with Ashton and Michael filled my brain.

 

"Here's a small problem, we found no evidence of either an Ashton Irwin or Michael Clifford that's alive today." He said in a monotone voice. No, they had to be alive. They were my best friends for seven years.

 

"But they attended school and sat next to me in class!" I cried out. "The seat next to you was always empty." Empty. No. No.

 

"No. This is a joke, you can't expect me to accept the fact that my best friends weren't real!" I yelled out.

 

"I'm sorry Ms. Woods, but after observing you for seven sessions I don't think you are mentally stable."

 

"No, I'm perfectly fine just a bit shaken!" "But you stabbed Mr.Horan last night, didn't you?"

 

"I did, but that was out of defense!"

 

"Now, what exactly did he do?"

 

"He-he, he came in my room and attempted to rape me." I stuttered, a shiver went down my back as I remembered the rough calloused hand that was going down my thigh.

 

"Witnesses report he was about to go to sleep."

 

"He wasn't, I swear!" I cried out.

 

"You're lucky Mr. Horan didn't press charges against you."

 

"I'm leaving now." I sobbed out.

 

"Arabella, I'm sorry, we can't let you leave." Dr.Harrison stood up, grabbing my wrist.

 

"Why not?" Confusion flooded my eyes.   ''I officially declare that Arabella Talia Woods is mentally ill with schizophrenia and can ultimately be a threat to humanity."   "No, look at me, I'm normal!" I cried out, slapping his hand away from my wrist.   "It's in the matter of up here." The doctor said, prodding my forehead. A man in a white uniform barged into the room picking me up, I kicked and flailed, but it was no use.   "Rape! Ra-" before I could finish my word the man's hand went over my mouth as a needle slowly pierced my flesh. That's when all consciousness and humanity left me.

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