For My Aching Soul

Chapter 20

August 21st 2017

Since the Abriana incident -at least that's what I called it- I found myself becoming seriously institutionalized at Burkley. For the past month and a half (almost 2) I had a set routine that made me feel like a zombie. I had willingly come here with the small hope that maybe...just maybe...the separation would help and that the people here could give me my right mind back. But the longer I was here...the worse it got.

I found myself staying up at nights in fear of closing my eyes. Every time I did lately...I would see flashes of my mother. I ate way less, sort of just playing around with my food and listening to Lennie yap on. Sam and I had found some common ground. Apparently, she lost her dad when she was very little. My initial thought was how lucky she was because I wanted nothing more than mine to be gone. But she told me how he was all she had left...her mother was a druggie. She slit her wrists last year April and her family locked her away here.

She said the only good thing that ever came out of this place was Lennie. This is where they fell in love. They were polar opposites yet they worked great together.

I wish I could find someone who truly understood me here. Abriana doesn't answer any of my calls or texts and no matter how much I tried to connect to Lennie and Sam on that level...I couldn't. I often found myself staring out of space, listening to the ticking of the wall clock, waiting for each day to end.

When I wasn't doing that I read in the library. I had never been fond of just any book. I loved the classics dearly. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Flowers in the Attic...Lolita was my favorite though. I always felt so much like Deloris: Young and lost. I walked by the dance studio every so often and forced myself not to go in. Though I knew I could never dance again on account of fearing I would have a panic attack...my body missed the movements.

I tried to ensure Alex didn't notice how much I was breaking inside. When he took us on walks everyday he would fall back a bit and talk to me.

"I know I'm not suppose to really like any of you but," he paused to look me in the face.
"I dunno...maybe it's your hair," he joked.

I smiled slightly, "Yeah, maybe."

"Are you alright?" He asked with a concerned look on his face.

I waved him off, "Yeah, I'm great. I'm just a bit bored with this schedule is all." [That wasn't entirely a lie.]

"Hmm," he didn't seem to quite believe me but he let it slide.

He had proved my earlier theory wrong about why he was kind toward me. I knew his statement wasn't meant to be flirtatious but rather platonic and I really appreciated the unprofessional attention. I could never truly be his friend though...because I'd want to tell my friend that I regular searched frantically for ways to end myself at 3 am each morning. But of course I couldn't tell him that.

When he came to check up on all of us individually each Friday afternoon, I would make sure my bed was perfectly spread and my room was neat. I knew that a dirty room was a clear sign of depression and exhaustion and didn't want to alarm him.

He would ask questions like:

"Did you eat breakfast this morning?" [as if that was an option] and "How are you feeling?"

To both of which I would smile and respond positively. As a dancer I had mastered the art of selling my story to my audience.