Remember me, Forget me, Miss me

Chapter one (Remember me Forget me Miss me)

When I got the news that my cancer had decided to make a reappearance I felt the depression take a hold of me again. Just the thought alone of being in the hospital was enough to immediately make me cringe. The thought of being so weak from the chemo, of siting and waiting for myself to die, or, on the off chance, for me to heal.

So I made a decision for myself. I not taking any treatment. My mom cried when I told her about my plans. I told her that I didn't want to be hospitalized, that I didn't want to stay in a hospital room. Where I'm so confined I can't go out into the night and gaze at the moon or see the sun when it rises. Now, its not like I was suicidal, they said that it would be almost next to impossible for me to be treated.

I appreciate every breath I take every sunset and daybreak... but if giving up those things meant that I didn't have to deal with getting depressed again and not caring about anything, I could give my life up to end it happy; especially if I was giving it up for nothing, or maybe pain resulting to nothing.

Right now I feel fine. I feel like a healthy sixteen year old girl. I don't want to just stare at the ceiling, I want to live. Of course there wasn't much to do with with no one home in a boring suburb. I look around the room that's covered in beige and back until my eyes meet the sliding glass doors to our backward. I take one look at the trampoline and immediately get up, ignoring the warning screaming in my head, and put on a jacket. I wasn't a fragile china doll yet, so what could it hurt?

We had an okay size back yard with lush green grass, and my Dad's favorite, yard gnomes. Personally, they daunt me, but he has names for all of them: Lulu, Jacklyn, Travis, Behemoth , Corbett, Jean, and his favorite, Melody. The gnomes don't scare me as much as they annoy me, I mean, just the fact that my dad named them, and has one in his room. My mom hates it. She says that one of these nights it's going to stake her in the chest with its pointy red hat.

As I walk to the trampoline I watch the gnomes, because I swear I see their glassy eyes following me. I hate them. I swear they're the devils favorite object to have in the yard next to an angry hellhound.

I jump up on and start bouncing. I jump as high as I can. I do a back tuck and then a backhand spring. I miss gymnastics. I want to be able to do this forever, the slight rush you get from tumbling. Mom made me quit gymnastics when we found out I had cancer. Talk about a kill joy, pardon the pun.

I settle down, now out of breath and notice someone looking at me. I jump a bit because I didn't see them there before. I take in my surrounding and see a moving truck with helpers loading and unloading. My eye brows shoot up. The house has been vacant since I was eleven and just getting out the hospital for what I thought was the final time. Our neighboring house was suppose to be haunted because Mrs. Willis had died there of her own illness. She thought that she was a demon and had to go kill herself in order to save herself from being condemned to. She had schizophrenia and one of her hallucinations told her she had to do it. Mrs. Willis had been fine for years, mild hallucinations was all she had dealt with, but she decided to stop taking her medication. We know this because The doctors had told her to keep a journal of when she was scared that the hallucinations were coming back and to talk about it in therapy.

As I look over at our new neighbors, I wonder if they know about Mrs. Wills. The bank owned the house and I wonder if they even told the selling agent that there was a death in that house. It wasn't even the death so much as how it happened. I wouldn't want to live in that house. Rumors went around saying that no matter how many times you applied new paint to the walls, the blood stains wouldn't go away. I never believed the rumors when I was young or helped spread them, because I had some kind of respect for Mrs. Willis. She was depressed and decided that she didn't want to swallow fifty pills a day to be sane. She missed and loved her hallucinations and no longer wanted to give them up. Not so crazy if you think about it the way she did. They were a part of her and all she wanted was that part back, unfortunately that part got her killed