30 Days & Counting - Sanders Sides

Day 1

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Suicide & Abuse

I remember feeling the bumpiness of the worn out Florida state roads again as my groggy eyes subjected me back to the waking world. Everything was blurry at first, but I was able to muster enough strength to lift my pale toned hand to rub the everlasting sleep away from my eyes. It didn't look like we had gotten much farther. The last thing I remember was mother telling me to go to sleep after being stuck in traffic for over an hour. I glanced over to the driver's seat next to me. My mother was fully concentrated on the road, even to notice me come back into consciousness. My aching bones started yelling at me. My body not being able to handle our stiff Toyota Camry seats much longer. I pushed myself up, adjusting myself so I was now fully sitting on the seat rather than curled up against the seat belt. "Oh good, you're awake." Mother finally acknowledged me.

"Mhm," was my only response. My mother had a nervous look settled on her face. I should know, I look the exact same way when I'm super anxious and panicky. My mother has dark brown hair that rests gently on the tips of her shoulders with complementing blue irises. I wear the same hair color with the tips of my hair fading to purple.

Dying my hair; a fond memory. I remember making a bet with mom that if I passed all my high school AP classes with an A or higher, I could get my hair dyed. Obviously, I won. That was freshman year. However, here I am. The first day of my Junior year and I was driving with my mother to the middle of nowhere to be forced into exactly 30 days of "betterment." That's what mother calls it anyway. I like to call it torture.

"We'll be there in about 10 minutes, honey." Mother spoke once more, pulling away from my twisted mind. My mind: the reason I'm in this mess altogether. At a very young age, I was diagnosed with serve anxiety and depression. My mother was willing to do anything to get it fixed but my father...not so much. The doctor had me on some medications to help with my issues, but once I ran out of pills, my father was supposed to get them refilled. He never did. Father liked to watch me have panic attacks; better yet, he liked to cause them. My pain was his enjoyment. My cries were his laughter. Everyday was a living hell and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

A few years later, we'd find father sitting on the roof with empty cans of beer littered around the ground. Me and mother spent hours trying to get him to come down. And eventually he did...he jumped...from the second story balcony. The very day makes me shiver. I don't remember feeling anything accept numbness and a slight pleasure, knowing he can rot in hell where he belongs.

During my time in high school, I would be tormented by bullies and teachers. I didn't know whether because of the way I looked, or how I dressed, or my grades, or my sexuality. But every hit, kick, and cut, brought me back to my past. That's when I'd be diagnosed with PTSD and referred to the place mother was pulling into right now.

I gazed outside the car window, the vibe of this new place was already carving a pit of dread within my stomach. The walls were a menacing gray that was accented by signs bolted to the building, warning outsiders of looming security cameras. It was surrounded by chain linked fencing with barbed wire laying delicately on top. Inside the fence was a United States flag, waving proudly in the wind, surrounded by bright green trees. It all looked nice, but that's not what worried me. The sign the sat in front of the fencing gave me the most chills. My eyes scanned for probably the 50th time, Sanders Junior Mental Hospital.

"Okay honey, let's get inside." Mother declared, grabbing her purse from the area near my feet. I tore my eyes away from the window to face her. My eyes must've been wide and terrified as she stuttered a little, dropping her purse in her lap and pulling me into a tight hug. "I know honey, it looks scary. But you have to remember, they aren't going to hurt you. They're going to help you." Mother's calm voice was bringing me back now to Earth, but my thoughts were still screaming at me to run. Run far away; this place is going to kill me. I pushed off of mother and started breathing rather rapidly. I clutched my chest, barely getting in enough air to stay lucid. "C'mon honey, deep breaths, okay? Good you're doing great." Mother rubbed her hand on my back. I finally started to calm down after feeling her delicate touch.