I hate psych wards.
They weren't all bad, and I wasn't pulled by the hair or locked in dark rooms. I've read a lot of books like that. Nobody really wanted to read about a normal psych ward.
They wanted gruesome details, they wanted to know how the patients screamed and got beaten. They wanted blood, and real life isn't always like that. I've been in and out of this place, and although there is occasional screaming, there's no starving, no beatings, no being locked in dark rooms to go insane.
There was no falling in love with the nurses, no secret, no gruesome background. It was just bright lights and schedules. Smiling faces and broken children.
If you really want a good horror story, step into the mind of any one of these kids and press play. Nobody here is perfect, we are all here because we are less than perfect. We are the broken records of our society, and we need to be pumped with pills and given tactics on how to breathe.
Your world crashes before you. They tell you that you've got a brain disorder. They tell you you're depressed, they say you're bipolar. They sit you down and tell you in sugar coated words that you aren't okay. This is my horror story. I am the worst of them all. Science doesn't even understand my mind that well.
I am a broken clock. I tic and I tell the wrong time. Always. I see things that aren't even there, apparently. They tell me that I'm going to be okay, but there is no cure.
I am trapped in the fleshy, bloody confines of my brain. I cannot get out. My own mind has gone against me, and It doesn't know that its wrong. It makes voices tell me things, and as I write, they talk to me.
You're no good
Yeah. I know.
You deserve to die. I hate you.
I hate you, too.
Worthless.
Couldn't have said it better myself.
I wish somebody could just take my brain and fix it, make it all better. From the moment I wake up, to the moment I fall asleep, all I hear is these voices. I wanted nothing more than to go away. I wanted to take my own life sometimes, too. Just to make it stop.
I was currently on the hospital floor, staying away from the other kids. We were allowed TV time, but nobody was really paying attention. I keep my head down, always.
I am very tired. I want to sleep, but I can't sleep yet. I miss Riley.
We just met, but she's easy to be around. I couldn't believe she stuck around me. I mean, I'm the mental girl. I wear that label like a medal. It helps me to not care when people use it against me.
Billie and Riley. Riley and Billie. I like the way our names sounded together. Like a force to be reckoned with.
Riley wasn't judgemental. The voices in my head really like her. Well, 77 calls her a bitch all the time, but I ignore it because it calls everyone a bitch.
I want to be Riley's friend for a very long time. I want her to be with me forever.