*There is going to be no explaination for this. Ask me some day and maybe I'll tell you why I wrote it. Just not today.*
She could already tell, it was going to be one of those days. One of those
days where she would feel amazing for the first hour or so and then spiral down
a bleak looking hole and hit a sharp, rock hard bottom about the time she came
home from school. She could tell because she felt calm and placid and when she
looked in the mirror she didn�t mind what she saw staring blankly back. Two
red-brown eyes, almost a mahogany color, were looking back at her. They were
almond shaped and framed by thick, black lashes. In truth, they were the
things she liked most about herself; they were the things that never changed.
She knew they would always look a little lost, a little sad, and a little
mysterious. The rest of her face wasn�t awful looking, she had full lips, but
not obnoxiously so and her nose wasn�t huge or bumpy or too wide, it was a cute
little nose that wrinkled up when she laughed, but she knew that your face
changed as you aged. And she didn�t know what the rest of that face would look
like later, but her eyes, she knew, were unchanging.
At that moment her mind drifted off to somewhere she hated to go, but when she started to think enough, she went. And she was long over due for a trip backward, so much so that she didn�t even notice the piece of glittering metal in her hand, almost seeming to dance with her fingers.
The doctors had diagnosed her with clinical depression at the tender age of ten. And she could still remember the doctor�s office with its cherry-wood chairs and their red cushions and the desk he always sat at when he was talking. The walls she couldn�t quite remember but knew they had had an odd wallpaper with hints of forest green in it. It had not been the comforting room it had probably meant to be in the beginning. This room, she thought, scared her to death every time, more so the last time then the first. The room had brought nothing but fear, sadness, and misery to her, and she hated it with a passion, almost as much as the doctor. The moronic doctor that had decided with one glance that she would have to be treated like a small child that wouldn�t understand anything he was saying. In fact, her never straight out told her what was wrong with her, he simply said, �There�s something wrong with you. Something that makes you think bad thoughts." He could have just as simply told her she was depressed and that was why she thought so often about killing herself, just because she hated everything that much. But no, to him, she was just a small ignorant child. God, how she had hated that man, and still did, even now.
She hated him more once she learned that he had told her parents something, something that she should have been told herself, but wasn�t. He had told her parents that chances were, she would develop Borderline Personality Disorder by her early twenties. No one ever bothered to tell her that, she found it out on her own. She could still clearly see the beige folder that held all her medical information sitting on his cherry-wood desk, just daring her to look at it while he was out. She took the dare and could see herself opening the folder and looking at the most current page and seeing the words typed so neatly, so ironic seeing as how things were going anything but neatly. Confusion had flooded her entire body, not knowing what the term �Borderline Personality Disorder� meant, but she knew it couldn�t be good. Nothing that ever came into or out of that office was good, ever.
She couldn�t ask the doctor because then he would know she had been looking through her medical records and wasn�t sure if she could actually do that. And she certainly couldn�t ask her parents, they would just sugar coat it and lie to her and say she had either misread or that it was nothing to worry about. No, she had to go and find out for herself, she couldn�t really trust anybody telling her the truth.
The blade spun and danced faster, intertwining itself with her fingers.
A sharp pain shook her from her trance. The blade had sliced into the side of her thumb. �Another scar to add to the others,� she thought. She added two more before she left for school, things had to be done in threes, at least things that caused her pain, always in threes. All day she just kept wishing she wasn�t there and how she would have to stay after to recover a story she was writing for English from the school computers. It was based on The Catcher in the Rye, one of the better novels she had been forced to read during her schooling. She had expected to just go in to the library, get the story on a disk and leave; it didn�t quite go that way. Instead she went in, and started toward the computers and looked around, seeing if there was anyone there she knew, turns out, there was someone there. He waved to her and she waved back and then prayed to god he wouldn�t come over and talk to her. It wasn�t that she didn�t like him, he was a good guy but she just really wasn�t in the mood to talk to anyone. That feeling of falling was already starting to take its toll. Unfortunately, he did come over and started talking to her.
He asked what she was doing there and when he learned that she was getting her English paper, he started talking about his. She really hadn�t wanted to talk to anyone, she just wanted to leave, but, well, she wasn�t going to be rude, so she listened. And while she listened she noticed that his eyes were an odd shade of green, very pale and almost translucent, she hadn�t noticed them before. They were the kind of eyes, she decided, that looked a little troubled, in their own way, not stormy, just a little lost. And she wondered what he saw in hers, that is, if he had noticed them at all. His story was about a guy he had known, someone in truth, she had known too, but thought him an arrogant ass, and the guy�s story just reinforced that. The arrogant ass had blamed the guy for breaking a door back when they were younger. The way he told it, she couldn�t help but think that this guy had a knack for telling stories, (she later learned that he wanted to be a writer, she wasn�t surprised). He just seemed to get so into what he was talking about that she had to listen. When he finished she decided it would really be better if she got home and she said so. He said that he�d see her tomorrow and they parted. And as she walked back toward where her ride would be waiting, she couldn�t help but think that that guy was someone she would actually like to get to know. �Funny, how on one of the worser days,� she thought, �I meet someone who I might not mind talking to.� She smiled to herself, shrugged and got into her car.
When the girl got home, she went straight to her room and rocked herself back and forth, waiting until the shivers started and the tears came in long, unyielding streams. It didn�t take too long, just about a half an hour or so, it usually took about that much time. Her mind kept flashing in and out of reality, back and forth between the worlds she had created and the present.
The first wave took her to the place she used to escape to as a child, a place where she could make up her own rules and she could pretend nothing was wrong. She could see, really see, colors swirling around her and dancing with her as she spun around in little circles, just being happy. When she was there, she was never unhappy, never disappointed in herself and never had to think once that something was wrong with her. Unfortunately, the only times she could go back there now, were when she was in such a dismal and cold mood that almost immediately following the peace she felt, would come some indescribable pain and emptiness. But for the first few moments of the ordeal, she felt like she did before she knew anything was actually wrong. She could be a carefree child who didn�t have meds to take or some god-awful doctor to see. She wished she never had to leave.
Just at the moment when she wished that to herself, things changed again. She was dropped back into her dark room lying on her back staring at her ceiling and feeling like she was drowning. This marked the second part of her nightmare, the part where she had a constant feeling of falling, drowning, and just kind of dying, or at least that�s what she had come up with to describe it. Tears came unwillingly into her eyes and streamed down her cheeks and she wept until the tears began to choke her.
The girl could feel now, everything she had done in the past seven years. Every cut she had given herself. She could feel them opening up again, as if an invisible knife were cutting into her wrists, her hands, her chest, her arms, her legs without her willing it. She wanted to cry out into the dark emptiness of her room, but she bit her tongue and suffered in a chilling silence. Well, what would have been silence had she not been hearing people screaming over and over again in her head.
She was sitting up in a tree that she guessed to be somewhere near 15 feet tall and covered in leaves of red, gold, and purple. Looking down she saw little figures swaying around the tree, seeming to move in incredibly unnatural positions. Some were bending completely backward and others were twisting themselves in full circles. They didn�t really seem to have any recognizable shape, nothing that would help her determine what they might have been. It was a like a bad version of The Exorcist, she thought to herself. But soon enough the little figures began to take on more recognizable shapes, the shapes of three people she knew.
One had what seemed to have the characteristics of a girl she had known before she had moved the last time. She was a little chubby and her near black hair was curled so that each curl about an eighth of her hair, so she had eight separate curls about her head. She was dressed in what looked liked either very dark blue or black baggy jeans and a dark shirt. This girl looked up at the girl sitting in the tree and cocked her head and smiled a half smile, more of a smirk really. She looked up at the tree for a moment and then actually spoke and cackled at the same time, �You�re nothing, I hope you realize that! Nothing!� Before the girl had a chance to speak, the figure that had stood looking up at the tree vanished and a red stain was left where she had stood and another of the figures had taken her place. This figure was another girl, but this one was not someone from an earlier friendship, this one was someone the girl thought was probably her best friend. In contrast to the one who had stood there last, this girl was thin and wore a simple pair of blue jeans and an orange shirt, her hair hung straight down her back and had a hint of blond in it. This girl didn�t even look up at the tree or the girl sitting in it, she kept her eyes on the ground and spoke, �You�re so fucked up, why don�t you fix it! You�re so pathetic!� And just as the other girl had, this one vanished too, leaving a second red stain on the ground.
This left the third girl standing where the other two had stood. She was very tall, at least from what the girl could distinguish from her perch in tree, and had light brown hair and what was actually a very kind face. She knew this girl too, and like the one before her, she was one of her best friends. This girl glanced up at the tree and began to shake her head from side to side, seeming very disappointed. �You could fix things, if you really tried, you�re just too stupid to! We all hate you!� She vanished too, and left a third red stain under the tree.
The girl lowered her head and wondered what would happen if she just jumped from where she was, �Would that be enough to kill me?� She whispered to the rustling leaves. She stood up; shaking, stretched her arms out and prepared to fall. But before she could left herself go, a shadow of a girl appeared under the tree. The shadow had no face to speak of and sort of wavered with the wind, like a piece of flimsy cloth, �You�re different. Realize that.� And the shadow faded away with the wind.
When the shadow faded, the girl was jolted from her half sleep half hallucination and her breath was coming in short gasps. She tried to get out of the bed realizing that it was almost 9 and she still had to write her paper for English. The room began to spin and she felt like her feet were completely disconnected from the floor. Her eyes flickered and blinked trying to adjust themselves to the spinning and also at the sheer confusion of wanting to throw up and just fall to the floor. She wavered and waited until she had regained what sense of balance she had, �These things always take time.� She muttered to herself. And when she felt like she could walk again without falling over, she headed toward the bathroom.
The house was dark and no one else was home, so she had to fumble along the wall for a moment before she could find the light switch for the hallway. When she had done that and gotten to the bathroom, she looked into the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was blotched with red. She felt the side of her cheek and it was hot and clammy. She splashed water on her face and went downstairs to write her English paper.
