Hey it's quite long but i want you to tell me what you think.
Constructive critism! - this is only half of it, the other half is in another post
“…I can’t do this by myself
Yet I want to be alone
I can’t deal with this
Yet the family mustn’t know
What happened that night…”
That’s how I used to feel about my life, still do partly. Except Mark Martin from “Fireal” is talking about divorce; you can’t have a divorce by yourself – yet he doesn’t want to be with her. He can’t deal with it, but he doesn’t want his kids to find out what “happened that night” (you can guess what that was). I only worked it out when I discovered my power. It’s strange how one song can have two totally different meanings to me.
I can read minds.
Not all the time, only with intense eye contact.
I’ve learned to control it by myself.
When I was 14, when I looked at people I felt an intense rush of their feelings – some were so sad it made me cry, when I was perfectly happy. The second time I read someone’s mind it was Lidya. She was malnourished, her red hair – once burning and dazzling - was just straggles. Lack of sleep left her jaded and her skin bleached. Her eyes were empty and looked like they were covered in glass. They never moved, just stayed there facing you with such an inscrutable stare. She reminded me of a walking skeleton, or a puppet, - except someone forgot to pull her strings.
She stopped to ask me something - something about French.
And that’s when it happened. The thoughts.
She’s so pretty – hate her – hate me – why can’t I be pretty – too many cuts – bet she has everything
It went on for an approximate 5 seconds; the self-loathing could have killed me. I screamed a piercing scream. I had this hunger for pain, but it soon ended when I did feel pain. Excruciating pain, like somebody had stabbed me, repeatedly in the same place to deepen the wound.
The thoughts continued because I was still looking at her.
What’s up with her – am I that grotesque? – Bitch
“Shut up! What’s happening?!” I screamed
My first thought was I was going mad, and now in hindsight everybody thought so too. I heard them.
Man that Alex – always thought she was normal – scares me – seriously messed up – and I thought I had it bad – so many weirdos
It went on like that for all the time I was walking down the hall…looking around, I was deranged. Frantic. Mad.
I ran all the way home – said I felt sick to my mum – and curled under the bed.
“Are you alright darling I brought you some-”
she looks poorly – poor love – started screaming
“-tea – darling are you alright?”
Another scream, a louder one I cupped my hands over my ears to prevent her thoughts darting through my deranged brain.
I pulled her close, grabbing her small arms. I jerked them so close she dropped the tea on my duvet cover.
“Get me out of here,” I said. “I’m going crazy, I hear voices – those voices – your voice – when you walked into the room-” I was delirious and incomprehensible.
“You said something about me looking poorly and- and- and the people at school, they said I was mad, tell me I’m not-” My voice began to tremble with emotion. “Tell me I’m not-“ By now I had been digging my long fingernails into my mums wrists it began to have red marks and any minute more it would of bled. I began to sob. My mum withdrew her hand from my nasty psychotic grasp.
Take her to an aslym right now – mental – psychotic – schitzophrenic
And that’s what they did.
“…Some say he’s crazy
But he’s just different
Doesn’t think like you
His idol’s Einstein
Yeah, he’s distinctive
Yeah, he’s the freak of the year…”
That song kept me sane during my brief stay at the hospital. Brief meaninga year – I was schooled there. A lot of people had been there for three or four years, some were actually schizophrenics…talking to the walls. Others were pyromaniacs – muttering about matches. Others would stare at light bulbs – wasn’t sure what their problem was. There were anorexics…some perfectly sane and claiming their parents threw them in this abhorrent institute because they didn’t do well in their exams. So the parents thought they had some kind of mental issue with authority and chucked them in with the loons. Or maybe those ones were just good pathological liars. I didn’t ask, I didn’t talk to anyone who couldn’t get me out of here. I was pleasant to the nurses, really took on their offer to be “friends” with the loons. I “opened up” to the doctors faking memories of stress and being pushed to hard. They figured I just “cracked” and now I’m better. Well that’s the short and short of it. Isn’t it funny how something so dreadful can be trivialized and shortened into three sentences?
I hated it there, I was lonely – but it gave me a long time to think.
And most important to control my power.
When I had grabbed my mum she slowly stepped away. I heard whispering and then about a week staying at home, my mum says pack my stuff I’m going to an institute for a few months.
Hah, try twelve.
Mum came to visit me every month. She hated being there, looking at me, especially when I hadn’t learned to control my power so I would twitch and cry and other things. I knew she thought I was disgusting, I heard it. In fact one of her interesting thoughts was (and they came with depressive sadness and anger and disgust so bad I felt like retching): How could I raise a child so badly wrong? – not my problem anymore – track her mum down – her silly fault she’s a loon.
I never knew I was adopted.
She acted like I was in boarding school. That’s what she told her friends, and my school.
The thing about my mum is she has this if-you-ignore-the-problem-it-will-disappear kind of approach. She never once asked me how I was recovering. She only asked me “Did you like the cookies dear?”
Dad however tried to talk about it, but he broke down crying (We must overcome this – she’ll be alright – get some books), or when he was with mum she would change the subject.
The first week I would have “seizures” and people’s thoughts would come rushing to me.
I only realized it was people’s thoughts when - you’ll never guess who – Matt came to visit.
Matt was a boy at school.
He came on the second month, where the seizures were still coming thick and fast. I requested to eat in my room alone, did everything alone and I had managed to avoid many doctor’s meetings so the thoughts were reduced.
Nurse Nancy – how stereotypical – appeared at my door. She looked like Nancy – tight bottle blonde ringlets with hair extensions to make it thicker. I always wonder who she was trying to impress – a potential date? Everybody here was too crazy to care how she looked.
“Hello Alex! How splendid you’re up! I have some magnificent news which is superbly swell. Just your fantastic luck you’re up when you have a visitor! Yes his name is Matt – he’s welcome to stay for an hour.”
Out soon – wonder why she keeps to herself? – maybe parents wanted to get rid of her – terrible
“What’s wrong my precious? Don’t you think it’s tremendous about your young friend here? He is a friend right?” Then she whispered “Because if she isn’t….we can scare her off-” She tilted her head, and began to bark.
I got to hand it to her; she has successfully managed to blend in with the patients. I wonder if her unusual behavior has actually made her friends.
Then another nurse came - Nurse Sarah with her brown chestnut bob and small legs which carry her far. She appeared in the doorway as well and bounced on the ball of her feet and let out suppressed screeching noises.
“Ooo! Young Caren has started showing signs of recovery nurse! I overheard the doctors! Oo! Three years and finally! Wow…oh and also you have a visitor Alex! Better hurry!”
A blast of exhilaration shot through my body.
So exciting – what’s wrong with her? – finally get rid of Caren
A blast of excitement shot through me.
Caren has Body Dismorphic Disorder and a bit of Avoidant Disorder. I believe maybe she has managed to drag herself away from the mirror.
I walked down the miserable and lifeless hallways to the visitor’s room where Matt was sitting.
As I walked into the visiting room a rush of thoughts flew through me from the people in the room.
“You came to me in my need
You helped me through
And I love you”
He wasn’t uncomfortable with the twitching, muttering, untrustworthy and seriously sinister gazes.
Matt how brown hair which just covered his piercing brown eyes. His eyes were the most incredible feature; it was fascinating how he managed to have such bright, brown eyes when his skin was pallid.
“Alex…”
She looks bad.
Thank you.
“Hello” I said.
“I thought you might be lonely”
She wouldn’t find friends here
“Well I’m not making friends with these people if that’s what you mean-”
“You’re not crazy” It was like music to my ears.
She can’t be crazy
I am.
“You’re not!”
“I said that out loud?”
Constructive critism! - this is only half of it, the other half is in another post
“…I can’t do this by myself
Yet I want to be alone
I can’t deal with this
Yet the family mustn’t know
What happened that night…”
That’s how I used to feel about my life, still do partly. Except Mark Martin from “Fireal” is talking about divorce; you can’t have a divorce by yourself – yet he doesn’t want to be with her. He can’t deal with it, but he doesn’t want his kids to find out what “happened that night” (you can guess what that was). I only worked it out when I discovered my power. It’s strange how one song can have two totally different meanings to me.
I can read minds.
Not all the time, only with intense eye contact.
I’ve learned to control it by myself.
When I was 14, when I looked at people I felt an intense rush of their feelings – some were so sad it made me cry, when I was perfectly happy. The second time I read someone’s mind it was Lidya. She was malnourished, her red hair – once burning and dazzling - was just straggles. Lack of sleep left her jaded and her skin bleached. Her eyes were empty and looked like they were covered in glass. They never moved, just stayed there facing you with such an inscrutable stare. She reminded me of a walking skeleton, or a puppet, - except someone forgot to pull her strings.
She stopped to ask me something - something about French.
And that’s when it happened. The thoughts.
She’s so pretty – hate her – hate me – why can’t I be pretty – too many cuts – bet she has everything
It went on for an approximate 5 seconds; the self-loathing could have killed me. I screamed a piercing scream. I had this hunger for pain, but it soon ended when I did feel pain. Excruciating pain, like somebody had stabbed me, repeatedly in the same place to deepen the wound.
The thoughts continued because I was still looking at her.
What’s up with her – am I that grotesque? – Bitch
“Shut up! What’s happening?!” I screamed
My first thought was I was going mad, and now in hindsight everybody thought so too. I heard them.
Man that Alex – always thought she was normal – scares me – seriously messed up – and I thought I had it bad – so many weirdos
It went on like that for all the time I was walking down the hall…looking around, I was deranged. Frantic. Mad.
I ran all the way home – said I felt sick to my mum – and curled under the bed.
“Are you alright darling I brought you some-”
she looks poorly – poor love – started screaming
“-tea – darling are you alright?”
Another scream, a louder one I cupped my hands over my ears to prevent her thoughts darting through my deranged brain.
I pulled her close, grabbing her small arms. I jerked them so close she dropped the tea on my duvet cover.
“Get me out of here,” I said. “I’m going crazy, I hear voices – those voices – your voice – when you walked into the room-” I was delirious and incomprehensible.
“You said something about me looking poorly and- and- and the people at school, they said I was mad, tell me I’m not-” My voice began to tremble with emotion. “Tell me I’m not-“ By now I had been digging my long fingernails into my mums wrists it began to have red marks and any minute more it would of bled. I began to sob. My mum withdrew her hand from my nasty psychotic grasp.
Take her to an aslym right now – mental – psychotic – schitzophrenic
And that’s what they did.
“…Some say he’s crazy
But he’s just different
Doesn’t think like you
His idol’s Einstein
Yeah, he’s distinctive
Yeah, he’s the freak of the year…”
That song kept me sane during my brief stay at the hospital. Brief meaninga year – I was schooled there. A lot of people had been there for three or four years, some were actually schizophrenics…talking to the walls. Others were pyromaniacs – muttering about matches. Others would stare at light bulbs – wasn’t sure what their problem was. There were anorexics…some perfectly sane and claiming their parents threw them in this abhorrent institute because they didn’t do well in their exams. So the parents thought they had some kind of mental issue with authority and chucked them in with the loons. Or maybe those ones were just good pathological liars. I didn’t ask, I didn’t talk to anyone who couldn’t get me out of here. I was pleasant to the nurses, really took on their offer to be “friends” with the loons. I “opened up” to the doctors faking memories of stress and being pushed to hard. They figured I just “cracked” and now I’m better. Well that’s the short and short of it. Isn’t it funny how something so dreadful can be trivialized and shortened into three sentences?
I hated it there, I was lonely – but it gave me a long time to think.
And most important to control my power.
When I had grabbed my mum she slowly stepped away. I heard whispering and then about a week staying at home, my mum says pack my stuff I’m going to an institute for a few months.
Hah, try twelve.
Mum came to visit me every month. She hated being there, looking at me, especially when I hadn’t learned to control my power so I would twitch and cry and other things. I knew she thought I was disgusting, I heard it. In fact one of her interesting thoughts was (and they came with depressive sadness and anger and disgust so bad I felt like retching): How could I raise a child so badly wrong? – not my problem anymore – track her mum down – her silly fault she’s a loon.
I never knew I was adopted.
She acted like I was in boarding school. That’s what she told her friends, and my school.
The thing about my mum is she has this if-you-ignore-the-problem-it-will-disappear kind of approach. She never once asked me how I was recovering. She only asked me “Did you like the cookies dear?”
Dad however tried to talk about it, but he broke down crying (We must overcome this – she’ll be alright – get some books), or when he was with mum she would change the subject.
The first week I would have “seizures” and people’s thoughts would come rushing to me.
I only realized it was people’s thoughts when - you’ll never guess who – Matt came to visit.
Matt was a boy at school.
He came on the second month, where the seizures were still coming thick and fast. I requested to eat in my room alone, did everything alone and I had managed to avoid many doctor’s meetings so the thoughts were reduced.
Nurse Nancy – how stereotypical – appeared at my door. She looked like Nancy – tight bottle blonde ringlets with hair extensions to make it thicker. I always wonder who she was trying to impress – a potential date? Everybody here was too crazy to care how she looked.
“Hello Alex! How splendid you’re up! I have some magnificent news which is superbly swell. Just your fantastic luck you’re up when you have a visitor! Yes his name is Matt – he’s welcome to stay for an hour.”
Out soon – wonder why she keeps to herself? – maybe parents wanted to get rid of her – terrible
“What’s wrong my precious? Don’t you think it’s tremendous about your young friend here? He is a friend right?” Then she whispered “Because if she isn’t….we can scare her off-” She tilted her head, and began to bark.
I got to hand it to her; she has successfully managed to blend in with the patients. I wonder if her unusual behavior has actually made her friends.
Then another nurse came - Nurse Sarah with her brown chestnut bob and small legs which carry her far. She appeared in the doorway as well and bounced on the ball of her feet and let out suppressed screeching noises.
“Ooo! Young Caren has started showing signs of recovery nurse! I overheard the doctors! Oo! Three years and finally! Wow…oh and also you have a visitor Alex! Better hurry!”
A blast of exhilaration shot through my body.
So exciting – what’s wrong with her? – finally get rid of Caren
A blast of excitement shot through me.
Caren has Body Dismorphic Disorder and a bit of Avoidant Disorder. I believe maybe she has managed to drag herself away from the mirror.
I walked down the miserable and lifeless hallways to the visitor’s room where Matt was sitting.
As I walked into the visiting room a rush of thoughts flew through me from the people in the room.
“You came to me in my need
You helped me through
And I love you”
He wasn’t uncomfortable with the twitching, muttering, untrustworthy and seriously sinister gazes.
Matt how brown hair which just covered his piercing brown eyes. His eyes were the most incredible feature; it was fascinating how he managed to have such bright, brown eyes when his skin was pallid.
“Alex…”
She looks bad.
Thank you.
“Hello” I said.
“I thought you might be lonely”
She wouldn’t find friends here
“Well I’m not making friends with these people if that’s what you mean-”
“You’re not crazy” It was like music to my ears.
She can’t be crazy
I am.
“You’re not!”
“I said that out loud?”