I wish I knew what to say, what words I could use to describe the hell I am in. I've never been one who was good with storytelling; something always seems to get lost. But here I am. Sharing my own personal hell with you, so you can be spared from the same fate. No one should have to go through the things I had to, that any of us had to. So this is for you; the innocent, the blind, the pure.
My story began when I was 14; so young, so dumb. There was an accident. Something inside me decided to show itself that day and it is that thing that destroyed my life. Everything I loved, every single thing, was stolen from me. The people that I thought I would always be able to depend on, my parents, have not shown up in my life since. Sad? I guess. But honestly, it was for the best. They only wanted a normal life, and I would have brought them the opposite.
This accident landed me in hell. Not the hell you're imagining with the fire and a red guy with a pointed tail; although the devil does make an appearance here too. My hell was filled with bright lights, white walls, and the smell of chemicals. My punishment consisted of mountains of pills that sucked the life out of me and needles that injected poison into my body. My devil wore glasses and promised everything meant to help us.
I spent four years suffering, four years waiting. Everyone was released from the home at around the age of 18, in a graduation type ceremony; or at least that is what we thought. My graduation was approaching when everything changed. And that is where I am going to begin. The day that was the beginning of the end. The day that he arrived.
"Take the pills," says the voice of an obviously annoyed nurse. "Please."
Her pale hand stretched out in my direction holding the pills that make everything go away. I lift my hand to grab them from her and hesitate right before taking them from her hand. I hate them. I've always hated them. They bring a numb feeling to every inch of my body and they take away all motivation. But the voices...
I'll just pretend like I don't know her.
"Emerson, you need to-" the nurse stops when I rip the pills from her hand and stuff them in my mouth.
"About time," she mutters as she steps out of my room. My room is a not exactly mine, nothing about this room is personal, no decorations, just white walls. The only color in the room comes from the textbooks required for the classes offered in the home and one plant, which I could never tell you the name of, sitting in the window.
Personal items are not permitted in the Home because our shrink thinks that they prevent us from being able to move forward. He seems to believe that everything from the past is haunting us and responsible for wavering mental stability. I really would like to know where he got his degree. Bull Shit University?
I'm guessing he is the best Mr. Morrison could find, no Psychologist with any self-respect would work in a place like this. For starters, the building was made from an old small hospital and to make it more 'homey' they decorated certain areas and covered the floor with carpet that looks like it needs directions to get back to the 70s. But the carpet isn't enough to get rid of the creepy hospital vibe, I think they should have started with getting rid of the smell.
Also, the patients are definitely not exactly the ideal patients, especially when you want to actually accomplish something. And by something, I mean something productive. Dr. Nessle does things... just not anything that I, or any real psychologists, consider productive. Or at least I hope they wouldn't. You can only hear the word "special" so many times before it makes you want to vomit.
The teens here, myself included, are not cooperative; we don't enjoy talking to him, sharing with each other, or doing anything at all. So I understand that this is a difficult job that only the truly desperate would take. Lucky us.
A high pitched tone plays over the announcement system letting everyone know that Mr. Morrison has something to say. The tone is followed by a throat clearing. Choke, please.
"Everyone, family room. Now. If you are late, you know the consequence," the voice of the man demands through the speakers.
I groan internally. Family time, yay.
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