I'm Not Crazy, Really

My name is Amy Jane Dexter. But before I tell you my story, there is one thing you have to know. I’m not crazy, really. They all say I am, but I’m not! Do you hear me?! I’m not! I’m perfectly and completely sane. Now that we took care of that little misunderstanding, it’s time to tell you my story.

I was born into an incredibly poor family. My mother worked full time as a minimum-wage waitress, while my father was an unemployed alcoholic. He spent most of his time going from bar to bar or wandering the streets searching for dropped money. He rarely came home except to eat, shower, change, or get money to support his extreme drinking habits. However, in the short time he was home, he was very abusive to me and my older sisters, Violet and Sam. He came staggering home drunk and if we were in his way, or if we did the tiniest thing wrong, he would beat us violently. If we cried, he would give us extra beatings. We were all too afraid of him to do anything about it, so we endured the pain in silence. My mother knew what was going on, but she ignored it and hid in her room crying. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was suffering from a severe case of depression. She could sit for hours staring ahead at nothing with a blank look in her eyes.

The kids at school enjoyed humiliating me every chance they got. They saw the markings on my body given to me by my father, and assumed I cut myself. They called me emo, freak, ugly, stupid, and just about every insulting thing you could think of. They even made fun of my name. They pointed at me and chanted, “Lamey Amy Jane’s Insane.”

As I got older, they got worse and worse. When I got to seventh grade, I had no friends and the bullies were worse than ever. They were starting to become more physical, shoving me into the hard lockers that lined the school walls, and the insults were extremely hurtful. I sat alone in lunch because no one would talk to me. I avoided talking to people because I was convinced that they all hated me. Slowly, I started blocking everyone out and destroying any chance I ever had to have a friend.

One day in June, I got in the worst fight I had ever been in. It was nearing the end of the school year, and all the students were impatient for school to finally be over. Because they were so bored, the bullying intensified.

One of the toughest bullies in my school decided to have some fun torturing me. It started off when he and his gang of two other boys surrounded me and trapped me in the corner near me locker.

“Hey look, It’s freak!” John laughed. He was the leader in his little group. The other two were Mike and Dan.
They started poking me while I backed deeper and deeper into the corner, begging them to stop.

“Come on, fight back you little wuss.” John said.

“Leave me alone!” I shouted. I pushed John with all the power I had in me. He stumbled backwards and fell down. “You stupid toilet.”

A sudden rage of maddening fury struck John’s face.

“What..did…you..call…me?!” He said, drawing out each word with a fierceness in his voice. But it didn’t bother me. I felt powerful. No one could stop the ripples of power and fury that coursed through my veins, making me fearless.

“I called you a toilet, stupid. Your fat-ass mom’s British, and there John means toilet. No wonder she gave you that name, It suits you. Because you're so full of shit. No go away before I hurt you.”

“I’m not scared of you.” He said, his voice shaking and his pride hurt.

“You should be.” I glared at him, surprised at the superior tone that controlled my voice.

“Shut up bitch. You don’t know what you’re talking about, no wonder no one loves you.”

That crossed the line. My body was shaking with anger, and I felt a passionate desire to hurt him, but a voice in my head told me to wait.

He smiled. “Ooo, so sorry, Lamey Amy Jane’s insane.” He was provoking me with his little taunts, but I listened to the voice in my head telling me to wait. The fury built up in me and turned into a powerful energy. Lust to kill. “No one likes you. Fuck you bitch.”

“Now.” commanded the voice.

I felt a strange sensation running through my body, waiting to be free. I unleashed the fury and directed it at John. My body was attacking him, but it felt like I was watching from a different point of view.

The next thing I knew, John was on the floor, unmoving. His body looked limp and lifeless on the tiled floors of the school. He was surrounded in a puddle of his own blood. All the students stared at me, in compete shock. I stepped back, turned around, and bolted out the school doors without looking back at the piercing glares of my classmates. I ran and ran as far as my legs could carry me. I could hear ambulance sirens blaring in the distance. My mind was in shock at what I had done, but a small part felt a smug pride in my power.

When I stopped running, I found an alleyway and hid behind it. My legs collapsed and I lay there until the sun went down. Then, gathering all my strength, I started walking home, preparing myself to face my father, and the Hell I was about to endure.