Crazy
Chapter 24: Cara
Chapter 24: Cara
Life is full of shit. I can’t believe Tess had to mention that. That one simple word: r-a-p-e. Rape.
It changed my life forever. It caused me to become pregnant, and of course, being a pregnant teen made me want an abortion so I got one, which caused me to be suicidal, which made me end up here.
“Tell me, why you’re here,” Tess tells me, hugging me.
“I don’t want to think about it,” I say.
“Okay.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Then, Tess tells me how she thought I was an emo poser and everything. But now she knows I really am sad, both on the outside, and the inside. And I have a perfectly good reason to be.
“I wish you weren’t though,” she tells me.
“Thanks,” I reply, flashing her a big smile.
I have to admit though, the smile I give her looks kind of fake. I feel embarrassed for giving it to her. My cheeks turn red. She just ignores it and keeps talking.
“Another thing is that you remind me of me,” she explains to me.
“How so?” I ask, confused, since she seems like this cool gangster girl who has it all together and I’m this sad, emo girl who cries over spilt milk.
“I used to be sad, and bored,” she tells me. “I just wanted to disappear. Then, I got into drugs, which made my life a little more interesting, but not exactly in a good way. It just got me wrapped up in all these problems. A fun life isn’t even really worth it, if you can even call my life fun…it’s pretty boring now…I miss being able to live without drugs, to laugh without drugs, to have fun without drugs. Drugs have made me into a boring person.”
She sounds like she’s rambling on to herself now, but I don’t care. I’m spacing out anyway, not paying attention to a word she says, really. I get it – don’t do drugs. I still appreciate that she’s talking to me though.
I smile at her.
Breakfast time is here. Time to eat. Breakfast is the same, every single day (well then again, everything here is exactly the same, every day)/. We eat the same thing every other day basically. Sometimes we have eggs, sometimes we have bacon, sometimes we have sausage…and we’re forced to eat it too. I don’t get it.
I’m just as popular here as I am in school, pretty much, by the way. Everyone here thinks I’m some kind of freak or something. Apparently I don’t talk enough, I guess…
It’s time for therapy. I’m not too good at it. I’m not too good at sharing my feelings and stuff, I mean.
I have barely even said a single word this whole time, but I decide to actually talk this session.
“Um…I guess I’ll talk,’ I say.
“Ok,” Doctor Cook says to me.
That name suits her. She is pretty…large. Other than being large, her personality traits are quiet, boring, and apathetic. She couldn’t care less about my life. I wonder why she’s even a counselor.
I don’t care if she doesn’t care, though. I tell her my feelings and stuff anyway…yet I don’t tell her my story. Therapy is a good way to vent, I guess.
“You know,” she begins. “I tried killing myself too. I was treated at this same very hospital that you’re in now…”
“Really?”
“Yes…kids used to tease me for being fat, my parents used to tell me I was too…I was tired of forcing myself to throw up everyday. I was tired of all the bullshit. So, I decided to quit life. But quitting is for losers.”
Like, that makes me any less depressed…
I think about it. I think about the baby. What I would name her if she would have lived. Her name could’ve been Suzy, after my friend Susan. The only problem with that is that I’m not friends with Susan anymore.
“You know,” I tell Tess at lunch. “You know what I wanted to name my kid when I was little?”
“What?” she asks.
“Tess.”
She’s smiling, now. I feel good about myself when I make people happy. I have not been cured from my depression yet, but being self-positive is a good way to start the treatment for it.
At group, Lauren talks. I don’t know why everyone says I’m the weird, quiet, one. I mean, she’s pretty quite, herself.
“I’m anorexic,” she blurts out, looking down at the ground, before facing us. “And bulimic. You may think I’m a weirdo, since I haven’t been exactly willing to share my story with you guys but the truth of the matter is I used to be quite confident. But ever since I came here, I’ve felt like I’m crazy, insane, psycho. I’m really not. Seeing that you guys are here too, and that you’re perfectly normal too, I realize I’m just your typical teen age girl. Plus, even if I am crazy like I thought, what’s wrong with that? I always wanted to be above average…”
She’s just rambling on about nothing, but we all pretend to listen to her anyway.
Kate interrupts.
“I always thought preps didn’t have real problems like this,” she says. “I always thought they were snobby little rich girls who’s only cares in the world were who’s dating who, and what not.”
Lauren just stays silent.
Dinner is kind of boring. We don’t talk at all. We just eat. Even Lauren eats without a care.
During free time, we plan for our escape.
Life is full of shit. I can’t believe Tess had to mention that. That one simple word: r-a-p-e. Rape.
It changed my life forever. It caused me to become pregnant, and of course, being a pregnant teen made me want an abortion so I got one, which caused me to be suicidal, which made me end up here.
“Tell me, why you’re here,” Tess tells me, hugging me.
“I don’t want to think about it,” I say.
“Okay.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Then, Tess tells me how she thought I was an emo poser and everything. But now she knows I really am sad, both on the outside, and the inside. And I have a perfectly good reason to be.
“I wish you weren’t though,” she tells me.
“Thanks,” I reply, flashing her a big smile.
I have to admit though, the smile I give her looks kind of fake. I feel embarrassed for giving it to her. My cheeks turn red. She just ignores it and keeps talking.
“Another thing is that you remind me of me,” she explains to me.
“How so?” I ask, confused, since she seems like this cool gangster girl who has it all together and I’m this sad, emo girl who cries over spilt milk.
“I used to be sad, and bored,” she tells me. “I just wanted to disappear. Then, I got into drugs, which made my life a little more interesting, but not exactly in a good way. It just got me wrapped up in all these problems. A fun life isn’t even really worth it, if you can even call my life fun…it’s pretty boring now…I miss being able to live without drugs, to laugh without drugs, to have fun without drugs. Drugs have made me into a boring person.”
She sounds like she’s rambling on to herself now, but I don’t care. I’m spacing out anyway, not paying attention to a word she says, really. I get it – don’t do drugs. I still appreciate that she’s talking to me though.
I smile at her.
Breakfast time is here. Time to eat. Breakfast is the same, every single day (well then again, everything here is exactly the same, every day)/. We eat the same thing every other day basically. Sometimes we have eggs, sometimes we have bacon, sometimes we have sausage…and we’re forced to eat it too. I don’t get it.
I’m just as popular here as I am in school, pretty much, by the way. Everyone here thinks I’m some kind of freak or something. Apparently I don’t talk enough, I guess…
It’s time for therapy. I’m not too good at it. I’m not too good at sharing my feelings and stuff, I mean.
I have barely even said a single word this whole time, but I decide to actually talk this session.
“Um…I guess I’ll talk,’ I say.
“Ok,” Doctor Cook says to me.
That name suits her. She is pretty…large. Other than being large, her personality traits are quiet, boring, and apathetic. She couldn’t care less about my life. I wonder why she’s even a counselor.
I don’t care if she doesn’t care, though. I tell her my feelings and stuff anyway…yet I don’t tell her my story. Therapy is a good way to vent, I guess.
“You know,” she begins. “I tried killing myself too. I was treated at this same very hospital that you’re in now…”
“Really?”
“Yes…kids used to tease me for being fat, my parents used to tell me I was too…I was tired of forcing myself to throw up everyday. I was tired of all the bullshit. So, I decided to quit life. But quitting is for losers.”
Like, that makes me any less depressed…
I think about it. I think about the baby. What I would name her if she would have lived. Her name could’ve been Suzy, after my friend Susan. The only problem with that is that I’m not friends with Susan anymore.
“You know,” I tell Tess at lunch. “You know what I wanted to name my kid when I was little?”
“What?” she asks.
“Tess.”
She’s smiling, now. I feel good about myself when I make people happy. I have not been cured from my depression yet, but being self-positive is a good way to start the treatment for it.
At group, Lauren talks. I don’t know why everyone says I’m the weird, quiet, one. I mean, she’s pretty quite, herself.
“I’m anorexic,” she blurts out, looking down at the ground, before facing us. “And bulimic. You may think I’m a weirdo, since I haven’t been exactly willing to share my story with you guys but the truth of the matter is I used to be quite confident. But ever since I came here, I’ve felt like I’m crazy, insane, psycho. I’m really not. Seeing that you guys are here too, and that you’re perfectly normal too, I realize I’m just your typical teen age girl. Plus, even if I am crazy like I thought, what’s wrong with that? I always wanted to be above average…”
She’s just rambling on about nothing, but we all pretend to listen to her anyway.
Kate interrupts.
“I always thought preps didn’t have real problems like this,” she says. “I always thought they were snobby little rich girls who’s only cares in the world were who’s dating who, and what not.”
Lauren just stays silent.
Dinner is kind of boring. We don’t talk at all. We just eat. Even Lauren eats without a care.
During free time, we plan for our escape.