The Girl in the Striped Shirt

I am conflicted. Not because I am stuck between chocolate pudding and vanilla yogurt but because it has been a solid three months and I still haven't made my move. Let's not forget to mention that I haven't even bothered with my English project which happens to be due in three days. At this point I frankly don't give a damn. Great it is noon which means off to taking my medications I go. It has been increasingly hard dealing with the spectrum of emotions and how quickly they seem to change. My mother has offered the idea of me seeing a therapist to help cope my disorder somehow. But like a fashion magazine, I ignore it., dishevling it far from my mind. This past Friday I got into a major confrontation with my friend, Rae or others may call her, Rachel. I can honestly say she is the most annoying and yet frustrating person you may ever see on a street wearing a knit sweater in 80 degree weather. Recently, she has been making sudden jabs in the way I dress, the way my hair is placed, and even the way I think. When I knew we were going to the same party my inital reaction was to not even attend, preventing a situation to enter a more chaotic state. Then I decided to change my mind and let everything go. It was a party and it was a place to have fun and maybe even have sex in the bathroom, but believe me I would never do that. Maybe the back of a car but never a bathroom, it seems to be too unsanitary.
I can distinctly remember getting a refill of fruit punch and my elbow digging into the side of someone's waist by accident. I quickly realized it was Rae and at that very moment I needed to make some excuse to clean up someone's vomit from overage of shots but since my body can't think faster than my brain, I was screwed.
"Well, well, Laney didn't expect to see you here."
The tone of her brazen voice convinced me mentally to pick up a wine bottle and crush her across the skull. Though physically, I drank my juice and shined a smile that clearly said, "leave me the hell alone."
I quickly remarked her slur, "This is a party Rae I think I am allowed to come if I want to."
A fearlessness within myself became known to me which at that point, I thought didn't exist.
"Laney you don't have to get mad I was just surprised to see you here but since you are
a little bitch."
A sharp pop erupted in my veins as if a trigger was pulled on a gun. I stared at the wall in which was right in front of me in hopes to maintain clarity but I learned clarity is only for losers who are afraid to live. I swung back and took the glass cup closest to me. I banged it across her little head and absorbed the excitment of watching her breaking down slowly to the floor. As all eyes were on me and the blood pouring from my arm, I came to conclusion I was a major badass.
Now I am here at the North Carolina Hospital suffering from side effects of post-modernism or how I like to put it, being pissed at society.
I have never quite understood awkward silence more than I have at this very moment. I was aligned in a row of others suffering from drug addictions or schyzifrenia but then there was me, the girl with bipolar crunched into a pack of weirdos in the waiting room. Doctors have always told me bipolar is caused by a defect in the brain which brings irratical change in emotion but to me the cause of bipolar comes strictly from the frustration that everything in life is going perfectly wrong. At this minute I should be in school maybe studying for a math test I am destined to fail and most importantly, being with him but now its all turning to shades of black and no gray in between.
A boy next to me with hair that appears to be a grungy orange and one freckle in the center of his nose, was poking my arm repeately. Each time he poked harder and harder as he screamed dinosour noises into my ear. It wasn't too hard to seperate the mentally confused from the mentally retarded.
I debated to either respond with whale noises or to ask him politely to the shut the hell up. To where I was sitting, the girl across me threw an apple that was lounging in her bag at the annoying ginger and he fell into an instant reflex. He got up from his chair and walked like a T-Rex, roaring with each step. It was very difficult not to burst into sudden laughter especially when the girl begin to scream and call her mom. I guess the faculty workers thought he was going to rape her otherwise he wouldn't be manhandled by five security guards and checked into what seemed like the asylym department of the hospital. Though I must admit I was pretty damn thrill not to be bothered every five seconds by dinosaur boy but yet my mother still has a chance to surprise me considering every little bit of my maddness stem from her choices.
"Are you scared," a voice reached into my ear as it was another boy trying to start a conversation with me but this time it was actually civilized. And humane.
"I don't know. I never really faced with the actual definition of something being scary. To be honest I don't really know why I am here."
He let out a tiny laugh, "That's unusual everyone in a hospital has a purpose to why they are here. They just don't walk in and sit here for an hour."
I bit the bottom of my lip, holding all self rationality that was left inside of me.
"It appears Round 1 was dinosaur boy, now Round 2 is smartass. Okay I have all day."
"Woah you don't have to get on the defensive side I am just curious," he tugged onto his sweater and glared at the ground.
"Well don't be curious. You don't have to always wonder or ask a question. Just go with the obvious."
"I was told not to judge. Or make impressions of the less obvious."
His words. His words struck a chord, a very thin line. If you would tell me I would have a philosophical and metaphorical conversation with a person in a hospital I would either A, think you have been dosing on permanent markers or B...believe you.
Before I could stick in a final remark, a woman called my name. She was wearing a very dingy, white coat so by now I knew she was my doctor and the person anayzling every fault in my life. She greeted me with a smile and directed me to this room settled in a narrow hallway. The room was secluded in cold temperature and walls were shaded with pure depth of dull. My mother was sitting patiently in the far corner and as the doctor gathered her checkboard, I knew I was in for a skeptical.
"So, Laney nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Morrison. Do you know why you're here?"
I stared at her for a good five second before I knew she really wasn't joking.
"Well I guess because I decided to eat a piece of cheesecake instead of an apple. It is very difficult to eat below 1000 calories. Oh right, I don't."
"Goodness gracious, Laney this woman is trying to help you. Can you at least act anyway thankful or is it too hard for you to do that."
For once in spite of her attempts to keep me below a 100 pounds and in anyway presentable, she was right.
"I got into a fight with a former friend and I might of smashed her skull but in my defense I did not know the glasses were easily breakable or fragile for that matter."
Dr. Morrison tried very hard not to show weakness because I was convinced she thought I was crazy, maybe even toxicating to human life.
"Laney as a patient I am trying to help you. So you may not fully agree to the measures you may be subjected to though keep in my mind they are strategies to help contain your disorder."
I don't like being called a patient or even the word itself. It makes me feel like an object of wrongful mistakes and that I am forced to be medicated into the old normal in which I am strongly against.
"My disorder is not keeping me from being contained. It's the fact I am sophicated with the endless demands of my mother who likes to place herself on a damn pedastil," I yelled without any thought of revision.
"Here we go again with the pointing of the fingers," my mom sounded very agitated and probably wished she had a strand of durable rope she could strangle me with though I think she would rather prefer using a gun. She likes to do things in a short and detached manner.
"Laney, I know it is difficult for you to come in to terms with your disorder so your mother and I have made weekly appointments to check on your health progess. You will be given extra medications as well as see a therapist regularly."
Going back to the conversation I had with mysterious stranger, I never been scared before. I might have at some period of my life but I probably never came into terms with it. Being scared is not directly from something being scary but the fact that the rhythm of your life will change and never be quite the same. At this moment I'm scared and it sucks.