Status: HIATUS WARNING: (9.19.09) This is taking a bit longer to process than I thought. I may not have a new chapter up until maybe even the winter. Sorry for the inconvienience (as usual!)
Smiling Oak's Academy for the Insane.
One Suicide Attempt Too Many.
I'm Lydia Sanchez.
I was sixteen years old when I was sent to "Smiling Oaks" (hiss) Insane Asylum. It all started when I overdosed on my mom's pills...
"Lydi, get down from there!" my mom cried from her red-bricked house across the street from the bridge.
I stood on the ledge of that bridge, waiting for her to come get me if she wanted me so bad, or to at least call my dad.
It was a frosty Valentine's day, and I'd got tired of this disgrace called "life", or at least the bullshit that was going on around me.
My mother smothered me. She wouldn't let me go to my friends' houses, the movies, nor even to the park down the street. Not unless my twenty-year-old brother, Emilio, would go with me, which was never, on account of he lived with my dad.
My mom was afraid to see me, "her little baby Dee Dee", grow up. And telling her to stop calling me "Dee Dee" and to at least call me "Lydi" when I was twelve could've sparked it. She thought she was old, at the age of thirty-six, despite the fact not one wrinkle sat upon her face, nor one gray strand of hair grew from her head. Nevertheless, she must've thought Emilio and I were hell-bent on sending her to the old folks' home as soon as possible.
The trees were bare, branches bearing snow, the sky was whitish gray. White dust covered the frozen pond and the ice on the sidewalks, as well as the rooftops and the ledge of the bridge.
The wind blew the snow onto my bare arms, as I shivered in only a thin white tee shirt, ripped jeans and worn out vans that I'd had for three-and-a-half years. I'd ripped the elastic band from my long, dark brown hair, to signify that it was the end. My stomach churned, my head was light and my eyes began to lose focus.
"Lydia Milani Sanchez!" she continued to shout.
I turned my head towards her, and spat out a foam.
A car screeched to a stop in front of her house. Two very familiar grown men got out. "Lydia!" my dad and Emilio shouted.
My father was your everyday stereotype of a business man; bland, old and misunderstanding. At forty-six years old, he disgusted me. He was so sickening to me, not because he was a businessman, but because he and my mom fucked when she was sixteen and he was twenty six... and again when she was twenty and he was thirty. Also, there had to be times between, especially because they were never married, let alone, ever lived together.
And who could forget little Emilio, who sometimes went by Claudio for dramatic effect. Mister music buff. Sure, I could look up to him in the music department, because I sincerely adored his taste in music, but he was an animal in every other department.
He would bring home a new "woman" (cough, cough, hoe, cough) every other night. He wouldn't come home every other night. His room smelled like death, and he pushed me around, like older siblings were supposed to, only harder. But that was only at my dad's house, which was every other week.
But that week, I was at my mother's. And like any other time lately, I was trying to be taken somewhere else. And boy, was I going to be.
"LYDIA! Get down!" My mom barked.
"I'll get down, alright." I thought to myself.
"Lydia!" Emilio shouted.
I was damn surprised. Nevertheless, that didn't stop me from turning around and saying "Turkeys! You couldn't stop me if you tri--"
My foot hit an ice patch on the ledge.
"LYDIA!" My mom shrieked dramatically.
I was sixteen years old when I was sent to "Smiling Oaks" (hiss) Insane Asylum. It all started when I overdosed on my mom's pills...
"Lydi, get down from there!" my mom cried from her red-bricked house across the street from the bridge.
I stood on the ledge of that bridge, waiting for her to come get me if she wanted me so bad, or to at least call my dad.
It was a frosty Valentine's day, and I'd got tired of this disgrace called "life", or at least the bullshit that was going on around me.
My mother smothered me. She wouldn't let me go to my friends' houses, the movies, nor even to the park down the street. Not unless my twenty-year-old brother, Emilio, would go with me, which was never, on account of he lived with my dad.
My mom was afraid to see me, "her little baby Dee Dee", grow up. And telling her to stop calling me "Dee Dee" and to at least call me "Lydi" when I was twelve could've sparked it. She thought she was old, at the age of thirty-six, despite the fact not one wrinkle sat upon her face, nor one gray strand of hair grew from her head. Nevertheless, she must've thought Emilio and I were hell-bent on sending her to the old folks' home as soon as possible.
The trees were bare, branches bearing snow, the sky was whitish gray. White dust covered the frozen pond and the ice on the sidewalks, as well as the rooftops and the ledge of the bridge.
The wind blew the snow onto my bare arms, as I shivered in only a thin white tee shirt, ripped jeans and worn out vans that I'd had for three-and-a-half years. I'd ripped the elastic band from my long, dark brown hair, to signify that it was the end. My stomach churned, my head was light and my eyes began to lose focus.
"Lydia Milani Sanchez!" she continued to shout.
I turned my head towards her, and spat out a foam.
A car screeched to a stop in front of her house. Two very familiar grown men got out. "Lydia!" my dad and Emilio shouted.
My father was your everyday stereotype of a business man; bland, old and misunderstanding. At forty-six years old, he disgusted me. He was so sickening to me, not because he was a businessman, but because he and my mom fucked when she was sixteen and he was twenty six... and again when she was twenty and he was thirty. Also, there had to be times between, especially because they were never married, let alone, ever lived together.
And who could forget little Emilio, who sometimes went by Claudio for dramatic effect. Mister music buff. Sure, I could look up to him in the music department, because I sincerely adored his taste in music, but he was an animal in every other department.
He would bring home a new "woman" (cough, cough, hoe, cough) every other night. He wouldn't come home every other night. His room smelled like death, and he pushed me around, like older siblings were supposed to, only harder. But that was only at my dad's house, which was every other week.
But that week, I was at my mother's. And like any other time lately, I was trying to be taken somewhere else. And boy, was I going to be.
"LYDIA! Get down!" My mom barked.
"I'll get down, alright." I thought to myself.
"Lydia!" Emilio shouted.
I was damn surprised. Nevertheless, that didn't stop me from turning around and saying "Turkeys! You couldn't stop me if you tri--"
My foot hit an ice patch on the ledge.
"LYDIA!" My mom shrieked dramatically.