I didn't take my meds today.
Two days ago Caitlin Adams asked if I was bipolar because I was into her on Monday but by Friday I had figured out that she was too demanding.
But those words, that question... it seeped into my soul and tarnished my tho...
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My eyelids needed matchsticks in them just to hold them up. The sound of a ticking clock only made my tiredness worse and it made my head pound.
I sat in a room with nothing but rows of individual desks and chairs. They all faced Mrs Roberts at the front who filed and buffed her nails.
Blossom sat one row in front of me but over towards the right hand side of the room.
She seemed to be coping well sat still for so long, I on the other hand couldn't keep my knee from bouncing up and down. Or my fingers from picking at the rubber edging of the desk.
I needed to get up, move, do something!
Blossom refused to look at me, talk to me or acknowledge me in general but I watched her anyway.
She flicked her pencil backwards and forwards between her delicate fingers and tapped her black smart shoes against the leg of her chair. Every now and again she would breathe so deeply her whole body would move. I wondered what she was thinking and how deep her hatred for me ran.
We had been instructed to write an amicable letter to one another. My read;
Dear Fearne, I'm sorry you got covered in paint. I really didn't mean to spill the pot over you but I can see how you thought that I did. From Arlo.
I spent approximately one minute seven seconds writing it. Her text was almost the full length of an A4 sheet and she was still going, deep in thought.
