Always Mine {Book 3}| Completed

Part II: Chapter Seventeen

                          E M M A   POV:

      One thing about getting help is you expect everyone to feel sorry for you. And also, your family is too kind and supportive. But in the end, we're still haunted by what brought us here to begin with. And all you see is white walls, white chairs, white tables, and white doors. The showers being monitored with you in it every second. Your watched as you take your pills in the morning and then night. But you spend more time watching the news than you've ever had in your life.

I have been locked up in the facility for three months. But it somehow feels longer. And I think get admitted wasn't a poor choice after all. I feel like I'm getting the help. But they still want me to admit that I tried to kill myself. But right now, it actually doesn't matter to me because either way my wrist was going to get slit. I sometimes sleep better when I'm thinking of the possibility of leaving here. And even better when I think of my dad. I dream of him still. I see him when I go to sleep every night. I dream of him, and I see him as if he's nursing me when I'm badly sick. And I sometimes can't stop thinking of my dad. But whenever I close my eyes, I see him. And I cry. How am I supposed to live with that? And I have to get to my head and realize I've been suicidal a lot longer than I thought. It started out when I went to New York to Christopher last year.

I remember it so well. I was always looking for an excuse to be reckless. My mom was right about me. Noah made me feel weak that I believed everything he ever told me that I actually started to become willing to die and I'm careless with my life. Even when my dad died, I had a reason to want to kill myself. It was all there. I just refused to see it.

The place is more comforting than I had expected. Nurses are checking on me constantly. I get my virals. I get blood drawn from me at four in the morning. I eat a healthy breakfast. And I take my meds. And I see the doctor every day in the week. And lately, I been journaling. I don't pay attention to the other patients. Their all just as fucked up as I am, I guess. But they didn't go through the hell I've been through. I lost my dad to a gun. Someone took my dad's life. And I lost my boyfriend. His amnesia destroyed us. And now I'm on my own. I have my mom and my friends. Victoria calls me everyday to check on me. And mom visits me as often as she can. Gavin does too, and we actually can have a normal conversation without me asking lame questions. But he's actually okay.

   I have to live with the idea and thought that my dad is dead and I'm suicidal. But am I? Doctor Edmunds seems to think that I am. And she wants me to admit that I'm feeling this way because I've been in terrible situations in my past. And none of it is true. At least not in the way I see it.

   I been painting these past few months. And I've been liking to put anything down of how I'm feeling. It's not perfect. But it's something. I stay over in the corner, and I begin to write things down that just come to my mind.

My dad once told me that if you paint rainbows, then you can paint your whole life of what's in it or what's to come next. I will say that for these three months, I've had the time to think of everything that had once happened. Christopher proposing to me, the car accident, Christopher in a coma, Christopher's amnesia, my dad's death, and how I've been alone since my dad's funeral. I gave an eulogy for my dad's funeral. And I know he would've loved it. But I wish he would stop visiting me in my dreams. He keeps me sane, alive, and to not wish that I would be dead.

I guess you can say that I've had to say a few things in a few different languages to get myself ready. I can speak French, Spanish, Italian and German. I can say the same thing again.

"J'ai eu ça." I said to myself as I looked at myself in the mirror. (Meaning: I got this.)
I said it in French.

I start to comb my hair as the morning starts out, while I had coffee on my mind the whole time.