We went to 13 different doctors before I was let go. They all said the same thing: compulsive lying disorder. I wish they knew that sometimes I was actually telling the truth.
They would ask me simple questions:
"What's your favorite color?"
"Blue." Lie. My favorite color is black.
They would check a box on their clipboard.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"A business owner." Lie, I want to be free when I grow up.
Check.
"What do you want to accomplish in your life?"
"I want to raise a family." Lie. I want to accomplish nothing in my life.
Check.
More stupid questions, more 'truthful' answers. This cycle repeated itself 13 times until one doctor gave us orders to go a 'mental facility'. I'm 14 years old; I'm smart enough to know when people are calling me crazy. I thought my family would never do that. They would never just send me off to change the way I do things. So what, I lie. It's not like every kid doesn't. So why do the doctors choose me especially to get 'help'. Out of all the liars in the world, they choose me to go to who - knows - where to do who -knows - what.
At least my parents asked me if I wanted to do this.
"You would have to drag me away kicking and screaming if you want me to go there," was my response. Truth.
Except my parents thought I was lying.
So at the moment, I am signing in to the Yester Mental Facility for Troubled Young Adults. I guess you could say that I'm a troubled young adult now.
My mom was done with the paper work, and I haven't made eye contact with her all day. She handed me a key in the waiting room. "You are all signed in. Here's the key to your room," she said.
I was sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, on my phone buying music. I looked up at the key, snatched it out of her hands without saying a word, and looked down a my phone again. My long, brown, straight hair that fell down to the bottom of my shoulder blades draped over my face, hiding me from my mother. I'm not going to miss her, or my dad, only my siblings. I had and older sister, older brother, and younger brother. I almost broke down when I said goodbye. They fought on my side, trying to let me stay, but my parents had 13 doctors on their side.
"Where's my room?" I asked without looking up from my phone.
"Room 7 on the first floor. Now will you look at me?" my mom asked desperately. I stood up.
"No," I replied. I grabbed my suitcase and my backpack, and started walking away from my mother and towards the door that said 'faculty and patients only'.
"Alec, wait!" she said calling after me.
I spun around on my heals to face her, finally looking her in the eyes. "What?" I asked through gritted teeth.
"I love you," she said softly.
"I don't care," I said, turning around and walking through the door. I stepped into a room that looked like a hotel lobby; there was a desk a few yards ahead, couches placed around gas burning fire places and TVs, a cosmetics shop in the corner, and a little dining area with cafe tables and chairs off to the side. People were coming and going, walking up to the desk, asking questions, walking away down one of the two long, narrow hallways. I just stood there, studying the place.
"May I help you, dear?" My neck jerked to the right to see a young girl, about 23 or so, standing there in a nurse's outfit.
"Um . . . could you help me find my room? First floor, room 7," I asked.
"Why, of course, sweety! Follow me," she said and started walking down one of the hallways. I shouldered my backpack and followed her, dragging my suitcase behind me. After walking past a few closed doors with names on them, the nurse stopped at one.
"Key?" she asked sweetly and held out her hand. I set the key in her hand, keeping eye contact. She smiled and jabbed the key into the lock, twisted it, and swung the door open for me. She gave the key back and smiled, again.
"Thanks . . ." I said and walked into the room.
I was about to close the door when she asked me,"Oh, and honey? What's your name?"
"Uh, Jane," I said. Lie. My name was Alec.
"Uh, honey? Your name is Alec."
"Huh?" I asked, confused.
"It's written on the door," she replied. I looked her in the eyes for about five seconds, and then shut the door on her. I turn around to see my room. Apparently, I am sharing it with someone, because there are two loft beds, one in the corner surrounded by bookshelves and one by the door, and it looks like the one by the door has been claimed. The sheets were unmade and posters covered the walls around it. The room is about the size of a college dorm, with light gray walls, and has two windows. The unclaimed loft bed, my new bed, was sitting in the far left corner. It was to the left of one of the windows, and had black blankets on it. Under the bed, there was a desk with a laptop on it, a yoga ball to sit on, a schedule, a calendar, and drawers for clothes. I walked over to the desk and run my fingers over the smooth wood. I set down my backpack and suitcase and climb up the ladder. I press my hand down on the bed. It is firm, but stilled seemed comfortable. I climbed back down the ladder and grabbed my schedule. It read:
Monday- studies(rm 23 flr 3)2-4pm
Tuesday- studies/ therapy (rm 14 flr 2)
Wednesday- studies/kitchen duty 11-12
Thursday- studies
Friday- studies
Saturday- free day
Sunday- therapy
I assumed that studies meant school, and that therapy was to take care of my lies. I noticed another piece of paper on the desk. I picked it up and it said:
Please note that these room are 80% soundproof. Bathrooms and showers are on floor 1. Hospital wing is floor 5. If in need of service or help, please contact the front desk.
I put that paper down as well and picked up my suitcase, unzipping it and throwing all of the clothes out of it. Then, hidden at the very bottom, I pulled out my two best speakers and and aux cord, along with a phone charger. I plugged one end of the charger into the outlet on my wall, and the plugged the other into my phone. Then I took the aux cord, plugged that into my phone as well, and then plugged it into one of the speakers that I had set on my desk. I got onto my phone, scrolled through my playlists, and the choose one that started playing through the speakers. I adjusted the volume so that it wasn't too loud, but loud enough. Soon enough, some of my favorite songs from some of my favorite bands started playing. Music had always soothed me, comforted me, protected me. Music was there when people weren't.
I looked at all of the clothes I had thrown on the ground to get my speakers out. Probably time to put those away, I thought to myself. I knelt down on the hardwood floor and started sorting through the piles of clothes, separating them by shirts, pants, underwear, shoes, and others (socks, headbands, etc.). Once all sorted out, I neatly put them in separate drawers that were under the bed. I put my shoes on one of many bookshelves that were embedded in the wall up by were my bed was. I got down from the bed and looked around. I still had some more things coming, but all and all, my room looked pretty good, for an insane person.
This is boring, I thought to myself and looked at the door. Maybe a little exploring won't hurt.
I opened the door and stepped outside, back into the same hallway. I decided to go back to the lobby to see if anyone interesting was there. I started walking down the hallway, when suddenly one of the many doors swings open and hits me in the face, knocking me down.
"Ow," I muttered and slowly reached for my head.
"Oh, God! Are you ok?"
YOU ARE READING
I know I'm insane
RandomI had never thought I was insane. I guess everyone else felt different.
