why we fall apart

twenty third ; why we fall apart

I guess I should've listened to the news bulletins more often. Crawford, over the summer semester of school (we worked year round), had been undergoing renovations to become a mental health facility as well as a boarding school.

Funded by the rich parents who didn't want their kids tainting their reputation but were forced into obligatory payments by the new head of Crawford, Saint Xenia's School was born.

Our dean was a nineteen year old named Lee Chesterfield. Why he'd be interested in transforming Crawford, I had no idea. But I wanted to know. And so did Tristan.

I stayed under a 48 hour watch after that night, and found out a lot of surprising things from eavesdropping through the walls when people thought I was sleeping.

First, that the dean has a deep personal attachment to this Saint Xenia. Another, that we were all really getting help. I don't know if I felt relieved or not. It should be a good thing.

All us kids locked away here... we could get a shot at normality. We could get things under control. Maybe leave. Forget. Move on.

I felt a flicker of hope.

Perhaps I'm incredibly nosy. But I just want to know things.

Knowledge isn't just power; it's leverage.

And do you know what I want?

I want out.

I went through more sessions with that mousy, contemplative therapist and even tried responding with an inkling of care.

Mrs. Russett upped my medication, which was not a good sign.

I know I needed to take it. But I didn't. Even after that incident where I met the same fate as Brittany Costello, who I'd seen in the hospital a few times actually, looking better, I didn't do it.

I felt something. I felt things. Emotions, not just pain and fluctuating anger and denial. It was like seeing color for the first time.

It was a stupid decision. But I craved the range of colors I could feel over a stable solid gray.

I ran free on a constant pump of adrenaline. And when I returned to classes I felt energized, like I'd never need sleep again. I felt like I was the one who told the earth to spin around the sun. And each time I climbed the roof to watch the sun come up, I didn't feel an inkling of exhaustion. My mind wove in and out, as usual, but it never reached the dangerous lows I'd surfed before.

Maybe I'm getting better.

Or maybe this continual high will run out.