If there was something I'd have been given a chance to ask of, I'd have asked for the grace and ability to replay my life. From the very first day, I was born to now.
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The image of my family keeps replaying in my head like a pantomime, mimicking the good days into the bad days.
The repetition of those bad days brought me here, into a rehabilitation center, or was it an asylum to cover up?
I fell into depression after I watched my sister die from a hit-and-run. I needed the pain to vanish so I found solace in hard drugs which made me get worse. I thought I was getting better but I guess not.
I'm not going crazy or well, I am. Everything around me is driving me nuts. One time I'm seeing a particular thing and the next minute, it's a totally different thing.
I want to end this life of mine. I've had enough. The suffering is unbearable. I'm just a young girl who's just starting the mirage world with less or no-fault.
Everything surrounding me has always been a misery, either an obvious one or a perpetual hidden one with fully bizarre occasions.
My inner thoughts tumbled on and on over the same thoughts for minutes, but what's the effect of a mentally deranged person's feelings anyway? It just goes on as a fallacy, a falsehood that can never be trusted by any person with no mental problems.
How did it all get to this? remains the complicated question I'll always ask.
"Are you alright, Miss Jones?" One of the staff asked as the iron door to the room I was locked clanged open noisily.
With an expressionless face, I looked up at him and didn't give a reply. I was going crazy anyway. A word shouldn't be expected from me.
"Miss Jones," he called again. "There are people out there who would like to see you,"
I stood up almost immediately, without a word, and walked outside the door to see whoever it was that wanted to see a crazy girl. Even though I know I wasn't crazy, well, the circumstances were driving me that way.
I took my steps gently as if being wary of thorns that might pierce sharply into my foot.
The hallway would have been dark if not for the blue light that's shining almost dimly. One could barely see anything though.
I watched as the man who had come to get me, took giant steps forward, leading to where seem never to be in sight.
My vision of everything seems pretty amazing, I mean, I wasn't expecting to still be reasonable enough to see a proper description of anything around here. Though, my head still hurts a little.
I touched my head that suddenly stung like a pin piercing through, more like a glioma.
"What's going on?" I asked. He didn't even look back at me, not to talk of giving a response.
He took a corner and branched to a totally dark route that read 'only for the officials'. If I'm in my right mind and I'm seeing correctly, I don't think I should be here.
"Excuse me, Mister. Where are we going?" I asked out of so much curiosity. He didn't reply and in no time, my worried face was replaced by a scared look.
"Help me!" I shouted and like weightless luggage, he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.
I thrust harder than my actual strength would have let me, hitting his back with all the power left in me.
"We'll get there soon. You need to be calm," the bastard said with so much audacity.
Calm? He must be fucking kidding me.
After a few moments of struggling, we got to an office-like room, and he dropped me gently on a sofa. Muscular motherfucker!
"Boss," he said to a man sitting on a chair. His back was turned against us and at the sound of his voice, he turned and faced us.
"You can leave now," he instructed and waved him off.
He looked over at me, beaming with a very attractive smile that seemed not to fit so well with someone his age.
"I am Ben Murray, the manager here," he said with so much grandeur. “I will help you reunite with your family,”
“I have no family,” I replied curtly, looking away from him.
“Hello, Ruth!” I heard the familiar voice come from behind me. I froze in my seat before slowly turning back and there, I saw my dad and mum standing by the door.
“This can’t be real,” I said as tears rolled down my cheeks. I shut my eyes firmly and when I felt a soft touch on my cheeks I realized how real this was.
I slowly opened my eyes and then I was staring at my mum.
“Mum,” I said in a whisper. “I thought you were…I thought you were dead. I was told you were dead,”
“It was to keep you safe. To make you respond well to treatment here,” my dad said.
“I missed you. It was so lonely here,”
“We are going nowhere ever again. You would never fall into depression, my sweetheart!” my mum said as my dad walked closer to us and we all hugged tightly.
After I got out of rehab, we moved out of the city to a much more peaceful place and I vowed to seek solace in family rather than in drugs.
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