July 14th. 3:30 pm. On AIM. I’m toadchickLOL. She’s luvs2kill27

toadchickLOL: so whats up?
Luvs2kill27:shut up. dont talk 2 me u whore
toadchickLOL: whats wrong?
Luvs2kill27: don’t talk 2 me!!!! I hate u!!! FUCK U
Luvs2kill27 has signed off

What may not seem like a lot had affected I, Sara Turnstile’s mind at the tender age of newly fourteen. I didn’t know what to do. Marianna was my friend or so I thought. Thoughts raced through my head. I had one friend and she turned on me; probably hearing those rumors that the cliquey preppy scumbags spread about me in middle school. But I cried.

“Hunny, want to take a walk?” My mother had said when she saw tears flowing down my face.

“Ye-yes mom!” I said. I couldn’t take life at the moment. I just wanted it to end.
“Where are you gonna go?
“I…I don’t know” I head out the door and head northward. The summer heat beats on me; every second a few more drips of seat seep through my pours; like the Niagara Falls of perspiration. I get about two miles from home and reach a tunnel. Standing on the side of the road deciding; should I jump in front of a car or just call mom to pick me up? Thank god I choose the later, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing my story.

My mom picked me up in our trashy blue emergency back-up car, and I go home . My mom is paniced and I settle down and sip a bottle or Mountain Dew. I then go to the computer to find

Luvs2kill27: ok I am good w/u now
Luvs2kill27: just so u kno
Luvs2kill27: u there
Luvs2kill27:no, yr just ignoring me
Luvs2kill: THAT WAS YR LASt CHANCE!!! WE r NOT FReNDS NEMORE!!1 I H8 U!!
Luvs2kill27 has signed off
My heart felt like it stopped. I grab the phone to call Marianna. To tell her my mom just happened to click wrong and take down my away message.

“Hello, who’s calling?”
“Hi Marriana it’s Sta-“
*click*

She hung-up before I could even explain. I was devastated. I would after this fight with my mom to release anger but I would rather not talk about it.

Everything seemed fine until early. Something didn’t seem right. And I ended up going crazy at my parents and got in a little fight. Me and Marriana were on good terms or so I thought. So I told her about the fight, which did involve a tiny bit of physical contact, but that was mainly to restrain me from going nuts. I told her to keep it secret. She said ok.

Later that day, I got in the car. My dad  was picking me up from school.

“This lady came to the house!”  he said with worry in his voice.
“Who? What lady?” I said inquisitively.
“A Child Protective Service social worker. Someone filed chargers against me and your mother saying I punched you or something…” He sounded like he could cry.

Mariana.
She had done it again.
Working part by part to ruin my life.

The following day I went to see a therapist. It was alright. But the following day I flipped out again, under the stress with CPS and Mariana betraying my trust and all that jazz. I had to see a psychiatrist.

I was prescribed Lexapro. Apparently it was going to help me cope with my issues. I was thrilled! Maybe I wouldn’t get so emotional anymore.

But no.
November.  Two weeks of taking Lexapro. Apparently I was walking around without my pants and underpants on and I don’t even remember doing it. Also I was flipping out still to accompany it. Apparently I was ‘disassociating’ with my flipping out and  was prescribed a sedative. When we went to pickup the sedative, I apparently flipped out in the car and tried to jump out the window.
My parents called the cops on me.
I was told I got cuffed. And I squirmed out of the cuffs thanks to my small hands. I was hospitalized for the night.

The following week, these episodes of ‘disassociation’ continued. I don’t remember exactly what I did, but it was pretty bad. I ended up in a mental institution by the end of the week.

The first day there, I went to bed. All seemed well until I was woken up by a blood-curdling scream of “GIVE ME MY FUCKING CHICKEN WINGS!” and then I realized, wow, I am going to be having the experience of a lifetime at this place.

Day two. I was frightened and tried to escape with a mental patient named Lianna. I ended up locked up in a room with no windows for four hours, and was prohibited from leaving campus for four days.

That night, said girl Lianna ran down the hall screaming death threats at another patient and ended up getting pinned down the the floor and got a tranquilizer shot up her ass.
Several days later, after I was taken off Lexapro and put on Abilify, things seemed to be going pretty OK. But this place was frightening. I was sitting in the lobby to see a young curly-haired blond boy throw a tantrum, shouting “GIVE ME BACK MY SHOES! I WANT MY SHOES!” in a thick Russian accent. I could go on and on with bizarre stories of this place, buyt tis is MY story, not the mental hospital’s.

To be continued?