Kylikeit's Novel (Don't Dial)
I've had some bad experiences with mental hospitals. I'm writing a book (names changed) about these experiences. Here's chapter 1:
Chapter 1
Life can be the biggest asshole to you sometimes, can't it? I mean, being born into this world with autism is bad enough, but then it can throw my December 2013 through February 2014 at you. Really, I mean, really, what could be worse than that. Other than a fiery death in a volcano, like Gollum in Return of the King. At least he had his precious. I didn't. The doctors took it, along with my sanity.
Okay, first up, a little about this guy, the narrator here for the rest of this sad little tale. Or, in other words, me. My name's Pip Brewster. I'm very young-looking for my age. At a glance, you would say I was 10, 12, maybe 13, but nope, I'm 15. I don't get bullied, I'm pretty strong. In fact, kids are afraid of me at school and I can barely make friends. I try to, but when I get upset, that's what they have etched in their minds. But enough about that. Let's get to the story.
It all started in the shower. I was just about to turn off the faucet when I noticed a ladies' razor blade. It probably belonged to my sister. I reached for it. Of course, I had no intent to shave. I was going for the throat. But I stopped before my hand reached the handle. If I had done it, it would had saved me all this misery. But then it wouldn't be here in words.
I quickly got out of the shower and put on some clothes. I went to my mom in her home office and said, "Mom?"
"Yes, sweetie?" she replied, not once looking up from her work.
I told her what I almost did and we decided to go to the emergency room. Big mistake.
Now, you're probably wondering, "Pip, why don't you write about getting to know you and your parents before you leave? Shouldn't we get some time to sympathize with you?"
Well, guess what, sister. Life ain't like that. You never really get to know someone 100% of the time, and almost never at the beginning of it all. Life is a cruel bitch, and it takes and takes and takes. Life almost never gives. It takes all that time you wanted to spend with someone, it takes everything you hold dear, and in my case, it takes half of your memories of Christmas Day. But we'll get to that last one later.
Honestly, I wish I hadn't told her. Everything would have gone on as normal. I would have my sanity, and I would be home for the holidays.
Then again, I'd probably end up at the XYZ unit at some point anyway.
So, I had a hospital bed in the emergency room, and they brought me the typical disgusting hospital lunch and dinner. I was rather calm, until the night came and I went to bed on the unit.
I hate to admit it, but I cried myself to sleep that night. I wanted to go home.
I should have stayed home.
