Alienation... Literally: (Theme 10)

A mixture of sorrow and anger flooded his eyes as he pleaded her to rethink her newly accepted fate.  His persuasion went something to the likes of:  You know they're going to lock you up.  You'll be dressed in a straightjacket surrounded by padded walls.  An infinite number of thoughts swam through her mind making her perception of the present distorted.  It wasn't until true growth occurred that she allowed herself to piece together a detailed recollection of memories that belonged to the halls of a prison that wore the mask of a house.  These suppressed memories like her father's emotion-hiding humor, rest in a bin on her closet shelf.
230 days:
fill pages of journals,
splatter paint across a previously blank canvas,
read clever stories upon scraps of paper,
weave through bracelets,
smile on stress balls,
write letters in cards,
camouflage secret feelings these 'coping skills' were suppose to destroy.

On a night she just wants to remember... Needs to remember, she walks to her closet, pulls apart the doors, stands as tall as she can reaching skyward, and pulls down her past.  She sits with her legs crossed as she shuffles aimlessly through her own documentary.

Opening with a laugh: "My roommate is thirteen.  She claims to be homicidal but promises me I'm safe for she has adopted me as her new big sister.  I think dad's assumptions sound more appealing at the moment."
Cracks her thumb squeezing a smiley-faced stress ball and smiles as she remembers all of its uses: playing pass with a wall, clenching that supposedly would help her through this, target practice on fellow patients, one of three juggling balls.
Followed with an admired stare as she sets three painted pictures side by side.  A newly discovered talent from the oddest of places.  Her art assignment reads: "Just paint something and send it in.  I'll give you credit for whatever we're doing."  She staring back at her are very accurate portraits of Simba & Nala, the Little Mermaid, and Yoda.
Emotions abruptly change to fear on day 14 of her third visit: "ECT is going to help.  Doc's sure of it.  I've never really had a problem with getting my blood taken, so an IV shouldn't be a problem.  Unless it's like a shot.  Which will be a BIG problem.  I'll go three times a week for nine weeks.  I might be sleepy a lot, but I'll do anything to get better."  Let's just say opting to permanently losing memories was one mistake that will haunt her for life.
Tears of laughter escape: "Sebastian wrote me another letter today.  The staff said they've intervened because he isn't allowed to be sending me love letters.  But they showed to me anyway.  I don't remember what it said, but it was an attempt at poetry and to get my phone number.  He also danced for me... Again.  This time I got two performances.  One to, I like to move it, move it and another to Apple Bottom Jeans."

She has read and observed 230 days over the course of three hours...
Admissions.  Counselors.  Visitors.  Medicine.  New roommate.  Seance.  "Do you have any of the five: suicidal, homicidal, hearing/seeing anything, self-harm, nightmares?" Field trip outdoors.  Code gray.  Hacky Sack with a hippie.  New Roommate.  Discharged.  Writing.  Admissions.  Tears.  One of the five.  Sensory room.  Weighted blanket.  Fist against face.  Broken window.  Visitors.  No roommate.  One to one psych-tech.  Medicine change.  Three of the five.  Close patient-staff relationship.  Stuck on unit.  New Roommate.  New friend.  Sleep.  Swear words.  Injection.  Infatuated patient dancing.  Sarcasm.  Reading.  Visitors. Bandaids.  Laughing.  Non-edible food.  Basketball.  Medicine.  Piano.  Homework.  Fight.  Fight.  Fight.  Superbowl.  "Why do you feel upset?" Anger.  Moved upstairs.  New Roommate.  Pedophile. Home-sick.  Medicine.  Movies.  Cribbage.  Change.  Smiles.  Discharged.
...and she's thankful for all she has learned.  She would never change a moment, but

I will never go back.