This is my very own book and I’m gonna write anything I want to in here, just like I did in my other journals. All the crazy thoughts that run through my mind will fall into place on these pages. That’s right, I’m crazy and I know it, so nobody has to tell me that. And I kinda like living in this mental institution, even though Dr. Lutkin hates it when Icall it that. But that’s what it is.
Sure, we go on field trips, and I have to go to classes every day, but then there’s all the therapy I have after class and on weekends. I mean, there’s group therapy, drug therapy, drama therapy, pet therapy, recreational therapy, occupational therapy, dance therapy, and music therapy. But my favorite is still art therapy.
Even writing in this journal is therapy. That’s why my parents give me a new one for my birthday every year. But Dr. Lutkin says that I’ve reached a plateau. He says I need to interact more with the other kids. And I would, except other than being crazy, we really don’t have that much in common. Alejandra hates me most of the time, especially when she’s manic. They switched her to a different psychiatrist last year and she blames me for it. She says I stole Dr. Lutkin from her. Ed avoids me because he thinks my thrift store clothes may have once belonged to dead people. I do talk to Marcia, though I’m not sure how much she understands since she believes The Brady Bunch is her real family. Joey and Kathleen don’t talk much to anyone.
All of them have been here the longest. Then there are the kids who don’t have to stay that long, the sojourners. It’s cool to meet new people, but then they’re gone as soon as you get to know them.
It would be nice to have a good friend. Or a boyfriend. I’m not sure when I’ll get to go home, but honestly, I’m kinda scared to leave. People out there don’t like me. But things weren’t so bad at the thrift store the other day. Meredith took some of us there on a field trip. Marcia just has to have her 70s clothes. She can’t live in 1994 with the rest of us. While I was there, I found a really fly red kimono. It’s short, but it has long, long sleeves that will just get in the way, so I’m gonna trim them the next time we can do some sewing with Libby in occupational therapy. I want to wear it with jeans. After we left the thrift store, I got some boots at the army surplus store. They’re not Doc Martens, but I really like them. The people at the thrift store and the army surplus store were all really nice to us. They treated us like normal customers. Then again, everyone else shopping there had rainbow-colored hair and piercings in their faces, so maybe we looked pretty normal compared to them.
Keep a secret for me: While we were on our way back, Zack told me the shadows under the ‘L’ tracks reveal a secret message in a special code only he can understand. He made me promise not to tell anyone else about it. Weird, right? Just another day in the life of a crazy girl.
Anyway, besides this journal, I got two other birthday presents from my parents: a new Cross Colours outfit and a dress that’s beautiful beyond the speed of light. Of course it’s still too cold to wear it yet. I can’t wait for it to warm up so I can finally put it on. Maybe with my new combat boots. I’m so happy I don’t have to wear a uniform anymore like I did before I came here. Who would have thought that a mental hospital—excuse me, a special school for crazy kids—would be less strict than a regular private school? I actually feel more free in here than I ever did out there.
©2016 Tiffany Gholar