It's been 9 years since I last saw her. I'm not sure if I even miss her. If I did miss her, I wouldn't have the right. I can't even blame myself for what happened, how can I? It takes two to tango.

They ask me all the time, did I regret it? It's hard to say. If it were up to me, would it have been different? If things were up to me, things would have never started. Did you love her? Of course I loved her. I loved her more than I loved the air, the sun, the bird's song. She came before all. She was everything and more. Yes, I loved her very much.

But my favorite question; don't you know that it's all in your head?

God, that question brings a smile to my face. It is all in my head. Is that it? It was all in my head. I used to try and convince myself of that, too. But I know better. You see, I was there and these "professionals" well, they were not. That's the difference between us, we experience things. We see it, we feel it, and we drown in it. They, well they hear what we say. They put us under the microscope and feed us this stream of nonsense, drill it into our heads. So was it real? It was as real as you or me. Was it all in my head? No.

My case is compared to a small child's love for their imaginary friends. They will deny to the very last breath that is it true, that their friend is obviously standing right next to them. How can they not see them? How? Grownups just don't understand. But the children get older and they have new friends, ones that you can see, touch, smell, feel, and hear. They forget their old friends and upgrade. I could never do that.

"Son, you have to settle down. You are going to wake the others"

"Fuck you, man!"

The new boy. He still didn't understand how it worked around here. If you just stay quiet, they get bored of you and let you leave. It was a lesson I learned the hard way.

The boy kicked the tray of pills out of the clearly frightened nurse's hands. Pills flew up in the air and crashed to the floor with the tray making a motley design.

"Son this the last time we are going to ask you to settle down!" Now the doctors were really getting angry, we all knew what happened then, even the boy knew, he just didn't care.

"Fuck. You." He spat at them

The doctor sprung at him with a needle, they were going to sedate him. I hated getting those needles. It felt like liquid metal coursing through my veins. It stung every corner of me until the pain wore me out so much I fell into a dreamless sleep. I used to fight it, make it more difficult for everyone. I would struggle and punch until my limbs didn't even feel connected anymore, that I had to carry them. The boy didn't have the tolerance for it like I did, he fell right down and two burly orderlies dragged him to his room.

I just sat there and watched. Not much really interested me. The doctors told me I lacked motivation, that wasn't it. I didn't lack anything, I just didn't care. There's a difference. They thought there was hope for me when a stray cat wandered onto the property. I would sit outside with it for hours and hours, just to pet it, to talk to it. The cat was the only person I would speak to. But that was about a year ago, some people walking by saw they cat and took it home, apparently it was a run away and those people were its rightful owners. I remember the cat well, it has pure white fur, but on the stomach there were spots of black. The tail was missing a bit of fur, I assumed from being caught on something, its nails were long and the pink pads of its feet were dirty. I brought it food everyday and cleaned it up when I could. They wouldn't let me bring her inside, not sanitary apparently. I would argue with them over and over about it.

"I'm sorry but it would go against health code restrictions. If someone came in and saw we had animals in here, we could be sued and this institution could close down"

"There are people throwing shit around on the walls and spitting pills at nurses. You really think a cat is going to shut this place down?"

"I'm sorry, miss, but we can't. You are welcome to keep it, as long as it is outside"

That same argument went on and on. But it doesn't matter anymore; people who could keep it warm took him. I didn't go outside much after that. It didn't seem important.

At 11:45 every day was lunch. They forced us all together like one big happy family. If you didn't at least make an appearance, you lost credits for the day. The more credits, the more freedom until the day you are released.

An orderly came by with a silver wheelie cart with stacks of green plates with matching lids. We weren't allowed to start eating until everyone had a plate. Not only do they teach you how not to have a panic attack in public but also table etiquette. What they attempted to serve didn't even resemble any type of food I've ever seen. They called it vegetarian lasagna. I excused myself.

I decided just to stay in my room. I had my own personal room. They called me a "special needs case." Basically it meant I was entirely unstable and cannot retain large amounts of human interaction. Yet again, not true. But I never pushed the subject, I didn't care enough. I liked the silence. Not having a roommate was almost a blessing to me. I never had to worry about acting polite to their family during visits or hear their screaming threats of suicide. The doctors went crazy when they did that. I knew they were never serious, you want to kill yourself, do it then, and you don't need to announce it to the world.

When I got here I used to think about killing myself nonstop. I'm not sure what stopped me. I really had nothing to stay alive for. But I figured not having a roommate was almost a blessing to me. I never had to worry about acting polite to their family during visits or hear their screaming threats of suicide. The doctors went crazy when they did that. I knew they were never serious; you want to kill yourself, do it then.

When I got here I used to think about killing myself nonstop. I'm not sure what stopped me. I really had nothing to stay alive for. But I figured why take the easy way out? Killing myself would be selfish, not that I'm making such a difference by being alive. I usually felt this way when I thought of her. Think of her smile, her touch.

I couldn't help but smile at the memory of her. She was so beautiful. She was an inch or two taller than I was, she had long muscular legs. She always wore high heels but that couldn't even stop her graceful strides. Her platinum blonde hair hung to her waste and her black eyes always filled with curiosity. Her smile lit up the room, and her blood red lips was the perfect contrast to her porcelain complexion. She had three small freckles in the corner of each eye. You could see tiny pink veins on the side of her nose. I used to kiss it and tease her about it. She was breath taking when she laughed. But that was the old her. Thinking of it never led to anything productive. I missed the electricity I felt when she was near, I miss her lips against mine, and I did once truly miss her. I loved her even when I found out what she truly was.

I felt between my pillow case until I found what I needed. I had to keep it hidden since it would be confiscated immediately. I kept it in a little blue pouch so it wouldn't be seen. My razor was stained with blood that I never cleaned off. I stole a pencil sharpener from the office and took the screw out so I could get the razor. I went into the bathroom so no one would walk in on me. I had a small frame and easily slid in the space between the toilet and the sink. I undid my jeans and pushed them down along with my underwear. I pushed the cool metal into the already raw skin. I tried to cut on my pelvis as much as I could to keep unseen. I slowly pulled the blade across my skin, a second later red appeared. I couldn't stand the images in my head. Holding her, kissing her, loving her. I couldn't stand it. I needed an escape. My mind would flash to that smile that played her lips, it didn't look like her, but it was. She did this to me, she led me to them. It was all her fault. I rake the blade over my skin faster and harder, my tears connecting with the blood dripping down. I could barely see what I was doing anymore, but I didn't stop. If I stopped for even the briefest moment, there she would be. I was practically slamming the blade into my thigh, resisting the urge to try my wrist. The more I thought of her, the deeper my cuts would become. When I could hardly breathe anymore, I looked down at what I had done. My hands were covered in blood, a pool of it surrounding me on the floor. My cuts look deep enough where I may need stitches. I pushed myself up and grabbed a brown paper towel from the dispenser and wet it. I cleaned off most of the blood and washed my hands. In the pouch I had gauze, medical tape and alcohol wipes. I stole them every time I was given permission to walk around the hospital if I had enough credits. I cleaned myself up and taped the gauze firmly down. I fixed my appearance and left the bathroom. I changed into black sweat pants incase I bled through my jeans. I laid down in my bed, trying to forget where I was and who I was.