I've been toying with the idea of writing a story like this for a while. But then that book-turned-movie It's Kind of a Funny Story got super popular so I thought people would get upset that I was copying, but I've had this idea in my head forever and I'm on break so I figure now is as good a time as ever to start a new story:)

And I'm sorry, I know my title and summary are terrible...I'm horrible at coming up with those parts!

Claire

..

4-PSYCH, 0-WARD.

Or if you were smart enough to see it, it was a ward for psychos. A ward for the crazy, the mentally insane, the addicts or whatever else you could come up with.

A ward that would now be my home.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about? I'm crazy. End of discussion."

"Honey, you're not crazy," Dr. Leslie, my new psychiatrist, rubs my back.

"Then why the hell am I locked up in a mental hospital?"

For this, Dr. Leslie has no answer. She simply sighs and helps me up off the couch. "Let's finish this session later, okay? It's your first day here, you probably need some rest."

She walks part of the way with me to my room, Room 132, and gives me a hug. "Remember Claire, we're all your friends here. And we're all trying to help you. Keep on keeping on," she shot me a grin before leaving.

Keep on keeping on. What a lame phrase. It's supposed to keep all of us loonies positive. It's definitely having the opposite affect on me.

I guess I should probably explain a little. My name is Claire Lyons, I'm fifteen, blah blah blah. The reason I'm stuck in St. Lucy's Psychiatric Hospital is that I have an anxiety disorder. Mild OCD, the odd panic attack, etc. My parents had decided it'd be best for me (but really, that means it's better for everyone) to stay here for a few months after a particularily bad panic attack.

The story was "Oh yes, Claire's just spending a semester or two in Florida! She needed some sunshine and grandma and grandpa Lyons are on their deathbeds and were wanting to see her terribly."

Of course, Westchester's elite are supposed to be perfect, flawless, lacking all errors. But I'm an exception. No one knows I'm here. Everyone seems to believe I'm actually in Florida. And oh how I wish that were the true story.

I walk into the bare, white room. Mom had requested it so I don't have a roommate, in case the roomie tells anyone I'm here. But we're all in total isolation, who's said roomie supposed to tell?

When I say total isolation, I mean it -no phones, no computers, no Twitter, no magazines or mail. We're allowed to use the phone from four till five on Sundays, but I know for a fact there's no one I'm calling. No way I'm calling mom and dad, who locked me in here in the first place. And my older brother Todd's too busy actually being in Florida to care about me.

"Hi honey!" Mom appears in my doorway, smiling brightly. "Dad's just finishing checking you in, but I thought maybe while he was doing that, we could decorate in here! Look what I brought," she shoves three bags filled to the brim with God knows what.

"I was thinking we could make it similar to your room at home," she murmurs, already stripping my single bed of the boring white sheets. She replaces them with pale yellow and blue sheets, pillow cases and a comforter. On one of the pillows, she leans a tiny blue teddy bear on. "Look, honey, he's aquamarine coloured, like your birthstone! And he matches your bedspread."

Then she's off again, pinning up posters she must have taken from my room (I'm stoked to see that she'd brought my Logan Lerman poster!) and taping up pictures. Some of me and Dylan Marvil, my best friend, some of me and the family, of me and Todd.

"Thanks, mom," I sit on my newly-made bed, hugging my new teddy to my chest. I try not to let the tears that had welled up in my eyes spill over.

"I want you to get better," mom says firmly, tugging at the strand of fresh water pearls at her neck. "For good. With no more medication."

"Mom, I'll never be able to get 'better' completely. You know that."

Mom's smile turns sharply into a frown and her eyes, so much like my own, turn icy. "Claire, if you don't try then you won't. But-"

"MOM. I'm not going able to not take medication," I tell her.

"What am I missing?" Dad enters my room, a smile plastered on his face. Fake. That smile is totally fake. We both knows he doesn't want to be here.

"I go out of my way to make Claire feel happy here and she can't even try to get better," Mom steps beside Dad, so now they're both staring at me. I shiver.

"That's not it at all," I protest, arms crossed. "And news flash, this is a goddamn mental hospital! One that you guys put me in! I'll never be happy here."

So mom leaves. Dad nods curtly, says "We'll see you, Claire. Have fun," and then walks out too.

"I'm not going to have fun!" I shout after them. "I hate it here! And I hate you too!"

And once my door is slammed, I break down and cry.

"Here, honey, why don't you sit here," a nurse kindly points me to a table at dinner that night.

I look around at the people already seated at my table. A skeletal brunette, a boy with mismatched eyes and a girl about my age with scars running all up her left arm. "Hi," I blurt nervously. "I'm Claire."

Only the skeletal girl looks up. "Massie," she says while eyeing a nurse. When the nurse looks away, she drops a forkful of peas. "Shoot," she murmurs, for anyone watching. "Anyway. What're you in for?"

I hesitate. Are our problems really discussed so openly among each other? "Anxiety," I murmur. "And OCD. What about you?"

"My parents think I have an eating disorder," she sniffs. "Really, that's the only fashionable reason to be in here," she shoots a disgusted look to the girl across from her, the one with the scars. I can't help but notice her eyes take on a slight look of disapproval when she realizes I don't fall in her 'fashionable' category.

"That's Skye," Massie says about the blonde. "She's in here for depression. Total snoozer," she rolls her eyes. "And that's Cam. He's here because he has a drug problem."

Cam looks up and catches my eye before looking down again. Massie resumes talking. "I kinda like you, you know, for a crazy-"

She said it. She said the C word. The word I say all the time. Why's it so different when she calls me crazy?

"Anyway, I-"

"Who's that?" I cut Massie off, staring at a slightly familiar looking boy across the cafeteria. He's not sitting and eating, instead standing and joking with some of the nurses. He laughs and shoots one of the nurses an adorable grin.

"Hmm? Blonde, brown eyes? I dunno," Massie taps a skinny finger on her chin. "I've never seen him before. But he's sure getting along with the nurses -none of us ever do."

I pick up my tray and boldly make my way over to the food lines, which coincidentally are right where the nurses and the cute boy are standing. But right when I walk by, the boy waves to the nurses and turns and exits the cafeteria. Damn.

"Hey, Claire," a nurse I vaguely recognize as Janet appears behind me. "How's your first meal here?"

"Um the apple juice is good," I try to smile. "Hey, Janet, who was that boy you guys were just talking to?"

"Think he's cute?" Janet smiles, reaching for a plate of mushy spaghetti.

"No," I shake my head. "I'm just trying to make the best out of being here so I'm trying to meet everyone and learn their names."

"Oh," Janet nods like it makes perfect sence, even though I'm positive it made absolutely non. "That's Derrick. He's not a patient here."

"Oh," I murmur. If he's not a crazy himself, then why would he ever want to talk to one like me?