One week ago today, I'd officially been expelled from P.S. 118. We can get to the details later.

As things stand at this moment, my head is in a flurry. Where do I begin?

My parents want me to start taking medication and seeing a counselor. Okay, fair game. That was probably past due anyway. I'm aware I can be a bit… Erratic. Fine, no big deal. I could possibly even stomach the thought of being expelled from school. Granted, it's where I primarily see Rhonda. It's not like I wouldn't get to see my darling at all. I'd see her around town. We'd encounter each other through mutual friends. Sure. I could make that work. But that isn't the end of it. Things are much more dire than that.

My family would be moving in a few week's time. It was something I'd been aware of for a year or two, but it always seemed to be on the horizon. I never thought the day would come to fruition. But my father's quarterly report was stellar. Fantastic. Great. Too great. We'd be re-locating for his promotion. I'd heard whispers late at night of three figures.

This meant two things. One of which I immediately figured out on my own, and one of which he informed me: I was going to be placed in a private school, and I could no longer see Rhonda. Everything else was fine. Like I said before, I could handle expulsion, therapy, pills, all of it. But I can't get by without Rhonda. Even now, I know that.

If I seem more level than usual, you can chalk it up to the meds they've started me on. A cocktail of antidepressants and ADHD drugs. Truth be told, I don't entirely despise them. I feel strangely clear-headed, if somewhat emotionally stunted.

Ordinarily, I'd plot something. I wouldn't leave this town without a fight. I could run away. Rhonda could come with me. Something that would seem perfectly logical without these pills. But my train of thought is disturbingly focused and linear now. I can poke holes in schemes I'd previously thought were genius, and it scared me, honestly. It worried me how delusional I may have really been.

And it makes me wonder if this me is more valid than the old me. That's when the panic crept in. It was probably also a side-effect of just starting the medication, but it was rooted in very real fears. The only thing keeping me grounded was the thought I had a few weeks left. It would give me an opportunity to prepare for the hell that awaited me.

It could be mitigated, but it would require Rhonda's cooperation. I'd talk to her after school one of these days. It wouldn't be hard. I'd explain the circumstances to her. Ask her for her cell phone number. See if she has a Skype. We could remain in contact, and even if it weren't physical, I could get by on that. Just her voice could even me out.

I'm working hard to extinguish all of my negative thoughts, because I'm not sure I can survive if I don't. And yet... This newfound "logic" I'd acquired wracked at me. It battered my emotions with all the awful things I knew but didn't want to acknowledge. It was easier when my mind was scattered and all was aflutter with Ms. Wellington-Lloyd exclusively. It was easier.

Yet a voice hissed whenever those thoughts stirred: "She didn't love you, Curly." No. That was what I couldn't face. Even examining it now made my hands shake. My heart keeps skipping every few beats, and my stomach is doing flips.

I'd drink to get rid of this cotton mouth, if I could stomach even water. I haven't eaten since the third day I was put on meds. That was two days ago. I have to eat soon, or I really might faint. Sleep hasn't come easily, either. Mostly fevered dreams of Rhonda being taken from me. Another avenue I don't care to explore in-depth.

So, why do I continue? I'm not necessarily certain myself. Maybe it's the thought of becoming Curly again frightens me. Maybe I'm afraid of becoming what I fear she might not love. Maybe I can become someone she'd want.

And I circle back to wondering if this is real, or this is the dream. And maybe old Curly is the reality. I have a feeling I won't really know until I confront Rhonda again. Another idea that only served to further heighten my anxiety.

I haven't talked to her at all since the incident. And, while I wanted to, I feared what awaited me. The usual unrelenting love that clouded my view of consequences was gone. I knew there might be problems now. That there probably WOULD be. I'd have to apologize to her.

I keep twitching. I'm not sure if I could keep it together in front of her, much less if I could show up unannounced to begin with. I'd have to find a way, though. We leave in a few weeks. Things are already being packed. I was finally being given permission to leave the house unattended since the play.

The Phantom of the Opera incident. Which, dear reader, you'll get the juicy details to shortly.

I'll see her tomorrow, and all of this will get sorted out. One way or another. It's the only thing I can tell myself to keep from screaming.