a/n – Feeling crazy?

Mentally Deranged

One /Emotionally Insane/

Dear World,

Years ago, a doctor had told me that something was wrong with me. They prescribed pills to make me better assuming then I'd be back to normal but the pills did nothing. Months after that, a therapist told me that I wasn't functioning properly. He gave me more pills so that I'd function correctly but those pills also failed. Weeks after that I'd probably visited my doctor and therapist many more times so much in fact that it'd amounted to more than any child ever should. Little did I know that it would all amount to something big. It took days before they finally realized what was wrong with me, hours for them to come up with a solution, minutes for them to pack my bags and mere seconds for my parents to forget their damaged daughter.

I guess you could say I didn't have the best childhood.

I'm not normal.

I feel that we should get this out of the way before I start. Just so you realize that everything you are going to read from this point on is in the perspective of somebody who is most definitely not in her right mind. Despite what the false hope my doctors can provide you if needed or my nurse's hopeful proclamations, something isn't right with me. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here surrounded by these people.

Germaine Mental Institution is a happy place.

It's printed on every brochure and pamphlet you'll find but you and I both know that a mental institute cannot be a happy place. It's as happy as a place can be with the nickname Maniac Mansion. The several storey building is designed to look like a hospital and a hotel. This can only mean that everything about it just clashes. The colors, the furniture and the unhappy patients hidden behind the thick concrete walls, sealed away in their sanctuaries (as I liked to call them). It was the only place in the building where you wouldn't feel judged. Everywhere else was dangerous territory.

If you're here it means you have something to hide. But you and I both know that secrets aren't the best things to have in a mental institution. The doctors aren't particularly fond of secrets; they prefer to be in the know. That's why they give everybody a therapist. When first admitted, the head honchos gave you a therapist randomly but as time goes on and the more serious you get they began to switch therapists until they find your perfect match. Someway or somehow they use skillfully played mind trick games to weave their way into your thoughts and soon enough, your secret is out and you have nothing to hide. Then you're drugged and monitored.

Then you get kicked out.

It dulled me, the simplicity of the operation. Honestly, I didn't give a goddamn fuck when it came to what these strangers who call themselves doctors inserted into my body. They could give me lithium, chlordiazepoxide or even a small box of Advil and I wouldn't have to worry about side effects, the possibility of hallucinations or vertigo. I'd been prescribed so many medications that I already have had to throw out a full box of bottles. You see, I'm rebellious. I don't ingest any of the medication that I'm prescribed. This way, my state of mind never improves and I'm stuck in square one. My therapist, doctor and my personal nurse were all stumped as to how I never progressed in treatment. You see? Doctors get confused once in a while.

The Mental Institute was unlike most of the institutions in the area. Probably one of the best you'd ever been through. Though I doubt that you've ever been sent to a mental institute. The Maniac Mansion was an institution for those of the wealthier people in the country. My ex-parents had their own business and the company had just begun to thrive at the same time I began to lose my sanity. The only reason they chose this place was because my mother was convinced that the more money spent was the better service. It wasn't because they loved me or anything. So don't go lollygagging around thinking my ex-parents actually give a damn about me because they don't.

They never did.

Once you dragged your tired ass out of your hospital room it was almost as if you walked back out into the world even though you really just entered its clone. They had designed the building to make patients feel comfortable and accepted (as if that was possible in a mental institute). Depending on your illness for lack of a better word you were assigned to a section of the building. Apparently, this was supposed to make you feel more centered and safe, knowing you were surrounded by people just like you. I take offense to that, just for the record.

I'm going to let you in on a little secret of mine, my first therapist once told me that my problems seemed to involve me being afraid of losing control. I didn't tell anyone this but she was onto something. I don't exactly know what but she was onto something. I have this thing (we can call it that for now) where I hate to feel vulnerable. I'm the type of girl who is completely self reliant and I absolutely despise the feeling of being unsure. So despite the fact that it gives me the illusion of being a stalker, whenever I walk down the hotel wannabe hallways of my wards, I've gotten into the habit of being nosy and peeking into the rooms of other patients. A majority of them don't really care since it's mandatory that doors be kept open and they've gotten used to it. The only reason I do this is because we often discharge lots of patients and when somebody is discharged it means another somebody is admitted. I like to familiarize myself with the newly admitted. I don't introduce myself or anything of the sort but I introduce them to me. I usually just peer into their hospital room occasionally and try to find out who they are and why they are here. It's times like that when I'm thankful that the nurses are such gossip whores. I listen in on their conversations and they end up dishing everything about all the new patients. It takes me three days to find out everything about whose new and who left. Seventy-two hours. That's four thousand three hundred twenty minutes or two hundred fifty nine thousand two hundred seconds.

I got off my bed and dragged my lazy body through the halls. Everything seemed to be the same. The same patients, the same newbies that I'd already investigated. All was exactly the same as it had been during yesterday's inspection which meant my ward was still dull and not worth the effort, bored of doing a check-up of nothing I demanded my fragile body back into my room and down onto the bed. Just as I was about to buzz down my nurse, something across the hall caught my attention. Directly across from me was an empty hospital room. My unhealthy curiosity got the better of me when I walked into said room with my mouth slightly ajar. I examined the empty walls, the extreme lack of personality and the empty closet. I sat on the newly made bed and smiled to myself. An empty room meant someone had been discharged.

And when somebody's discharged, somebody's admitted.

I sat in an empty chair outside my new therapist's office and waited impatiently. As a result of my last session I'd been transferred to another therapist. Apparently one who liked to give out last minute notices. This was my eleventh therapist and I had a feeling that this wasn't going to work out. I got a new therapist nearly every month so far, they would all try to dig deeper to examine who I am and why I'm so complex. Truthfully, it's gotten so hard that they've started a private competition to see who can crack me. Nobody's winning but I found it interesting that people have resorted to betting on me. It was even more interesting to experience all the new approaches these people take on and all the things they've resorted to trying.

I waited until my phone buzzed before I clicked on the entrance button by the door. The little button blinked red until I heard the familiar click of the locks detaching themselves and the automatic door open itself. With my eyes glued to my iPhone screen I walked into the therapist's office and took my seat on the daybed themed sofa. Finishing another round of Amateur Surgeon, I slipped my phone into my jean pocket and focused my attention on the man in the leather seat.

'Hello.' His voice was husky and sexy. As he turned around in his chair, I found myself slightly surprised by his appearance. He looked very young, almost my age and was extremely, extremely attractive. He had curly dark chocolate hair and mesmerizing chestnut orbs. He had perfect facial features and tiny freckles that seemed to be strategically scattered across his face to make him look more attractive. His lips where luscious and pink and I found myself drawn to them as he greeted me. It took me moments before I realized I had been staring. 'Good morning.' He added with a small smirk.

He had extended his hand to me. If his eyes hadn't drawn me in, his arms definitely would have. He was wearing a simple outfit, just a white tee shirt and some black skinny jeans but he somehow managed to look above and beyond sexy anyhow. It seemed like he had dressed to show off his muscles and that he knew it had an effect on me because he flexed once he noticed me staring. He was leaning back in his chair with his legs extended showing me the hidden black Converse on his feet. I smiled to myself. We were wearing the same shoes.

I watched him carefully. Something in his (gorgeous) eyes seemed a little teasing. 'You're not my therapist.' I noted matter-of-factly without hesitation or second guessing. He looked a little taken aback by the statement. His smirk (I'm getting the feeling that I'll be seeing it a lot) appeared on his lips as he let out a small chuckle before gazing back up at me.

'Smart' He said easily leaning forward in his chair. His posture gave away that he was suddenly interested in me. I took this to my advantage and decided to lie down properly. His eyes momentarily wondered down my long legs before landed on my Converse. He smiled. He probably noticed what I had earlier. 'and a tease.' He added finally looking back up to my ocean blue eyes.

I acted as though I'd ignored his comment though I was actually pondering if it had been a compliment or not, 'Last time I checked, I was here for a therapist session. Nothing in the notification indicated that I had to waste my time talking to you.'

He smirked as if he had taken some pleasure out of my response. For a quick moment, I noticed a small dimple in his check whenever he smiled. He was staring at me patiently as he licked his lips and spoke up, 'What's your name?'

'Are you always this forward or am I an exception?' I replied flipping the bangs out of my face the best I could. They blocked my eyes from staring at him. Never so much in my life have I regretted giving myself a haircut.

He opened his mouth to speak when a loud voice interrupted our conversation, 'LUCAS!' I turned away from the wannabe therapist boy and looked at the direction of the booming voice that was now echoing throughout the small therapist room. In the doorway was a woman who looked like she was in her mid-30's. She was wearing a high-waist black skirt over a simple, white blouse that matched her black boots. Her outfit was wrinkled and her hair was a mess as if she'd been frustrated and kept running her hand through her hair. Her face was extremely flushed as she gasped for oxygen, 'Mister Lucas.' She gasped, 'Please get out of my chair.'

'So you're my real therapist.' I said with certainty. The boy leaned back in his chair and continued to stare at me just as if the dramatic entrance of my therapist didn't faze him. Something about him captured my attention. 'So, is your name Lucas?' I asked with slight confusion then immediately regretted asking. His smirk appeared on his lips yet again as he finally looked at the real therapist with an amused expression. Something about that irritated me.

'My name is Lucas and this is my mother.' He said in an introductive voice. I kept my eyes on him as he made eye contact with my therapist. Something in his expression seemed a bit … off. Almost as if he was trying to hide something that his eyes just wouldn't deny. 'Don't spazz.' He said with a sigh as he got out of his seat. He met my gaze one last time and mumbled, 'It was nice meeting you. Would you like to tell me something before I leave?' he asked again, subtly asking once more for my name.

I shrugged, 'I'd like to leave you with one thought but I don't think you'll have anywhere to put it.' I tried to fight back the smile tugging on my lips but once my therapist cracked a smile I couldn't fight the urge. Lucas raised an eyebrow as he was evidently shocked by my response. He chuckled softly before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning away.

'One minute.' said the real therapist. She gave me an apologetic smile as she slipped out the door with Lucas to probably yell at him for attempting to take her position as a therapist even though he never really got away with it. I leaned back in my bed-like couch as I waited for them to finish up their conversation. There was something about Lucas that was interesting and I hate to admit it, but I was feeling slightly disappointed when I realized that the therapist was his mom. That meant that he wasn't a patient here. Everybody in this place was screwed up emotionally and I, myself, was a little bit socially disturbed in a way. It was rare for somebody to bring out a confident side of me.

Moments later, my therapist walked back with a brush in her hair. She was clawing out the frizziness from either a run from the front desk to the therapist's attachment to the main building or she had just screwed around with Lucas in a matter of seconds and was fixing her sex hair. I decided to go with the first option. Only because it gave me a little spark of hope that'd I get to see him again.

My therapist (who may or may not have fucked the cute curly haired boy) smiled to me innocently as she took a seat where Lucas had been only moments before. A felt a pang of annoyance hit me as she sat down so easily as if she was dismissing the fact that he'd ever been there. I flinched as the anger of the emotion ran through me while I looked at her with an expression for pure hatred. Forty seconds and I already knew that this therapist-patient relationship wasn't going to be a good one.

It was just another failed attempt at trying to find me some help.

The therapist introduced herself at Amy Christopher. Her name sounded strangely familiar but a familiar as if she had the same name of celebrity or character in a movie I'd seen. She went on to talk about how old she was, what her favorite stuff was and other bullshit that I didn't care about. This was all part of the natural process that my therapists where forced to go through to supposedly form a close relationship of trust with their patient. This step seemed to be the most unnecessary with me. I don't care about my therapist's life because I really don't care about anything in general.

As her lips moved and empty words spilled out, I found my mind wondering off to Lucas. It was the first time I'd ever met somebody partially normal in the entire institute. Something about him interested me. It might've been his sexy smirk, the way his smile was contagious or even his eyes. His deep, intense chocolate eyes. I could feel myself glaring at Amy as she continued to talk not noticing how much I dismissed her currently. Why was it so easy for her to act as he had never been here? She was going on and living her life like he'd never been in the room as if his existence was something I'd only imagined.

I froze. This was one of the complications coming with being mentally insane. I knew I wasn't insane though, there was technically nothing wrong with me but I was here wasn't I? I was sitting in a therapist's couch in the attachment of the main building that made up Germaine Mental Institution. I was neglecting my therapist's voice because my mind was somewhere else but was it really? Or was it one of those moments when I just got emotionally insane? Was this just a side effect to being socially disturbed? Maybe I'd imagined this boy because I just needed somebody. I was tired of being alone, sure but that didn't mean I would've resorted to making an imaginary friend. If he hadn't existed, then why was Amy's hair so tangled? Did I pass out momentarily and just make-up the entire scene up to the point when she began to speak? Wouldn't she have noticed me lying there sinking closer to unconscious then suddenly jumping out of it? I'm pretty sure she would have, most people do.

I convinced myself that Lucas wasn't my imagination. Even though he could have been and probably was. When you're locked up in a building of people with mental illnesses you begin to doubt everything but now, this moment right here I'd never felt so unsure of myself. I wanted Lucas to exist because he seemed complex. He gave off the vibe that he was somebody who could keep up with me. He had somehow managed to make me forget everything else and focus on him. Even though it had only been for a couple minutes. It was still something nobody had done in such a long time in my life. Then I remembered that he was the son of one of the therapists meaning he wasn't a patient here. So even if he did exist (which is a possibility might I remind you) we wouldn't be able to see each other often but honestly, why did I care? It's not like we're engaged or anything. He was just another guy. Maybe it was my curious side that made me want to find out more about him.

Or maybe it was something else.

That's where the train of thought halted. It was nothing else. He seemed partially normal and I was not. I was tired of putting myself out there with boys who only lead me on because I was beneath them and it made them feel safe. My emotions where safely hidden behind a brick wall and because of one mysterious boy who may or may not exist, I'm suddenly exposing myself to the world. No, life is not like this and so in that instant, I put myself back behind my hardcore exterior and eliminated any feelings for Lucas inside of me and once again, I was empty.

It felt good to feel nothing.

New story! I've been meaning to start this for a while. So, you guys think this guy is Lucas? It's NILEY, you bums. Think hard and use your cranium ;D. If you're not following me on twitter and tumblr. I hate you.

&& my twitter username is SLICEDHEARTZ and my tumblr is SCRIBBLEDLOVES.

Can you review please? I'd like to know if you're feeling this vibe. Thankss.

- D. E. B. B. Y.