Only if You Take Me with You
Although he frequented amusement parks as a child, Troy Bolton has never quite met a roller coaster like Gabriella Montez. He's in for a thrilling, albeit frightening, ride.
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Prologue:
At one point or another, everyone finds themselves questioning their own sanity.
But aren't we entitled to at least one moment where all rational thought just slips through our fingers, and we act ignorantly without a firm grim on reality?
Did I just pass to the other team?
Did I just pay $30,000 for a potential prom dress?
Shit, damn, fuck, fuck, fuck, did I, captain of the scholastic decathlon team, just hook up with a lunkhead basketball player?
In these instances, craziness is usually temporary and life can be redirected back on track.
Here's the thing about Bipolar disorder: when you're depressed, you let go because there's nothing to hold on to anymore; when you're manic, it's like the whole world is in your hands.
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Each chair in the circle faces the center. This formation is obvious; everyone has to feel equal here, comfortable enough to share their feelings so someone can figure out what is wrong with them. There is one vacant seat with uneven legs, so you know once someone sits down, they'll be caught off-guard and bound to tip forward.
The door opens to reveal a petite brunette who surveys the room critically, as if evaluating every fidgeting teenagers' failures. Her narrowed, autumnal eyes bleed cynicism. "Oh, no," she cries in utter despair with a mellifluous trill of a voice. Just in case her tone isn't dramatic or mocking enough, she exaggerates a deer-in-the-headlights expression and clasps her hands beneath her chin. "Don't tell me that this is another one of those group therapies for suicide survivors! Last time I went to one, I wanted to kill myself."
She throws her head back, sending her wild black mane flying off her shoulders, and lets her cackles strike the air like lightning.
At one point or another, everyone finds themselves questioning Gabriella Montez's sanity.