This story is based loosely on Its Kind Of A Funny Story by Ned Vizzini. It follows a boy through his short time spent at a psychiatric ward. I hope you enjoy; if you do, I recommend reading the book or seeing the movie. This story is also based on my own personal experiences in a hospital. Please rate, comment and review. It'll mean the world to me. I accept both negative and positive comments. By the way, I know my characters are OOC – that's kind of what happens when you assign them mental disorders. (: I am in no way affiliated at all with How To Rock or Ned Vizzini's novel. This idea came to me one day and I thought I would try it out. I do not own the characters or the fore mentioned book.

I've had this written for a while, but I heard December is Zevie month, so why not? This story is fully finished, and I'll post additional chapters when I have time, if you guys seem interested. I'm sorry for the language and mature concepts in it. If you have a problem with those kinds of things, PLEASE DO NOT READ! I don't want to offend anyone! Without any further delays, please read / review / favorite! I hope you enjoy!

I wrote it for you guys, after all.

It's Kind Of A Funny Story

I guess you can say it's a funny story. Maybe not every piece of the story is funny, but overall, the story is funny. And maybe not funny like laugh-out-loud funny. More like ironic-funny. Funny in a way that you maybe discuss it with your friends on a rainy day, over some coffee and maybe a scone or two. Or maybe funny in a way that you never bring it up again, and it will forever sit in your memories. Or maybe you'll forget it instantly. Regardless of what you think of it, I think it's kind of a funny story.

I am depressed. I guess most people would say that I have no reason to be depressed. I certainly think it all the time. But I am. I am depressed. I can't control that.

I have a nice life. My dad works a lot, but it's not like I never see him, and it's not like I need him either. I've been pretty independent my whole life. My mom, on the other hand, is always there. Everywhere I go, anything I do, she constantly wants to check up on me, if she cannot be with me herself. [Which is pretty hard when I'm out and about, getting high with my friends or maybe getting with some random city slut.] She is one of those touchy-feely kinds of people who never leave you alone and constantly worry. She loves me a lot. My younger brother is some sort of genius. He speaks English, French and Spanish fluently, and his vocabulary is immense. He is a history buff and people love him. He likes to watch the Discovery Channel and he plays with microscopes and all that. I'm pretty sure that he knows everything. He is six.

I guess you could say that I have a nice group of friends. We rag on each other a lot, but we're teenage boys. That's what teenage boys do. My best friend is a kid named Greg. Greg Hartlow. Greg and I met in second grade and we've been friends ever since. We both attend this school for really smart kids, St. Francis Academy. Greg is naturally smart the same way that my brother is. I have to really, really try.

Greg has a girlfriend named Maria. I've had a crush on Maria since slightly before she and Greg started dating, back in eighth grade. It's junior year now. It's been four years and they're still going strong. Go figure. Greg doesn't know about my crush, but I have a strange feeling that Maria does. Maybe it's the way that I look at her, or listen to her like she's the most important thing in the world. Maybe it's how I smile when she walks in the room, or how…

Sorry, I got sidetracked. Back to my story. I have depression. It's diagnosed. I take pills for it – Zoloft, to be exact. I see a therapist [Janet] once a week, a psychiatrist [Dr. Hyde] once a month. But despite all the progress I've been making with Janet and Dr. Hyde, they cannot help me when I am feeling particularly low. And they couldn't help me when I swallowed a boatload of pills that night.

And they didn't help me when I woke up in the children's psychiatric ward at Blessed Heart Hospital in a room that I apparently shared with a complete stranger.

Because say what you want about psychiatric help, pills, drugs, medicine in general, but from my experience, they don't take away the pain; they just numb it for a little while.

Sometimes life is a little more complicated than popping a couple pills into your mouth. Sometimes it takes a little more to be happy.