It's not until I'm lying in bed at 8:25 halfway watching Family Feud and waiting for the clock to strike 9:00 so I can go to bed that I realize I should probably try to kick the schedule I was on back in Pennsylvania. I guess in some ways, the schedule is the last thing I have left of that place to hold onto and in a way, I want to keep it because if I'm being honest, those two months I spent in Pennsylvania were the only two months I ever felt like I had a handle on my life. It was so simple; just a schedule they made me and all the other girls follow every day in and day out. Even on weekends. Just a stupid little simple schedule. Yet, it made me feel like I had so much more stability.

I guess it was just nice to feel like I could count on something.

But now that I'm back home, I should probably try to get myself off of it or at least not be so dependent on it. After Mercedes left, I went downstairs and struggled through dinner with Mom. I finished reading my syllabuses and even folded a load of laundry. When it was 6:30, that's when I told myself that I could go take a shower and then when I got out, I got everything ready for school tomorrow. And since then, this is where I've been. In my bed listening to Family Feud while bouncing back and forth between different apps on my phone.

I don't have to follow the schedule anymore. So while I'm yawning every five minutes and fighting to keep my eyes open, I realize that I'm stupid. And I reach over with a lazy arm and push the power button on my remote. Then plug my phone into the charger. Then roll over on the side I'm most comfortable.

Tomorrow, I'm going to tell Mercedes. I've made up my mind about that. For one, it's just going to feel so much better having someone who knows everything and for two, I can feel better if I stop lying so much. Plus, it'll probably be nice to have someone to talk to about all of it. Right now, the only people in this world that I could breathe a word to are Mom, Franny, Miss Pillsbury and Bailey and that's not a pretty good lineup. I'll tell Mercedes. Yeah. I can trust her. I know I can.

...But what if she thinks I'm weird? Or crazy? What if she decides that I'm just not someone she wants to hang out with anymore and then she goes and spreads it all around school? I can't think of anything worse than the entire school knowing that I spent the entire summer in a psych ward.

Or worse yet, what if she asks me why I ended up there? I could tell her what my mother things is the reason and the reason why I did whatever I did, but I can't tell her all of it… can I? I really can't tell her all the things me and Jessica talked about and all the things that Jessica made me realize about myself. She really might not accept me then.

Maybe telling Mercedes is a bad idea…

I can't believe Puck's in Juvie. I mean, I can because where the hell else is he headed? But I still can't believe it. He always seemed like, invincible to me or something. Like no matter what he did, he would never get in that amount of trouble. Or at least if he did, he'd charm his way out of it somehow. I wonder what he did. I wonder what it was that was the last straw. And I wonder when he's getting out.

I bet Mr. Schue knows about me too. I know it's against some kind of law for Miss Pillsbury to talk to him about the students, but I just know in my heart that she did. If they're boyfriend and girlfriend, I'm sure it's come up. That's another reason why I can't join Glee Club. When I walk in there, he's going to welcome me with open arms and it's not because I'm a wonderful singer like her and an amazing dancer like Brittany. It's because he knows jay poor pathetic Quinn did a stint in a psych hospital and she needs Glee Club so much to build her back up. Not going to happen.

And I wonder when she and Finn broke up. I wonder how. I wonder why. I wonder who broke up with who. Was it mutual? Did she cry? She probably cried. If I had to guess, I'd say he broke up with her. She's not strong enough to break up with him. No, she's way too weak. I know it's none of my business. But I just want to know if she cried and if she did, how hard? And who comforted her? Kurt. Probably Kurt. Definitely Kurt. He'd understand. He lost Finn too at some point.

I crack a smile at my own head, then roll over to the other side. I don't know why it's so hard for me to fall asleep tonight, but I think it's because Mercedes gave me a lot to think about. But if I don't go to sleep soon, I'm going to be extremely cranky in the morning, so I'll try again. Harder this time.

I close my eyes.

This should be the most normal thing in the world, shouldn't it? People do this every day, don't they? It's just a name. It's six stupid letters to type in, then a little tap on a magnifying glass because how many people in this area have that name? Not many. She'll pop right up and then all I have to do is tap on her and then it'll all be done. I'll have all my answers and I'll look back and realize it wasn't that bad. Right? It's normal. I can do this. It's no big deal. People do it every day.

But I can hear my heart beating in my ears and my thumbs are so numb that I don't feel my phone screen beneath them each time I tap a letter. And my throat's all closed up and my nostrils are too and I can't breathe. I can't even look at the screen. Why does it feel like I'm doing something that's about to lead to my death?

I've been wanting to do this for weeks now. I just never have the courage. I felt so brave tonight, like I could take on the world and so I thought that I'd better do the one thing I've been so afraid of. And here I am; chickening out.

I have to do it though. The only way I'll get any answers or closure is if I just…

S-H-E-L-B-Y

Okay, there. I typed it in and hit the search button. I did it. And just like I suspected, there aren't many Shelbys in the Lima area on Facebook. She pops right up. The very first result. I know it's her, not only by her face being in the avatar picture, but also because I caught a glimpse of blonde curls in the avatar with her before I looked away.

Maybe I shouldn't do this. Maybe I'm not ready. Maybe I should do this in school or something, like when I'm in study hall and there are twenty other people around to keep me from letting tears fall down. This is probably the cruelest form of torture I can even dream of. So really, it makes no sense that my thumb goes over to the very first search result and taps on it too.

I'm here now. I did the part I spent the last twelve weeks and two days too scared to do. So why should I stop now?

I know her Facebook page has loaded, because the lighting on my phone's changed and I can tell that without even looking at it. I'll just rip the Band-Aid off real fast. I'll do it.

My eyes fall on the screen and as soon as they move, two splashes of tears make perfect circles on my screen.

I wipe them off with my quilt, then look again.

She's… she's…

"Me."

I surprise myself when I talk. And down comes several more rounds of tears. But what I said is true.

Even from the picture, I know her hair is soft. She's only four months old and my God, she has so much of it. It's kind of straight, but there are some curls there without a doubt. They don't really lie down and that's kind of like my hair, isn't it? She has my hair, doesn't she? Mine lies down now but when I was younger, it didn't. It looked exactly like that and it was that color too, wasn't it? Like… like cornsilk. And those little beady eyes. Why is it that they look so ugly on me but so beautiful on her? They're just as big and round as mine, aren't they? I even zoom in on her eyelashes… they're so long. And curly. And her lips are so pink and heart shaped and little and tiny and petite and perfect and…

I have to put my pillow over my face to muffle my cries because they're coming out so loud and obnoxious that I know my mom can probably hear.

How is this even possible? Some days, I really don't even know how I'm alive. It feels like my heart is outside of my chest and I'm hollow and empty but I still wake up every morning.

I regret it. Oh God, I regret it. I didn't think I would, but I do. I swear I thought everything was just going to go back to normal if I didn't have her and I thought that it was the best thing but it's not. Nothing's normal and it's not the best and I wish every second of the day that I didn't do it. How can the best thing be for her not to be with me? And if it's the best thing, why does it hurt so bad?

And nothing's normal. I feel hollowed out and empty where she used to be and my mind constantly goes to her, even when I don't want it to. And I can't shake the feeling of there being someone out there in the world that looks like me and IS part of me but I don't know her or see her. How does anyone live like this? How does this not eat them alive? How do I go on every day knowing that she's out there and I'm here and this isn't the way things are meant to be?

I could have done it. I know I could have. I was just being stupid and selfish and I wanted to be me again. I wanted to be a Cheerio and popular and I thought that if she wasn't here, I could but I can't. I can't and now look at me.

I miss her so much and I don't even know how that's possible. I don't even know her. I held her one time. One miraculous time and I miss her so much that everything inside of me just aches. And it's like I can still feel her. On my chest and inside of me, too.

I could have done it. Mom would have watched her while I was in school and then I'd come home every day and fix her a bottle and hold her and rock her while I did homework. I wouldn't be able to be a Cheerio or in Glee Club but who the hell cares? If I ever needed a break, Puck or his mom would've taken her but it would be rare. It would be hard but I could have done it. I could have.

Why did I do this? Why? And as I sit here and continue to torture myself by scrolling… Shelby's not even miserable. Not one bit. I know it makes me horrible but I was just wishing that maybe she felt it too. Maybe she felt that this was a horrible mistake too. But she doesn't. She posts everything. Bath time, bedtime. Snack time, tummy time. She's not miserable. She loves it.

She sees her every single day and me… well the only time I get to see her is in my dreams.

I have to sit up with my back against the headboard because I'm pretty sure I can't breathe again. I even put my hand over my heart to see if it's still beating because I swear this is what dying feels like. I'm trying to do those things that Jessica taught me — the whole in through the nose out through the mouth thing — but it's not working. It's not working and I can't breathe again.

I just want to see her. And not through some stupid little Facebook pictures, either. I want to see her and feel her warmth against my body like I always do in my dreams.

I know I just took four or five, but they're not working. I should be asleep by now.

So I reach over on my nightstand and grab the bottle. When I sit up to swallow them with the cup of water next to my lamp, the room is shaky and everything's kind of warped but it's okay. I stuff a couple more into my mouth, a gulp of water, then swallow.

I'll be sleeping soon enough and dreaming of her smiling at me and drooling on me and jabbering and I'll be happy.

Sometimes, when it hurts this bad, I grab her blanket. The one they wrapped her all up in after I had her. I never washed it. And it know it sounds gross, but it still has a little bit of blood on it here and there but I don't care. It always makes me feel a little bit closer to her when I have it.

So again, I sit up and everything's dizzy and weird but I don't care. I start to go over to the top drawer of my vanity where I keep it for nights like these and I don't know how when everything's all blurry, but I manage to grab it. But I don't quite make it back to my bed because I'm finally sleepy.

And on the floor is where I pass out.

I seriously can't breathe. Seriously. But I don't think it's the kind of can't breathe that it was that night. No, I feel more like I need to throw up or something. Like my stomach is clenching up and any second I'm going to vomit everything I ate today onto my bed.

So I get up, a lot like I did that night, with my back kind of bent so I'm hunched over. Only this time, I don't go to my vanity. This time, I drag my feet down the hallway and flick on the bathroom light.

When I pull up the toilet lid, grip my hands around the seat and open my mouth, nothing comes out. But I still feel like I need to. I still feel like…. like everything just needs to come out. My stomach is still clenching and my heart is still beating out of my chest. And my throat feels all swollen and gross but nothing is coming. But everything's fine, because I know how to solve this.

I solve it with two fingers launched to the back of my throat and abracadabra. Just like that, everything — the ravioli from dinner, the brownie from after I got out of the shower, the two glasses of iced tea — all make an appearance in the toilet.

Wow, I feel so much better.

It feels like I just threw some emotions up, too. My heart and my head don't feel quite as heavy. That was almost… therapeutic, it seems? I don't know. Either way it goes, I feel so much better and so much lighter now.

So maybe after I flush the toilet, wash my hands and brush my teeth…

I'll finally be able to sleep.

"So really, it's just like a way of measuring. So if you hear someone say, for example, 'his IQ is several standard deviations above the norm for his age', this is what they mean. Standard deviation is, in a nutshell, a way of measuring."

Mrs. Kessler drones on and on and on and usually, I have no problem staying awake during Stats class, but I didn't sleep very well at all last night and I'm really struggling. Seriously, I'm almost asleep with my head resting in the palm of my hand when the phone rings and she goes all "Miss Fabray, you're wanted in the guidance office."

That wakes me up.

I shuffle my book and notebook into my backpack, sling it over my shoulder and weave through the sea of desks to get to the door. Maybe I'm just paranoid, but I think everyone can tell that I slept like crap last night. Jeans and a simple shirt aren't normal for me, but when I rolled out of bed this morning I really didn't feel like finding a good ensemble. So skinny jeans, white flats and an old frilly white blouse is what I threw on.

The hallway is like a ghost town. There's nobody and nothing around, save for a Join Celibacy Club! flyer that somebody ripped down.

Celibacy club. Ha.

Anyway, I already know what Miss Pillsbury wants. She probably wants to tell me that she knows my dirty little secret and blah blah blah and really, I'm not looking forward to anything she has to say, but I am glad she got me out of Stats and woke me up a little bit.

Here goes nothing.

I turn the knob and walk right into her office. And to my surprise (and irritation), she's not alone.

Bailey, of all people, is sitting next to her with an eager looking grin on her face. They both look like they're so proud of themselves and really, I have to fight the urge to leave.

"Quinn," Miss Pillsbury smiles at me first. "Sit, sit."

I hesitate a moment, but sit anyway and avoid eye contact with both of them. Pillsbury slides me a pamphlet that says "So You're Transitioning From A Treatment Center?" I purposely don't take it.

"Bailey and I were talking over the phone yesterday and we both decided to ask you if maybe you'd like to be seen in school," Pillsbury continues.

"Instead of at the office. McKinley actually has a contract with our services and if you'd like, we can pick a period of the day that is good for you and —"

Bailey only stops when I stand up and grab my backpack. I'm not staying here to listen to this. If anyone — ANYONE — finds out that I'm seeing a shrink… and if my SHRINK comes to school….

"No thanks," I mumble as politely as I can.

"Quinn, wait, you haven't —" Pillsbury tries, but I don't let her.

"No," I look them both in the eye this time. "No. School is… school is off limits. Look, I'll come down to the office every Tuesday, I'll sit and talk about my feelings with you. But not at school. Not here. ….I have to get back to Stats."

Neither one of them stop me when I leave. I think they get the picture without me explaining it to them. I know they were just trying to help make it easier for me instead of having me drive all the way across town every Tuesday for half an hour but school is just a no. This is the one place that nobody treats me like I'm a mental case and I really need it to stay that way. Furthermore, I really don't need people to know I see a shrink and I think that if every week in, let's say 6th period, I was being called down to the guidance office, people would catch on.

I wouldn't have minded staying for the rest of Stats and telling Miss Pillsbury about Oakland Pines and what it was like all summer but now, I'm literally rushing to get back to Stats.

Rushing so much that I don't notice somebody coming out of the bathroom. They don't notice me either. Because the two of us run right into each other; nearly bumping heads.

And when I finally tune into my surroundings to see who I owe an apology….

She makes my body turn to stone.