As I sit at the table in the dining room I look at the other patients who surround me, savoring the last moments of lucidity I have before the drugs take over. I notice the looks on many of their faces, some look hopeless, but most look numb and high out of their minds. I stare into bloodshot droopy eyes that stare at the wall.

There are six other patients sitting at the round table with me. I think last week there were five. I try to figure out who is new, but I stop caring long before I figure it out. We are all wearing light blue scrubs. There is a bizarre color coding system here at the system, that I have a vague understanding of. We wear blue because we are all depressed but not suicidal or homicidal. As far as I can tell those patients aren't actually allowed in common areas. I think it's a little sick that the depression patients are all in blue.

I look down at my plate to see what sort of stellar cuisine we're being served today. I'm not actually sure what it is, but it's beige so I figure that it's probably safe to eat. After my meal Tommy comes back to take me to the rec room.

"Tommy, can I go to the garden instead?"

He looks surprised by my question. Normally I just go where I'm told without questions and sit there until someone tells me to move. He recovers from the shock of my request for deviation and nods his head smiling.

He leads me out to a walled in courtyard that has the sun shining into it. There are some non threatening looking plants and a large tree. A few other patients sit on benches or walk with their orderlies. I move to an unoccupied bench.

I don't know how long I sit there, quietly thinking about nothing, just enjoying the strange fog my medication always brings with it. It's strange, I remember being against the fog when I wasn't under its power, but now that I am back under it, I'm thankful for the synthetic numbness it brings.

As I'm sitting, absorbed in my banal thoughts, I feel someone tap on my shoulder. I look up to see a young girl, she doesn't look to be more than fourteen standing above me.

"Yes?"

She doesn't say anything, she merely cocks her head at me and studies me for a moment. Then she holds out a flower with the roots still attached and clumps of dirt falling off of it out to me. I look at her for a moment before taking the gift.

"Thank you." I say. She just smiles at me and skips off to her orderly who takes her hand before leading her back inside. She wears yellow scrubs.

"Tommy?" he is immediately standing next to me. I swear sometimes I think that he might be a vampire with the way he moves. Of course I can't think about it for too long because it will cause the nightmares to get worse. I learned that one the hard way.

"Yes Bella?"

"Who was that girl?"

Tommy shakes his head, "That's Trina, she's been here a while."

"What do her yellow scrubs mean?"

Tommy shakes his head again. "I can't tell you that Bella, it's against policy."

For some reason this annoys me, "Who am I going to tell Tommy? Who is it going to hurt if I know what she's doing here?"

"It's not about who you tell Bella, although I'm sure it has the potential to break about 13 HIPPA codes to tell you that anyway. It's that you might look at the other patients differently if you knew what they were being treated for. I mean what if I told you Trini was here because she'd drowned her little sister or something?"

I think about this for a moment, what if Trini was here for something like that? Would it really matter to me? I was here because my boyfriend had dumped me. Really, wasn't that almost sadder than being here for attempted homicide? I'm sure in Trini's mind, if she had drowned her sister, she was doing it for a good reason. Or maybe it was an accident maybe she wanted to give her sister a bath. In my case I'd gotten dumped by a supernatural creature, whose love for me never made any logical sense, and I'd followed that same man after he left me despite the fact that I knew he was probably halfway to Oregon by the time I'd made my first step. I'd deluded myself into thinking he could actually love me.

Clearly I am crazier than Trini.

I am the craziest of them all.

I resolve to pay more attention to the yellow scrubs.

I tell Tommy to take me back to my room for the night. I refuse to eat dinner.

The rest of the week passes in a blur. Literally. They have changed my medication again, and the new drugs put me even deeper into a fog than the old ones.

I lay in my bed trying to trace the lines in the ceiling, making patterns out of the cracks.

There is a knock on the door and Tommy comes in without waiting for a response.

"Hey Bella, how are we doing this morning?"

I'm really getting sick of people asking how I'm doing. "I'm fine."

"Good, well, we're gonna give you a break from the meds today, doctor's orders. She wants you to be sharp for your sessions with the students later. So let's get you to your physical therapy session so you have plenty of time to get ready later."

I do not know why I need time to get ready. I can wear blue scrubs or blue scrubs. I don't have any choices to make.

Tommy walks me down to the center's basement for my "physical therapy" . It's really just gym class all over again, but for some reason they like to call it physical therapy. I'm fairly certain it's just some sort of torture treatment, although I will say that since I've been here my balance has greatly improved. Of course that could be because I spend most of my day sitting or lying down.

Kim, the center's female trainer puts me to work straight off. I begin using a balance ball and weights. Then I run on a treadmill. This is where I tune out, enjoying the last vestiges of the drugs that remain in my system.

The next thing I hear is Kim congratulating me on a good work out. I return to my room to wait for the students to arrive.

I am seated in a small room with a table and two chairs. I am alone waiting for the first gawker to come and make an attempt to "fix" me. I remember the first time I was asked to participate in these sessions I actually had hope, that maybe someone closer to my own age would see me and recognize that I wasn't crazy, just heartbroken, but I was so wrong. One of the things I've learned while I've been here is that people will look at you and see what they want to see. They don't care about the truth they care about what they can get out of you.

The first student comes in.

"Hey there Bella! I'm Fred, how are you doing today?"

Great, this one clearly wants to be my friend. "Well, gee Fred, I'm just swell how are you?"

He looks surprised by my sunny greeting. Apparently because I am crazy I am incapable of sarcasm.

He responds that he is doing well, and then dives right into the inquisition. There are four more just like Fred who come in after him, and they all have the same questions.

"Why are you here?"

Well I don't know genius, how about you check that chart in front of your face. "I have depression and PTSD."

"What do you think caused these disorders?"

My boyfriens, who happened to be a vampire, decided he didn't love me, then left my ass to die in the woods when I tried to follow him. Of course this was after the sociopathic human drinking vampire thought I'd make a good snack and decided to torture me.

"I had a bad break up."

The questions continue like this for half an hour for each student who comes in. They test my cognitive function and emotional reactions to various stories and stimuli. The last boy who comes in seems nervous, like I'm going to hurt him or something. I feel bad for him, I almost offer to just fill out the questionnaire he has for me by memory.

Tommy comes back into the room after the boy leaves. "Hey Bella, there's one more girl," he seems annoyed. "She wasn't originally going to be able to come, but she showed up at the last minute. Do you mind if I bring you some dinner while she talks to you."

Yes.

"No."

Tommy smiles and leaves before returning with a plate of tan goo, that I'm sure is very high in nutrients and very low on taste. A few seconds later, a woman enters the room, and for the first time I'm glad they give me this nasty choke proof food, because I know this woman.

This is Rosalie Hale.