Disclaimer: okay, again, I DO NOT OWN FLIGHT 29 DOWN!!!!! Nor do I own Levaxil, Vicoden, or Seroquel.
Author's note: warning, there is talk of drug abuse and alcohol abuse. Also there is talk of cutting. I do not recommend any of it for anyone to do. Do not do anything in real life that is in this story, because is story is fiction.
Melissa sat in the cave, resting against the wall. It was still early, and the sun was just rising. She had spent the night in the cave, just thinking. Thinking about the group, about life, about her mom. She wanted so badly to leave the island. To go home. Or what she supposedly called home. The hell that was home. She knew what was coming. The group was going to split up. She had seen it coming since the day Abby came back. After everything that had happened, she had known that all good things come to an end. This was the end of their group. It was soon to be every man for himself. She had learned through experience. Just when she had been accepted into Hartwell again, on the honor roll, getting straight A's, and winning the blue ribbon for her painting of a wolf for the eight grade national art contest, her mother fell into a depression. Unfortunately, her mother went undiagnosed for too long, and her condition worsened. Her mom was popping pills, Vicoden, Levaxil, Seroquel, anything she could get her hands on. And she mixed those drugs with alcohol. And when the alcohol and drugs ran out, she did heroine. Yep, perfect angel Melissa's mom was a heroin addict. Eventually, her mom's efforts to raise 2 daughters alone, and heal with an abusive ex-husband and a negligent son, and mix it with that behavior, Mel's mom was seconds form disaster.
But then, Mel had felt so helpless. She had watched her mom self-destruct, and she could do nothing to stop it. She couldn't have her. But Melissa knew she could stop the current situation at hand. She knew that the group needed to split up, to grow. She knew that change was necessary, and in this world, you either had to adapt, or die. Abby had made her realize that. After her mom's death, Melissa had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder PTSD and Severe Depression. Mel had decided life was not worth living, and cut herself for the first time. She had done it the first time thinking that maybe, just maybe, this could be the answer to her pain.
It was. For a while at least. The pain would go with each drop of blood that left her veins. She had done it not with a knife, but anything else she could get her hands on. Like the back of an earring, or a scrapbook cutter. She cut the upper parts of her arm, so she could hide it better. Everyone had believed that her cat had scratched her, or whatever she told them. Truthfully, now, she could see that it was a cry for help. She had proudly shown off the scars, challenging anyone who believed her. She had wanted someone to notice and help her. But no one did. She had gotten worse and worse, until she developed Social Phobia. She became scared to leave her house. She avoided friends, and didn't even want to go to school. She grew worse and worse until her sister Jordan alerted Nathan that Mel had a problem. Together, Mel visited doctors, and went to a clinic for two months during the summer. She emerged happier, healthier. She had never cut again. She had gotten over her PSTD and her medications controlled her depression. Her social phobia was under control too, and she visited a therapist once a week. But being on the island changed everything. There was no Dr. Jane or Mr. Thoms, she was alone gain. The rejection was too much.
Mel picked up the pumice stone. She quickly drove its sharp edge onto the surface of her skin of her right arm. AS the red blood formed on the cut, she buried her face into her hands and cried. She was going downhill without her meds. Without Nathan or Jordan to talk too. I can't do this anymore, she thought, clutching her arm. No more. NO more hurting myself. I need help again. Luckily, this time I realize it before it's to late. But what if I can't tell anyone in time? Nathan? He's so busy with his new relationship with Daley. Daley? She was busy dealing over the fall of her democracy. Eric and Abby could care less. Taylor was a self-centered brat, and Lex was just a kid. What about Jackson, he didn't judge. But he would be so angry and disappointed in her. I mustn't worry anybody with my troubles. I need to get back, she thought, silently gathering her materials. I need someone, but I'm crying in a crowd, yet I'm crying alone. That's how it's been and that's how it always will be.
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