A/N: New chapter! Haha ;D So as planned, the last chapter has been replaced (Be sure to go read it before reading this one) and I'm working on a new story title, along with summary as of now. I might just keep the story title the same, although I'm not really a fan of it, but I've had it for so long I might not change it, I'm not sure yet. If I do decide to change it, I'll let you all know what the title is in the next chapter. Also I'm going to be making up a new summary later on today for this story ;)

The italic text (with the execption of the song lyrics, which are once again supposed to be centered on the page) is all some of Mitchie's flashbacks- I did make her a little insane, be warned, but it had to be that way to fit the storyline. All shall be explained soon ;) And yes, when Mitchie says 'I'm not crazy' just imagine her on Grey's... haha. So yeah, anyways, enjoy & remember to go back adn read the first chapter before reading this one! ;)

Disclaimer: I don't, and won't, own Camp Rock (yes, it's sad but true)

We must hold onto our faith in each other
We must let go of our pain, yeah I say
We must hold onto our faith in each other
Gotta still believe in each other

Aunt Clara watched me expectantly as I climbed into the passenger side of the car, as if wondering what mood I would be in. Not suprisingly, she looked slightly worried, as if I might either explode on her with my random acts of anger, or ignore her completely for sending me off to some summer camp. She never was quite sure what mood I would be in - as she put it, I'd often "woken up on the wrong side of the train tracks" (Yes, we're country people, got an issue with that?) before when I was still was... "broken", so to speak.

"So..." Aunt Clara seemed somewhat hesitant - uncomfortable, almost - to break the silence as we pulled out of Camp Rock's parking lot. I quickly turned around in my seat, staring back at the farmiliar buildings I'd come to know and love, a sigh escaping from my lips as it faded into the distance and I could no longer see it's massive form, hidden behind a row of trees. My shoulders dropping, I twisted in my seat and gave Aunt Clara a smile, knowing she was trying. She never had been sure of how to act around me, even from the beginning. "How was your summer?" Her tone was unsure, and I wished I could find the words to explain to her she didn't need to be afraid. She didn't need to worry about guarding her tongue around me- before, every little thing had set me off, sending me either deeper into depression, or stirring a wild pain in my heart that I just couldn't control...

"Mitchie, sweetheart..." Aunt Clara's voice was a lame attempt at what most people call 'soothing', but I saw right through her pathetic tone. She was trying to make me feel better- she was always trying to make me better, to make my memories ease, to change me. She'd made me suffer through multipule theripists and doctors tests- "Maybe something really is wrong with her"... "Maybe she's messed up mentally" - I was so sick of it all. Couldn't she see I was heartbroken? My mother was dead, my father was gone... was I the only one that had been spared? Why couldn't I have ended up with their fate- why must I continue to suffer through the pain of living all in vain? I was better off dead. And Aunt Clara, although I knew she meant well, was only making my life more miserable. Why couldn't she just understand that I needed to be alone? That I needed to feel pain, that I needed to beat myself up over this, that I was messed up beyond repair? Why did she insist with trying to fix me? "Won't you please just listen to me?" Her tone was almost begging, but I turned blindly away from her, refusing to look at her, refusing to let her see the tears in my eyes.

"Mitchie..." I stiffened, jerking away as I felt her hand touching my shoulder, but she managed to keep her hand in place. Why was she so touchy- why couldn't she just let me suffer alone? Why was she so persistant about 'helping' me. She wasn't helping me, she was breaking me - more and more each day. What she said about wanting the best for me - it was a lie, a terrible lie to make me believe she was sending me to these various doctors to actually help me. She wasn't - she didn't care about me, no one did.

"Stop it!" I screamed, jumping to my feet and backing away from her, my hands flinging around crazily. I felt my hand connect with something, and a moment later a large crash was heard as Aunt Clara's favourite antique vase shattered on the ground. Aunt Clara's look of horror spread as she flung her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock, and she stood frozen, as if afraid. Why should she be afraid- what was there to be afraid of? Oh, that's right- me. "Just stop it! Stop with these lies! Stop it, stop it, stop it please..." I was crying openly now- I couldn't take it, the pain was too great for me. I didn't know how to react to these insane, horrific emotions welled up inside of me. "Why do you even pretend to care about me? You don't- the only reason I'm with you now is because Mom asked you too. Otherwise I'd probably be living out on the street somewhere because I know you wouldn't have openly invited me into your house!" I screamed, releasing all my anger, fear, and pain out onto her. "You hate me- you hate me, you don't even pretend to care..." I sobbed, watching as tears streamed down Aunt Clara's face at my harsh, unfair words.

"Mitchie, I would never even think of-"

"No!" I screamed at her, reaching up to pull at the roots of my hair (the pain felt good, as if distracting me from my mental pain). "No, no, no! Don't you lie. That's all you've done, all along, is lie. One lie, after another, and another." Invoulentarily, my hand shot up, and came in contact with her cheek. Before I could surpress the horror in my eyes- I didn't know why I had just done that- I realized how good it felt. To finally allow Aunt Clara to feel some of the pain I'd had inside of me for months- it felt like payback. Revenge. And the next thing I knew, I had landed ontop of her, and she was screaming, screaming for Uncle Jordan to come and help her, and he was pulling me off, grasping my wrists while I screamed and writhered and cried, releasing the pain I'd felt inside.

"Jordan, will you please call Dr. Walters for me and let her know I need to bring Mitchie in immediately?" Aunt Clara's voice sounded strange and foriegn to my ears, but her words were mmuch too farmiliar.

"Please don't, please not again, please don't send me back there." I begged, dropping down onto my knees, staring up at her with tears blurring my vision and pouring down my cheeks. "Please, you know it won't help, you know I'm not crazy, I swear, I'm not crazy." I pleaded, but nothing would change Aunt Clara's mind. Refusing to look at me, she found the phone while Jordan held my wrists firmly in his hands, refusing to let me get up and try to stop her. Of course he wouldn't let go - he knew I'd go after her again.

"Yes, Dr. Walters, I need to see you as soon as possible. Now, if you have time. It's rather urgent... yes, I'll be bringing Mitchie... well, Dr. Walters, it's a rather long story that I'd rather not explain over the telephone.... yes, I see... I'll be right over." Her fingers clicked the end button, and she was already pulling on her winter coat, while Uncle Jordan still held onto me. "Jordan, I'll need you to take us over to Dr. Walter's office, please, since I won't go with Mitchie alone." Her eyes glanced briefly in my direction, and once again I attempted to step forwards (Uncle Jordan's strong grip refused to let me, however).

Uncle Jordan was careful to hang onto me until we were 'safely' into his beaten up pickup truck, and even still he kept a close eye on me. If only he could understand... if only he could see what I was going through.

"Please," I sobbed, my breath coming in great gasps at the waves of pain flooding over me, "Please, I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy."

"Mitchie?" Aunt Clara's voice broke through my thoughts, and I shuddered as the memory left me. Before, when I was insane and lost and broken... I was so happy to be able to breathe again, to feel truly alive again, to be normal again. I wasn't crazy- not at the moment, anyways.

"Sorry Aunt Clara," I smiled apologetically in her direction. "My summer was wonderful! Camp Rock was amazing and the people there were totally awesome. It was the experience of a lifetime." I gushed, all in one breath, and the shocked expression that came over Aunt Clara's face was priceless. I think she still was unsure of if I was actually being honest. "This summer changed me." I admitted, my tone lighter, "I feel alive again- I know that I can be happy, I know that it's alright to be happy. I'm finally myself again." I whispered, tears filling my eyes, and I quickly wiped them away, a smile still lighting up my face. A wild look of joy filled Aunt Clara's expression, and immediately she swerved off the road, stopped the car, and reached over to give me a huge hug. I returned the gesture, holding onto her as tears fell from my eyes- not tears of sorrow, as it had been before, but tears of joy. Joy, that I'd found myself. Joy, that Aunt Clara could forgive me. Joy, that things were finally right again.

"Oh, honey..." Aunt Clara breathed into my shoulder, and I could feel her shaking, and I finally realized she was crying too.

"Thank you, for helping me find myself again. Thank you for forcing me to come here, thank you for being there for me, even when I was crazy. I'm sorry about everything I've done to you- if you never forgive me, I wouldn't blame you. But please know that I love you and I appreciate everything you've done for me, and I hope we can fix this before it's too late."

"Oh sweetheart, I love you. Of course I forgive you- darling, I'd already forgiven you. There's no need to apologize because I understand what it feels like, to loose people very close to you that you care about. I'm just glad you found yourself again, and I'm proud that you were able to do it by yourself. I'm sorry we sent you to so many therapists- I wish we could've communicated better back then, but I never should have put that upon you. I never should have even thought it from the very beginning- I should've been more sympathetic to what you were going through. I'm sorry, I love you." We both were crying now, but the good kind of crying, where you're admitting everything and mending your relationships, and making everything better. It's the happy crying because once it's done, you feel so much better- as if there's a weight lifted off of your shoulders. As if you can finally stand up tall and breathe again- as if you can finally rest peacefully again. As if everything's better again.

As if our worlds were now at peace.

"Mitchie, I need you to answer me, please." Dr. Walters pushed, as I tried to avoid her prying eyes. She didn't want to help me either- she didn't truly care, she just wanted to find out what was wrong with me so she could get more money out of Aunt Clara. She was just using me to make Aunt Clara come out three times a week, for my 'therapy', as she called it. 'Her job was to help the "mentally distressed"'. Too bad I wasn't one of her mentally-disturbed patient, and I had no part in playing the role of one. Without looking her way, I shook my head at her. No, I wouldn't tell her what she didn't need to know. Was it any of her buisness, anyways? She was always sticking her nose where it didn't belong, trying to pry for information she didn't deserve to know.

"Mitchie will you please talk to Dr. Walters?" Aunt Clara was seated a good distance away- it didn't matter anyways, there was a wall of glass seperating me from her and Dr. Walters, as if I was some kind of dangerous prisioner who'd been locked up in jail and, although allowed to have visitors, had to have a sheet of glass to protect everyone else from myself. I wasn't like that- I never would hurt someone on purpose, and I hadn't meant to hurt Aunt Clara. I flinched- now that I had stoppped crying, I could see clearly, and I couldn't help but notice the large scratch marks on the side of Aunt Clara's face. What had I done to her? I ducked my head in shame. I had been the one who had hurt her. I still couldn't believe what I had done.

"Mitchie." Dr. Walter's voice was slightly less comforting, and I glanced up, catching that she was annoyed and impatient, and she wanted her answers. "Why did you attack Aunt Clara?" She repeated, her voice firm, and I raised my eyes to meet hers, glaring at her as she stared back, as if challenging me speak, challenging me to remain silent at the same time. Ugh- this was why I refused to look at her often, she liked to play those mind games and mess up your mind until you just gave way and answered her.

"I'm not crazy." I glared at her defiantly, my voice confident. Dr. Walters raised her eyebrows.

"I never said you were, Mitchie, however, it's no secret that there is some question in the matter." She replied, her tone monotone, and I flinched again, her words stabbing deep into my heart. "Now, I need you to answer my question. Why did you attack-" I cut her off, shaking my head.

"I'm not crazy." I shouted, standing up and slamming my hands down on the table. I'm not crazy- I didn't need to be here. "I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy!" I yelled at both of them, before turning around only to have the door slammed shut in front of me, forcing me to remain in this horrible confined space, with Dr. Walters and Aunt Clara still sitting there, one looking upset and the other stone-like, emotionless. "Please," I whispered, tears in my eyes as my breath came in gasps - I couldn't help it, I'd always hated being confined in small spaces. I believe Dr. Walters would say I was clausterphobic. "Please, I swear, I'm not crazy."