Maya
I've always had excellent instincts about people. When I six years old, I developed telepathic abilities. It was difficult for me to say the least. I was living in D.C., going to a crowded public school and had an ability I couldn't control. It was like trying to sleep at an AC/DC concert. The noise almost drove me insane. Actually, the school psychologists thought I was insane. I was labeled a delusional schizophrenic and sent to an institution on my eighth birthday.
When I was ten I started manifesting telekinetic capabilities. Problem was I could only do it when I was in solitary and didn't have to shut off that part of me in order to keep the noise out. Since I couldn't prove it, they assumed that I had taken a turn for the worst and doped me up even more. I remember having a group of orderlies and a doctor with a facemask on come into my room three times a day, pumping me full of the crap.
The damn drugs messed me up so badly that I was losing my sense of reality. I would see monsters in my room and try to fight them only to end up smashing my furniture. Not to mention my head and other parts of my body. I ended up in a straight jacket by the time I was eleven. At that point things got worse. My abilities got really erratic when I hit puberty.
One day this orderly got it in his head that he would take advantage of me. After all, I was in a straight jacket, had just hit puberty and since I was nuts no one would believe me if I said that someone raped me. That didn't work out very well for him. I guess he didn't realize the dangers of harming a telepathic telekinetic with major PMS. Like I said, my abilities were difficult to control.
The coroner said he had a stroke. Sure. Slight hitch though; when I fired his brain I overloaded mine and ended up in a coma. I was like that for just over a year. It's like one day your just minding your own business, then you fry someone's neurons and BAM!- you're twelve when you used to be eleven.
When I woke up, I couldn't move anything with my mind or sense other people's thoughts. Without the noise, they decided I was sane again. The docs chalked it up to their brilliance. Funny. Oh well…at least I was out of that asylum. It's ironic: asylum means refuge, haven, sanctuary. But for me it was my own personal Hell. At least I thought it was. Really it was just purgatory. Hell was still to come.
Anyways, I digress. When my mother came to take me home after my "release", she was so different. Or rather, indifferent. It was like she didn't give a rat's ass about me or what had happened. She just signed for me, drove me home and casually informed me that my father had had a massive heart attack about the same time I was turning that orderlies brain to split-pea soup. Seriously, who waltzes up to their severely traumatized twelve year old and says, "Oh yes, by the way, your father is dead. It happened the day you went into your coma." What the hell is that?! I should have slugged her. God knows I wanted to throughout the whole drive to Norman.