• CHAPTER ONE: Faith
    ~ The ash pile on the grey carpet seemed almost invisible~


    “I don’t hate life, its life that hates me. Everything I do ends up being wrong” I said taking another puff of my cigarette and letting the ash drop down onto the grey carpet. I was sitting lazily in the
    big blue chair. I looked down at my feet. I hated them. They looked like they were run over by a 16 wheeler. I never really considered how much of myself I really hated, That was probably the reason I was here but I just think my parents are a little to worried. Its not like I've been sad that long. Besides, everyone has the right to be sad every once and a while right? It's not just me, everyone has periods of random sadness in their lives, why do my parents attack me like I'm alone?
    “How much weight have you lost in the last week Faith?” I returned my gaze to my therapist who was clicking her pen on her clipboard, quite annoyingly I might add. She talked slowly to me as if I couldn't understand anything she was saying. Her grey hair had pieces falling out of the once tight bun that was flat upon the top of her head. She was a very neat person, Always clean and smells like she had just come from church. Her voice was shaky yet deep even though she was tiny. Nothing about her seemed like it was supposed to be there; but she liked herself. Which in “the eyes of the people” Was a good thing. Is it really good if no one else likes you the way you do?
    “I don’t know. Like. Seven pounds.” I said through my clenched teeth. It took me a few minutes to answer, I like watching her wait for me to say something. Most of the time my attention goes elsewhere to recent memories or what I want to do when I leave. Her pen tapping was seriously pissing me off. Small things do that now. piss me off really bad. Her pen looked as if it was having a seizure as she scribbled down some notes. She would peek over the rim of her glasses and glance at me for a few minutes before going back down to her clipboard.
    “I see…. Not good Faith. And how are you with your family and friends?” She asked through her thick black rimmed glasses. She sent shivers down my spine before I realized that my cigarette had been finishing itself off.
    “What family and friends” I said taking the last puff of my burned out cigarette. I stood up and stretched my arms above me. I looked around the room. It was very bleak and plain. The walls were a normal white color and the floor was that blasted grey carpet. The grey color is supposed to make you calmer, yet when I look at it I feel like killing someone and wrapping them up in this damned rug.
    “Are we done here? I have other places where I could be wasting the rest of my. worthless stupid life away.” I said through a yawn. At that moment the door opened and some fat woman walked in. Her smile was crooked and her lipstick made her look horrid. Her blonde hair was hanging limply by the sides of her face. Her blue eyes were being blocked by a pair of sunglasses that were way to big for her face.
    “Before you go Faith there is someone I’d like you too meet. Her name is Martha and she will be bringing you to New York State Psychiatric Institute” I blinked and furrowed my brow. I wasn't sure what had just been said but the words Institute was echoing in my head.
    “Um why do I have to go there. I’m not crazy!” I screamed this at the two females that just looked at me calmly. Maybe I was crazy. If depression is known as being Crazy then I’m guilty, but it’s not so I’m not crazy. I was furious. I could feel my veins tightening with blood as my heart pounded in frustration. How dare they point the crazy finger at me. I’ve had a hard life and this is how it’s dealt with; by being sent to an institution for the mentally unstable. So what if I’ve tried to kill myself
    before. That was a long time ago. I'm not like that anymore. The last time I was at the hospital was because I had a migraine and took too many pills to get better. But my head hurt really really bad.
    “I don’t want to go. I’m not going to put myself in a building full of people who will be talking to walls or playing with their imaginary friends.” I have seen movies about places like these and I did not want to be part of it. Everything was going wrong. First my family thinks I'm too sad to live without help and now my therapist thinks I need to go away for a while. Life isn't going good for me right now, but that didn't mean I was a mental raging lunatic.
    “You’ve never had an imaginary friend Faith?” I looked at her; I was shocked that this person, whom I’ve never met in my life, was asking me something so stupid. Every child has imaginary friends but that was just it. I wasn't a child anymore. I don't play with imaginary friends while waiting for dinner to start while my 'mommy' is cooking dinner and 'daddy' is coming home from work. Its just not like that anymore. I grew up and got older.
    “Excuse me, Miss, I do not believe I was directing my statement towards you” I said through my gritted teeth. I just glared at her. My fists were tightening as my body language was swearing at her. I didn't even know her and she was going to take me away from my home. This intruder forced herself into my life and I wasn't going to take it.
    Martha just nodded and looked down at the Grey carpet. That stupid taunting grin on her face was irritating my last nerve. I sighed in anger and plopped myself down back onto the chair I was sitting on. I pulled out my cigarettes and lit up another one. I held it between my fingers and watched the ash burn down until it was at the filter. The ash pile on the grey carpet seemed almost invisible. I just stepped on it and ground it into the divots in the carpet.
    “Faith, was that really necessary?” My traitor therapist asked. I just shrugged and flicked the dead filter near the trash. I pulled my left leg and let it hang over the right one as I stared at the ceiling diligently.
    “Is it really necessary to send me to the institution?” I was mocking her tone. She seemed annoyed. Good, she really needed to be introduced to real life, where people aren’t all perfect or nice. I looked back at Marsha and growled.
    “Do I at least get to say good bye to my parents?” She looked at the therapist and nodded gently.
    “I'll be picking you up tomorrow from your house” She said gingerly and happily. She really was annoyingly enjoying this. She was silently taunting me with her lazy eyes that looked me over as if She was judging me. Which to be honest isn't right, why would you stand there judging someone who was just pronounced crazy.