eleven

I was writing in my notebook and talking to Dad when Mom came into the room. She told me that she called a mental hospital about how I was acting and they both agreed that it would be best for me to be institutionalized. Mom informed me that she would be taking me to the hospital in a couple of hours and told me that I had better start packing my bags. She was calm when she gave me this news, but I could tell how deeply hurt she was by her decision. 


I didn't know what to say. I turned to Dad to hear what he had to say, but found nothing but an empty chair sitting next to me. I looked back at Mom and nodded my head. My eyes began to burn as I got up to pack up my things. I closed my door, fell on my bed, and began to cry. 


"It's okay Lucy," comforted Dad. I jumped up. 

"No it's not, Dad! Nothing is okay! Because of you, I've gone insane! Because of you, Mom is sending away! Because of you, everything has gone to shit!" I screamed through the tears. Didn't I know that Dad was dead? Why was I still trying to talk to him? Nothing made sense anymore. 

I walked to the closet and began to rip the shirts off of their hangers. I threw my shoes against the walls, smudging them with little black rubber marks. I didn't care. This wasn't my room anymore. From the closet, I crawled to my desk and found my notebook, the same one where it first became evident that I had gone insane, and ripped every page to shreds. If Mom wanted insane, she got it. I fell into a violent tantrum - I screamed and slammed my fists on to the floor, I kicked my clothes and threw my alarm clock at the jammed window, causing it to crack, but not shatter. 


Outside, Mom sat in Dad's plush desk chair, crying. As she cried, my father stood behind her, rubbing her back and whispering in her ear.