Crazy - Brittany Richards (classic books for 10 year olds TXT) 📗

She looked at me like I was crazy, like I was insane. I wasn't but she seemed to think so, she put me in this place anyways. She flipped her shoulder length black hair out of her face and gave me yet another disappointed look. It was a look I was used to. One I grew up with. One I learned to live with. Everyone gave me this look, but the mostly it came from the woman facing me. This is my story, the pain, the suffering, and how everyone thought I was crazy.
The woman in front of me happened to be my mother, Melinda. I refused to call her mother since she put me in the home. We looked much the same, and yet so different. I was a foot taller than her, but we still had the same face; the same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth. The only thing different was that her face was withered from age and wrinkles were starting to form. My hair had grown out to about my waist, which I held back in a pony-tail constantly. Melinda had come to visit me, I hadn't seen her in about a year, when she put me in too this hell hole.
"You haven't changed much," I said quietly, looking down at the floor. I didn’t want to look at her.
Melinda spoke harshly to me, "Neither have you, Christine. It looks like you’re the same as you were."
I don’t know how to respond to this. Melinda was always like this, since the day I was born. I had never met my father because of it. She had told me that he was fed up with her and stormed out, I can't blame him. If I were him, I would have done the same thing. I'm glad he did, he doesn’t have to deal with her anymore; I wish I didn’t.
"So how are they treating you here?" She asked with a scowl, she hadn’t spoke nicely to me ever, and now wasn’t going to be the first time.
"Good," I lied. I didn’t want to tell her the truth. I hated it here; this wasn't a good place at all. The other patients made no sense, the group sessions we had to take made me want to jump off the roof, and I hated the staff. I have had horrible experiences with the staff. This was about the worst hospital you could ever go to, but of course Melinda had to pick the South California Hospital for the Mentally Ill. God that makes me sound like a psychopath!
"That’s good, I guess," she replied.
I looked at the ground with a blank expression, "Yea."
She only visited for an hour, before getting tired of me and leaving. I didn’t hug her or anything, I just watched as she walked out the door. Not a wave, nope, nothing. The door shut and a staff member locked it, leaving me standing there with nothing to do.
"Christine,” I heard my name and turned around to find Mrs. Peterson, the only staff member I liked and the only person I talked to in this place, "I know you probably don't like it, but you have to go to group soon. You should probably start heading down there."
I nodded and started walking down the hallway towards group.
You're probably wondering why I am in here. Well you know about Melinda, but that’s not the whole story of course. It was a year or so ago, Melinda and I were sitting at the dinner table, we had both just finished.
"Why do you eat so much? You're fat enough," Melinda said viciously. I had barely touched any of my food. I was almost under-weight too. Melinda was always the type of person who wanted perfection. Blonde hair, blue eyes, skinny, pretty. At 16, I didn't meet any of those qualifications. I had black hair, brown eyes, almost skinny enough for Melinda to approve, and I was nerdy looking.
I couldn't help myself, and before I had a chance to think I blurted out, "And why do you talk. Aren’t you a psycho bitch enough?" I gasped and clamped my hand over my mouth.
Melinda stood up, this was the angriest I have ever seen her. "What the fuck did you just call me?" She screamed. I was scared; I didn't know what she was going to do. "I'm the psycho bitch? Then what the fuck does that make you? You are the fucking psychotic one here! You belong in a fucking mental hospital! Why can't you be a better daughter? Why do I have to have the worst daughter ever? I'm putting you in the fucking hospital, where you belong!"
Well that’s pretty much how I ended up here. Apparently Melinda told them that I was suicidal, which I am nowhere near, but I might be if I stay in this hospital any longer, but they took me in and now I am stuck here.
I arrived at group a couple minutes early and took a seat next to the window where I always sat. It was the seat with the best view, you could actually see through the bars on the window to the mountains and forest that surrounded this place. I thought the view was beautiful the hospital was the thing that wasn't. I never actually participated in group, just stared out the window. When group ended I got up and walked back to my room. I was one of the unlucky ones who got a room to their selves. You'd think that would be a good thing, except you learned what the staff really does to their patients at night.
I laid in bed, waiting for Mr. Scary, I never knew his real name, but I hated him so much. He abused me every night. Time seemed to go so slow tonight, like it took days for each second to go by. The air felt heavy in my lungs, I glanced over at the clock. It was only eleven o'clock. Suddenly there was a knock at the door and I jumped a foot in the air. It was him. He came with a cart, he always did, it was his cover up so no one else knew what was happening, but I think they really did.
Mr. Scary was about in his late thirties but looked to be in his fifties. His skin had wear and tear, as if he had been out in the sun every day for years. Wrinkles were starting to form upon his face, also giving him an older look. He was nicely shaved, always, and well groomed, but smelled of dead cats.

He pushed the cart into my room, it was empty, like usual, and I sat up in bed. He started to unbuckle his belt and take off his scrubs. I knew the drill and striped. What happened next, I am ashamed of, and I wish it were to never happen but it did. These were the reasons I hated this place. I wish I was never here. I would have picked anything over this.

"Christine?" a small voice called. I opened my eyes to find the white ceiling of my room. I was lying on my hard bed, aching all over. "Christine? Are you awake?" it called again. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. I sat up slowly, trying to ignore the slight pain in my body. Looking around I found no one but my room. Movement by the door and I looked over to see Mrs. Peterson poking her head in the door. She saw that I had gotten up and walked quietly into the room. She brought me a small container of medication that the hospital had prescribed to all the patients. They were supposed to make us calm, but I thought they were just a plain waste.
I swallowed them in one gulp of water, and Mrs. Peterson gave me a small smile full of care. I knew she felt bad for me, she knew my really story she knew my life, she knew what happened here, she new everything. I liked her; she was the only one I liked.
Mrs. Peterson was a foot short than I was. She had short, blonde hair and baby blue eyes that seemed to sparkle like diamonds every time she saw me. She always had the biggest smile too. She seemed to be the only sane one, out of the staff, in the hospital. Her blue uniform and nice white shoes seemed to be well taken care of and never seemed to get dirty. Mrs. Peterson visited mote twice a day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. The morning visit was to give me my medications and the afternoon was to see how I was doing. She cared a lot for me and the same was returned. I loved her like a mother, and she treated me like her daughter that she could never have, this job wouldn't allow the time and she just couldn't have kids. She practically lived here, but she loved her job.
"So how are you doing?" She asked.
I frowned. The truth was that I wasn't doing well at all, I hated it here and I hated everyone here, and she knew it, but I lied anyways. "Fine."
She looked at me with a small disappointed look, "How are you really doing?"
"I hate it here! I hate everyone here! "
"I know, I'm sorry dear. I wish I could do something about it, but I can't." She frowned.
"It's okay, I know you can't. It's not your fault I'm in here."
"It's not okay, what your moth- I mean Melina- did to you was wrong. You are not crazy."
"Thank you for believing in me. At least someone does and doesn't think I’m totally crazy!"
"You welcome, and of course I don't."
I didn't say anything back but gave her a small smile. It was nice to have someone believe in me for a change. I liked the feeling. Ever since I was born, I was never paid attention to, never trusted, never believed in. Mrs. Peterson was like the mother I always wanted, but never could have, and it was nice to have someone in this place.
"I got a question," I said.
She looked up at me, "Yes?"
"If you know what goes on here, why don't you say something?" I asked. This was one of the several questions that had been bothering me. She did know what was happening here, but never seemed to say anything about it to anyone.
She looked down, her smile faded and a frown had appeared in its place. She replied in a quiet tone, "I have. I tried, but nothing happened. I have tried many times. I never lost hope though