“Self-inflicted wounds and mental instability due to previous traumatic experience. Recommended dosage: 2 pills four times daily.”
Thirteen doctors, fifty-nine appointments, thirty-one lost days of school. And this is what they  give me. They all basically say the same thing: mental instability due to traumatic past. Take these monstrously-oversized miracle pills and it will all go away. Buy they’re all wrong. And I’m not taking their stupid pills. The pills would probably actually be what puts me over the edge. I’m not crazy. Just because I wake up every morning with bruises that I don’t know where they came
from doesn’t make me ‘mentally unstable.’ They’re the unstable ones, let me tell you. They don’t even bother asking me real questions. They’re all the same. “How was your day, Rebekka?” They all ask, and then look at me like I’m a bomb waiting to explode. So, I just smile and say, “Oh, you know, I wanted to light the school on fire and kill everyone, but my day was great.” And they buy it. They actually eat up my words, saying that these feelings are “perfectly natural” after “an experience” like mine. Whatever. So I just feed them these lies, day and night. Of course, they also think that I’m taking their pills, which I flush down the toilet in reality.  The thing is, I’m not crazy. They all think that I am, but I’m not. I just know that I’m not the one causing those bruises that I wake up with. But they don’t believe that. I hear them whispering behind my back, “poor girl. she’s so delirious that she can’t even recognise her own self harm.” They think I don’t hear, but I do.