I wake up to the sound of my favorite nurse, Cassie, waking me up.

"What do you want Cassie?" I exclaim.

Cassie was my favorite nurse, but it's hard to play nice when you've been stuck in a mental institution for 2 years. They usually never woke me up unless it was time for my meds. Spoiler alert, it wasn't that time. I am 17 and came to this hospital when I was 15. I'll explain later.

"Brianna, it's the day."

I am Brianna, if you couldn't tell.

"The day?" I ask.

"The day!" She says with a huge smile plastered across her face

I quickly remember what she was talking about.

Today was the day I was free. I was finally getting out of this stupid psych ward. Two, long, years. I'm a couple hours away from freedom.

"Meds." I demand, after checking the time.

"Ten more minutes." She says.

"This is torture, Cassie." I say.

"We have to have you prepared. You won't be on all these meds when you leave."

I pout.

They provide me with clothing of my choice, for the first time. I was excited about that.

You may be wondering why I'm here, and what's wrong with me. And honestly, I don't care what you wonder. But out of the kindness of my heart, I will tell you. I was sent to this mental institution when I was 15. Two years after everything started. You see, I live with my dad. My dad is extremely abusive. Physically, but mainly verbally. He didn't become this way until after my mother died. I suffer from extreme depression and anxiety. One day, I was 13 years old. I was making dinner for me and my father. I was cutting an onion, and I cut my hand open on accident. I shout in pain. I quickly cover my mouth with my other hand because I might get in trouble for yelling. I mumble curse words under my breath. Then I stare at the wound. Like, really stare at it. For some reason, I feel a sensation. From seeing the blood. And it became official. I was addicted to blood. Not eating it or drinking it. Just seeing it. So basically, I thought it was super strange, so I tried to avoid blood. One day, when I was 14, I came home from school and me and my father got into an argument. He punched me in the face 3 times and I was bleeding. I was addicted to blood, so I automatically wanted to see more. But at the same time, I was depressed. So I thought of a solution that would maybe "help" my depression and my blood addiction. I reached out of my drawer in my room, and grabbed a box cutter, and then I cut myself. This became a habit. My legs and arms were scarred all over. One day, right before I turned 15, someone at school noticed my scars. They told a teacher. I was sent to the guidance counselor. They called my father. And I was sent to a mental institute, the day before I turned 15.

But today was the day I was getting out. I attended some type of homeschool thing in the ward, except the ward was not my home. So, Ward-school. But now I was attending public school. My dad was coming to pick me up. I was terrified. I had an anxiety attack that morning.

"Breathe." Cassie tells me while I'm in the middle of my anxiety attack.

I calm myself down. No one knew my dad was abusive. The Nurses just knew that I was depressed, and addicted to blood. I also had anxiety. I was on many different meds. For depression, anxiety, blood addiction, memory, and IED. Yes, I also have IED. So I am prescribed two different antidepressants. One for my depression, and one for my IED. If you don't already know, IED stands for Intermittent Explosive Disorder. It's an anger issue. Basically, if I don't take my medicine, I will get mad and violent easily. I also have ADHD, so I'm also on Ritalin. So in all, I own 7 medications. One for my depression, one for my IED, one for my anxiety, one for my ADHD, one for my bad memory, and one for my blood addiction. I only took the one for my blood addiction when I came in contact with blood, or see blood. I also am diagnosed with PTSD. My PTSD isn't super bad, but it's still there. And I'm on medication for it. So, that's it. I am the literal definition, of a mental illness.

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authors note: Ok ok, please don't attack me. I know chapter 1 is short. I'm sorry. I just wanted to explain Brianna's life. This is a fiction story and I have not been through everything Brianna is going through. But there are people who do go through it. (maybe not the blood addiction but maybe) Contact me on instagram at @honesty.stories for more information or to ask questions :))

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