Imagine the sent of hot, metallic blood pooling to the surface as a sharp blade cut through skin like butter. So easy. The gurgle of incoherent words as the blood bubbles into their throat, choking them. Chocking them with their own blood. It was almost romantic. The rich red colour staining their skin and soaking into their clothes... elegantly.

~...•~...•~

I stopped writing and dropped the pen on my desk, re-reading what I had written.

I never really knew what I was writing until afterwards when I read it over, and right now I felt disgusted with myself. Absolutely disgusted and horrified. I felt like crying. It had never bothered me all that much before, why now?

"Hi darling."

I spun around, shutting my notebook quickly.

My mother stood in my doorway with a small smile, "How are you feeling?"

I shrugged in response. My feelings from before had dissapitated like steam. I felt sort of numb now, my face unemotional.

Her smile faltered a little but she tried again, "Do you want to talk?"

I shrugged again. She walked into the room, shutting the door behind her and sat on my bed, "What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"These voices. Dr. Neil told me that you said they insult you a lot." She looked sympathetic.

"It's de-motivational. It makes me feel small." Her expression changed, she now looked shocked that I had decided to answer truthfully.

"You want them to go away?"

I nodded.

"Dr. Neil said that she's suspicious that you may have schizophrenia, but you need to be assessed by someone who knows all about something called DSM-IV-TR. They'll talk to you and ask you questions, like what happened with Dr. Neil, but honey if you do this, you're going to have to be honest with them. No lying, or messing around, completely honest so that they can understand and try to get their diagnosis correct."

That took a minute to digest, "What will happen if I do have schizophrenia?"

"That depends." She looked away.

I scowled. She was hiding something from me. She caught my look and rubbed her face with her hands.

"Look honey, I'm not going lie. Me and your father have no idea how to take care of someone with a mental disorder, but you're our oldest and first child, we had no idea what we were doing when we had you. All I'm saying is that if you do have this then although we won't know much about it, we'll still try to help as much as we can."

I nodded. She left soon after that, shutting the door behind her quietly.

I turned back to my notebook.

~...•~...•~

A week later I sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair in a waiting room outside the office of Dr. Johnson, a doctor who specialised in mental health. The assessment was half an hour of brutally blunt questions from a balding man with a snobbish face who looked at me in disdain. I was now waiting impatiently for my results, my parents and sisters sitting nearby. My brother had been put in nursery that morning.

Leah was sitting behind Nina, plaiting her hair messily while Nina chatted away about a new dress that she'd seen in her favorite magasine.

I glanced around nervously, the hairs on my neck raised, giving me a curling feeling in my stomach. Couldn't those doctors just hurry up already?

"Mr and Mrs Baker?" Dr Johnson appeared in the doorway of the waiting room

My parents stood up and both gave me hopeful looks. I followed them into the office, leaving my sisters alone to chat about fashion. I sat down in one of the chairs, furthest from Dr Johnson's desk and folded my arms across my chest.

"Hello Mr and Mrs Baker,' Dr Johnson greeted with a sickly sweet smile.

My parents nodded in reply as they sat down.

"Right, there's no point in dawdling, I'll get down to it. Your daughter's test results point towards paranoid schizophrenia."

My mother put a hand to her mouth and her eyes instantly started watering.

"There are numerous treatments for this disorder, many being medications. Or there is the option of sending her to a mental institute, I have a list of very well thought of places and contact details that I can give to you."

It was official; I would now be considered insane.

My ears seemed to shut down along with my sight and other senses. I lost connection with the present and fell into my conscious.

Thoughts swirled around me.

I was going to be treated differently, an outcast.

I'm insane.

My parents will hate me.

My siblings will be scared of me.

I relaxed slightly, being surrounded by my own thoughts was better than 'being' in that office. I should do this more often, switch off from reality and ignore everything; focus on my own mind.

The only problem was the voices. Sinking into my conscious may be comforting but the voices were still there, on the outside of my mind, whispering and hissing at me.

However, I was used to them. They were there and that was it. I couldn't do anything about it, I had to just live with it. I'd learnt how to ignore them.

And ignore them I did.

~...•~...•~

This story is based in England but I have used the DSM-IV-TR diagnosis, which is American, because I couldn't find the criteria for the ICD-10 which is the European disagnosis, just to clear anything up.

I haven't actually updated any of my stories in ages because I just got bored of writing, sorry about that! So here's a small update.