Warning: This story contains subject matter from beginning to end that may be too intense for some readers. This includes speaking on topics such as: Depression, Anxiety, Eating disorders, and Suicide. Please proceed with caution, and know that you are never alone in this fight. My inbox is always open to anyone who needs to talk, at any point ever.

In addition, there will be strong language, deep intimacy (nothing graphic), and some violence.

#endthestigma

Amelia

The light above my bed came alive with a loud buzz. Its brightness nearly blinding me, as I was laying in corpse position on my uncomfortable mattress. I was awake for some minutes, thinking that if I remained still enough the light would not turn on. Sleepiness tugged at my eyelids, not wanting to leave my bed. It was unfair not being able to live as I pleased.

I turned on my side, eyeing the calendar that was taped to the wall near my bed. Retrieving the red marker I had stashed under my sheets, I crossed out yet another day. Twelve more days, I told myself. Twelve more days, but it was never really over.

"Up, ladies! Up!" A female guard called from outside my cell. Yes, my cell. I had not committed a crime in my view, but I was locked in a cell.

"God dammit," I grumbled, throwing my tissue-paper-like blanket back and standing up from the bed. My toes recoiled when they came in contact with the ice cold floor.

I started making my way towards the bathroom, which was the one place I really had where I could shut the door and be alone to think. Sometimes being alone and thinking was not a good combination for me, as that's when I felt the most dejected.

Shutting the door behind myself, I stared at my haggard appearance in the smudged up mirror. My pecan brown hair fell in uneven waves, and there were even some straight pieces. My cheekbones stuck out prominently, showing off the rosiness of my skin tone while my lips were slightly chapped and flaky in the middle. My cupids bow dipped downward in a strong loop, my thin eyelashes fluttering at my own almost unrecognizable reflection.

While here, I was somebody else. I was not Amelia Bridges. I was the shell of who I was before, a jar where all of the cookies had been taken out of it. All that's left were the crumbs, the very little parts of me that I still held on to despite having nearly everything stripped away.

Shaking my head, I turned on the faucet and bent down to wash my face. The cool sensation dripping down my cheeks woke me up a bit, and I blinked my emerald eyes briskly. Just as I grabbed my toothbrush from its plain beige cup, I heard a clinking noise outside the bathroom door and soon saw the handle moving slightly.

"Ms. Bridges? Are you alright in there?" Dr. Patterson asked, sounding concerned.

She was a wonderful actress when she wanted to be. I growled under my breath, but quickly changed my attitude. "I'm fine, Dr. Patterson! Just brushing my teeth!" I could not risk being held prisoner any longer than I had to.

Not a moment of privacy around here.

"Okay, well, we need to draw blood. Then you can go have breakfast with the other girls," she replied, and I was grateful for the door being shut so she could not see my eyes roll to the back of my head.

I hated those girls. None of them were like me. They all just accepted being here, some were on their sixth or seventh time. I was only on my second, which made me seem like some sort of saint compared to them.

After brushing my teeth at snail pace, I stared at my arms in the mirror. They were bruised and battered like they had been through combat or something. The purple and blue splotches stood out clearly to the naked eye. The truth was I had difficult veins to stick, and Dr. Patterson sucked at her job. It was always lots of fun getting my blood drawn by her, especially when she tried to make nonsense conversation with me.

When I opened the door, Dr. P was seated on my bed ready to get right to it. She held up the smallest needle I had ever seen, the kind I imagined they used on tiny babies. She smiled softly, the best smile she could manage for me. Dr. Patterson was an older woman, in her early to late fifties. Her hair was fully grey and tied back into a sleek bun. She always wore her blue scrubs, and all white coat. She had wrinkles underneath her eyes, but no where else.

"This here is a butterfly needle. It should make everything easier, Amelia," Dr. Patterson explained.

"Everything? I don't think so," I snapped, walking cautiously over to my bed and sitting beside her. I tucked a strand of wild hair behind my ear.

"I'm sorry," she replied, taking my arm in her ice cold hands, causing me to flinch.

"No...you're not."

Dr. P cleaned the area with a wet wipe that I grew to hate the smell of. She drummed on my arm with her finger, trying to find a vein. She pursed her lips together, looking up at me and waiting for a nod. I nodded, then looking away as she pierced the small needle through my peach skin.

"See? First try," Dr. Patterson bragged, and I did not have to look to know she was grinning at her so called accomplishment.

"I don't know why that's something to brag about," I retorted, feeling anger stir up in my chest. "I don't belong here. None of us do, and I don't know why the fuck-"

"Ms. Bridges," Dr. Patterson said, pulling the needle from my arm once she got all the vials she needed. "Let's not do this, okay? You know why you're here."

"Yeah I do. I'm here because I live in a messed up place that thinks the way to help people who are mentally ill is to put them in jail," I spat, feeling tears spring to my eyes. I refused to let them fall, and I slapped Dr. Patterson's hand away slightly when she tried to rub my back.

"Amelia, this is not jail."

"Not jail, huh? Then why am I in a cell? Why am I in this jumpsuit?" I gestured down towards the black jumpsuit I was dressed in.

"Amelia, you attempted to kill yourself," Dr. Patterson reminded me for the umpteenth time during my stay.

We had that argument often.

"And why the hell is that anyone's business but mine? Why is everyone in this Province who is depressed or anxious or bipolar or whatever regarded as some sort of outsider?"

"Because none of it is true, and rules are rules. I don't make them, I just enforce them," she said quietly, standing from the bed and taking the vials of blood with her. I always wondered what they did with those.

"Twelve days," I whispered to myself.

"Twelve days," Dr. Patterson repeated over her shoulder, turning back around and proceeding out of my cell. She would be back the next day, just like every other morning.

"Mrs. Lowry was on some shit today, let me tell you," A red headed girl cackled at the table just feet away from where I sat by myself.

I sat alone most days. Sometimes a girl would come up and try to talk to me if she was new, but the regulars were aware I was not one to chat. I was a listener, not a speaker. Right then, I was eavesdropping on the group of girls conversation that were in the cafeteria with me.

"What'd she do?"

"She made me write a paragraph about how depression is a made up excuse, and how it shouldn't be acknowledged as anything but a fallacy!"

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!" The red heads friend answered. "She tried that on me once, I ripped up the paper right in front of her face. Got me two extra weeks in the ole cell."

I shook my head back and forth to myself, picking at my soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A guard heard the commotion at their table and approached them, hooting about how they needed to respect the people who were there trying to help them. Help was not the word I would use, I would use a word like torment, or taunt. Everyone there taunted us.

Staying quiet, I threw the rest of my lunch in the trash and headed out the door. A different guard met me in the hallway, walking me directly back to my cell like I was some sort of infant that could get into something on the way.

Moonstone Province was never going to change. Not with all of us sitting around talking about how shitty our lives were without taking action. As I threw myself down on my bed and stared at the ceiling with my short legs hanging over the side, I started to think of my family. My parents supported the rules Moonstone had in place, and did nothing to try and stop the government when they sent me here after my suicide attempt.

My older sister Zoey was moved out with her husband. They married young, as she was twenty-one, and he was twenty-two. I was about to turn nineteen, but I felt older than I actually was. The depression aged me, and it exhausted me.

I shut my eyes, listening to the sounds of the guards footsteps and commotion in the nearby cafeteria as I began to drift off to sleep. Sleep was my only serenity, the only place I could go that was my own and where I could control what was happening to me. When dreaming, I had the whole world at my fingertips. I was safe and happy, something that I missed greatly. My only hope was that someday my dreams would become a reality.

Twelve days.

-

Authors note: hey, thank you so much for reading! I hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter, and will stick around for more.

don't forget to let me know what you think so far, & also never be afraid to reach out to talk about writing or your story or mine, I love making new friends.

xo.