Leaves Like Fire

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. I wondered if it really had been that long, if I really had lost four months of my life.

           I thought the program was supposed to help me, or at least the pamphlet really sold it to my parents, probably saying something along the lines of “send off your suicidal nutcase daughter for four months and we’ll have her fixed up in no time.” I sighed as I looked at the bright and almost burning trees, the autumn colors mocking me.

           Nothing made me feel more normal than being sent off to the psych ward, or the mental institution as my parents like to call it so they don’t feel as bad about the whole situation. It all happened so fast that I don’t really remember how it happened.

           They must have come across my journal where I write all of my thoughts down, and instead of talking to me about it like actual parents or getting me a therapist, they consulted the mental institutions nearby. The next thing I knew, I was ready to go to school in the morning, but they drove me to the psych ward instead.

           That was back in June, back when I was finishing up my final days of school. I guess my parents thought sending me off to a mental institution was the best summer vacation they could give me.

           As I finally walked out of the front doors, still in my uniform but my old clothes in my hands along with my phone, I looked away from the trees and to the people around me. My mom and dad were waiting for me at the gate, looking like they’re about to cry. Next to me was Ms. Rey. She was my therapist and general overseer for most of my time in the institution. She was cold but realistic, so I found myself liking her.

           It felt weird with the asphalt crunching beneath my sneakers, a sound I had grew distant from. In the institution, it was all tile and waxed flooring. There was an outdoor area with fake plants and turf for the ground, but it didn’t sound the same. I found myself wanting to reach down to the ground to rub my fingers over the coarse asphalt and possibly get faint markings of black smudged on me, like back when I was a kid and none of these problems existed yet. I kept walking.

           I didn’t make very many friends in the institution since they didn’t let me meet anyone around my age until a month had passed. There were some people with dyed hair that I wanted to talk to but thought they were too cool for me, there were some eccentric people that I knew was in there for more serious mental problems, and then there was the mesh in between.

           I ended up hanging out with the people who suffered from anorexia since they were probably the most normal in there. Steph was a sweetheart but turned cold around lunchtime, Gabe was charming but would dissociate when certain trigger words were accidentally said, and then there was Ruth.

She was my best friend even though she probably had anorexia the most severely since it doubled with her bulimia. You couldn’t tell though since she was bigger and not like the skin-and-bones stereotype for anorexics. I liked Ruth; she was loud, witty, and fun all around, almost as if she wasn’t in a psych ward due to her severe mental illness. She made me forget that I was in one sometimes, and I hope I get to thank her about it someday and see her again.

I was out now though, without my new friends and back into the real world with my parents that don’t know how to handle me. Some bright orange leaves blew off from the tree in front of me. I kept walking and crunched them beneath my feet.

Ms. Rey wasn’t touching me, but I could tell she wanted to at least have my arm in her hand. Some of the other psych ward patients had told me that she was weirdly protective of me in a way they had never seen her with anyone else. I didn’t know whether to feel special or like a hopeless nutcase. She just walked briskly beside me with a straight face.

Even though I was against being shipped off and being treated like some sort of freak for my depression, Ms. Rey eventually broke me down after a few sessions and I told her everything. I told her about how my parents treat me, how isolating school is, how I feel when I just can’t get out of bed, how I feel when I can’t even cry anymore, how I feel when I can’t manage to put my clothes away or brush my teeth. I told her everything, the good, the bad, the ugly, and all. Maybe that’s why she was protective of me, she saw how messed up I was.

I finally arrived at the gate and in front of my parents with one last crunch of a dried-out, browning leaf, and I couldn’t manage to smile no matter how hard I tried. I used to be able to put a face on for them, but after they did this to me, I couldn’t pretend much anymore.

“Mr. and Mrs. Short, here is your daughter. She has all of her items that she came with in her hands, and we can send you the paperwork later,” Ms. Rey says with a strain in her voice, a vein visible in her head. She looks upset, so I gently put my things down on the ground and give her a hug.

She seemed a bit taken aback at first, her arms still firmly to her sides, but then after a moment, she warmed up and wrapped her arms around me. I felt like crying for some reason as she held me, but I didn’t.

“I’m gonna miss you. I’ll be alright though, don’t worry,” I say quietly into her ear, not wanting her to worry about me. I’d be fine, really. I was almost an adult anyway, so I can run away soon. Hopefully I could stay in contact with Ms. Rey and Ruth and the other friends I had made. For now I was stuck, but I would be fine.

“Okay,” Ms. Rey says back, her voice still strained and choked. “Okay.”

She let go, and I left soon after. My parents hugged me and tried to have a moment like I did with Ms. Rey, but none of that mattered to me. They had done too much collateral damage for my heart to ache for them anymore. I hugged them back emptily and then we were on our way home, back to my normal life after four months of being removed. It was like I hadn’t even left, and when I got back to my room that seemed too warm with paint on the walls contrasting from the bare walls of the mental institution, I sat down on the floor and finally cried.