They had the fucking nerve to check my wrists last week, in front of the principal for Christ sake’s….

“Miss Davies…have you ever thought about hurting yourself or other people?”

Are you kidding me?

“We’re going to check your body for scars….your mother has giving parental consent to our physical check ups on you….”

Oh my god…

And then, if that wasn’t embarrassing enough…I had to take the famed ‘drug test’.

Hey, piss in this cup, try not to get any on your hands…we want to see what you’re on.

After they sift through the prescriptions….

Yeah….I’m on a few different….things….

I don’t fucking care.

It’s my body….it’s my choice…its not like I have anything on me while I’m at school….I’m not stupid….

What are they going to do?

Rehab? Didn’t work…I got kicked out for not ‘complying with the program’.

To hell with all of that.

“Ashley, you’re on a path of self destruction…..”

Oh you think?

Whiskey, pills, heroin, speed, cocaine….ecstasy….whatever

It doesn’t need a name really, does it? As long as it fucks me up…

But I guess even when you’re being this destructive, something else…something worse, needs to happen and completely fuck up everything. Not that it wasn’t fucked before….but now….

That’s when…well, when I met Spencer Carlin.

That’s when everything blew up in front of me.

That’s when I saw more of me die….

It’s the collapse, the fall.

Am I insane?

I’m a mess, I’m a fucking mess.

—————————————————————————————————————————————-

“H-hey…what are you doing?”

Fuck, so she‘s awake….

I pulled my shirt down over my head and glanced over at the brown haired, baby blue eyed girl. She rolled over in her blankets, still naked, looking up at me. I’m sure she had a name. I didn’t bother asking. I didn’t need it. Nor was it something I planned on remembering.

Hit it and quit it? Love em’ and leave em’. Fucked and forgotten. I never stay the night. Yeah, I guess this could be a part of my behavior, stemming from several years of un received parental love. Again, another excellent diagnosis from the shrink’s that have been hired to analyze my life. Whatever it takes to make that $200 per hour, per weekly session. But I guess I’m a real head-case, huh? I’ve been ordered to make daily appointments until they can pinpoint exactly what it is that drives me.