I remember walking into an unexpectedly dark room. Or at least it felt so at the time. The walls were a putrid shade of yellow that made me want to delete my breakfast from my stomach’s hard-rive a second time, and there were white tiles on the floor. As the doctor came in, to show me pictures of blobs thinking i knew what they were supposed to be, i immediately noticed his body language. Sloped shoulders and head forward meant he received some bad news. But not bad enough to make him leave work. He cared about his patient that he had been seeing for quite some time. She just had yet another breakdown. That girl was me. It was 2011, November to be exact, when my final outburst happened. My therapist was less than pleased. I was out of warnings and had no where to go but Glens. I hated Glens.
Being that it was my sixteenth birthday, any normal person would’ve been going to get their license or filling out an application for duel-enrollment. Not me. I was sitting in a yellow dungeon filled with magazines even my grandmother wouldn’t have enjoyed. The doctor scribbled something onto the yellow line paper that i would eventually found out said that i was borderline schizophrenic, severely depressed, and borderline paranoia. I always used to think i would have a life filled with tours and finding out which guitar i was going to buy next. How was i going to do that now with diagnosis no employer would want to employ? I couldn’t. That is where my new life began. Where i simply embraced my inner beings and became an actor. Who knew i wasn’t actually acting?