Introduction
I felt like I was floating.
Dr. Bell called it 'dissociation', when the mind distracts oneself to feel 'out of this world' or seeming 'far from reality'. I never got the notion of it, complex things like these in my mental state slipped out of my grasp like grains of sand. They never stayed long, always shifted through the creases in my palm. I was pretty defiant during that time too, and that's how the mess, the disappointment, the damage started.
How I started.
The saying 'the past makes us who we are' isn't exactly wrong, but it isn't exactly true, either. My past isn't sunshine and rainbows. It was hell, demons, and bloody mistakes. For 9 years I lived with that hell. Afterwards, I became pretty successful.
So why, and HOW-- did a successful passionate girl like me become as damaged as I am now? No one knows. And honestly? I'm still trying to figure that out.
The long, emotional, raging months at Desert Parkway didn't help. Most of the memories there are just blurs-- a video tape fast-forwarding x3. The one thing I do remember both clearly and correctly, was my roommate, Anna. She was gorgeous, stunning even, had beauty that rivaled any celebrity. I adored her; thought she was perfect. Then one day, after dinner, when we all partook to our rooms, I saw it. The scars, the burns, running a long her body like a river. I couldn't stop staring. I couldn't breathe.
Anna was just like me. Damaged.
"It ruined your image of me, huh?" She has said, putting her Rugrats shirt on. "Don't be scared. It's alright."
I have to force the words out. "I'm not scared."
And it's true. I wasn't. I'm not. I just never thought a girl as pretty as her could have scars.
I never thought a girl like her would have skin like mine.
