The Basket Case Mind Of A Deranged Woman, chapter 1
The Joining in Combustion
June 15, 1995, Derek Walburg died in a car crash. I was out in the meadow of my family’s 16 acre farm in Oakland when I heard the news. I remember this day so clearly, I was running out in my summer dress, chasing the dog and then sitting down to rest. I was 14 years old. I plopped down on my knees, and leaned up against the dog’s body, using him for a pillow. I pulled the book out from my dufflebag and began to read. Then I heard my sister calling for me. I came running towards the house, but stopped as I saw her coming my way. With her were two police men, standing on either side of her. She motioned for me to come to her. I ran up to them, and the two gentlemen told me that my boyfriend, Derek Walburg, had gotten in a car crash with his parents. None of those that were in the car survived. I wrapped my arms around my sister and wept on her shoulder.
Two months later, I had not come out of my room. I was home schooled by my aunt and uncle, whom I lived with along with my sister. I chose not to come out of my room because I was living in grief. But on the two month anniversary of his death (dare I speak of it) I came out. I was dressed in black, my face covered so that I could escape all of those that were in the house at the moment. I walked out to the meadow, and into the woods. I sat down next to a rock, and pulled out a knife, and aimed that knife at my heart. But I was stopped. My aunt and uncle had heard me leave the house and went out to look for me.
About two months later, I was submitted into a metal hospital. Saint Bernt’s Mental Hospital. I was led into a room that I would get to myself. I unpacked the little clothes that they let me take. I knew why I was there. My family thought it best because there, someone would be around to prevent me from killing (or attempting to kill) myself again. I looked out the window at the mental people walking around the courtyard. I didn’t need to be here. I wasn’t mental.
At that moment, the door slammed open and some tall man is a white suit was holding up a young man by his shirt, and he threw him on the bed.
“This is your roommate. Enjoy!� he said walking out and he slammed the door behind him. I glanced at the man.
“I was under the impression that I would get a room to myself.�
“Well, that’s what I thought up until now. They probably just lied to whomever stuck you in here so that they could get on their good side!� the man answered. He had dark black hair, a pale face, vibrant green eyes, and a smirk on his face. He looked like more of a juvenile delinquent than a mental patient.
“So...what’s your name?� he asked. I didn’t answer; I just kept my attention on what was going on outside of this retched room.
“Well, my is Billie Joe! Nice to meet you!� he stuck out his hand in front of me. I shook it, then folded my hands back into place on my chest. I wasn’t up for any kind of communication, nor did I want to interact with HIM. My uncle and aunt thought that this place, of Saint Bernt’s Mental Hospital, would help cure me, get rid of my illness of depression, but it wouldn’t. This place was for mental patients, not one as intelligent as I. What were they thinking? I wouldn’t be able to see anyone here, no friends, no sister, and I didn’t even want to see my uncle and aunt at the moment. But finally I answered Billie Joe.
“Piper.�
“Well, since we are going to be sharing a room together, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?�
“I don’t want to talk about my life right now.� is what I said, and that was it. He crawled under the bed and didn’t say much of a word more to me. I pulled up a chair next to the window and stared, longingly out at the courtyard, watching all the sick patients stroll on the grass, some in wheelchairs, some playing cards or checkers at a table by themselves, even some trying to run away from the guards in white suits. Eventually I walked over to what was oriented as MY bed, and slept.
I got up in the morning to a loud noise of Billie Joe jumping on the bed. I sat up and looked up at him, and he stopped. He flopped down and sat at the edge of his bed.
“Good morning, roomy!� I shook my head and walked over to the nightstand where I kept a picture of Derek.
“Whose that?� Billie Joe asked.
“None of your concern.� I replied.
“Well...if you ask me, you are looking at his picture like you’re in love with him or something.�
“I was in love with him. Still am, but he can’t love me back now, at least not here.�
“Did he put you in here?�
“No. My aunt and uncle did. They were worried about me.� I turned and looked at Billie Joe, who was now leaning over my shoulder. He sat back down on his knees and looked straight into my eyes. I took a deep breath.
“I’m not mental! I was put in here against my will by people who think that one tragedy in my life is going to make me some sort of a basket case.�
“Well, I’m in here because I have panic and anxiety attacks.�
“That couldn’t be the only reason, could it?� I asked.
“No. But the other part isn’t important right now.�
“Right.� I said. At that moment, the tall man with the white suit came in and told us that breakfast is going to be served right now.
I walked slowly down the halls, dragging my feet. The guard (tall man person) walked behind Billie Joe and I as we walked down to the cafeteria. Billie Joe looked at me that whole way. His staring at me made me uncomfortable and I didn’t like it. I didn’t want some psycho looking at me. What if his history, or why he’s in here, was violent or something. Not something that I ever would be comfortable with, and I think that you’d agree with me when I say that it’s just plain creepy!
When we got to the cafeteria, the guard sat us down at a table with two other young men. They were sitting there, talking quietly, and they greeted Billie Joe as if they were his friends (probably were, but whatever.) I stayed standing. Billie Joe put his arm around my shoulder and introduced me as his roommate. I hated it when men put their arms around me. Only Derek could do that!
I sat down, looking as pale as ever, and breakfast was brought to the table by some woman is a yellow nurse’s dress.
I didn’t talk at all. The two young men sitting with Billie Joe and I names were Tre and Mike. Tre was in a wheelchair, not because something happened to him, but just because he wanted to be pushed around and refused to walk. Mike was wearing an orange jumper and had these urges to scream out “fuck� and “bitch� when he was not talking. Mike also refused to eat, but he was forced by the guard. He was complaining about being fat or something of that sort. I just sat there as they all chatted. I pretended not to be interested in their conversation, or pretended not to be listening at all, but I could hear every word loud and clear. I paid attention to every word of self explaining and personality sharing. But I didn’t dare talk until I knew everything about them and was sure that they wouldn’t try and do something to me with their mentally challenged ways! I wasn’t in the mood to be hypnotized by some devilish ritual. Billie Joe explained me, well, what it was that he knew about me from our little conversation earlier.
June 15, 1995, Derek Walburg died in a car crash. I was out in the meadow of my family’s 16 acre farm in Oakland when I heard the news. I remember this day so clearly, I was running out in my summer dress, chasing the dog and then sitting down to rest. I was 14 years old. I plopped down on my knees, and leaned up against the dog’s body, using him for a pillow. I pulled the book out from my dufflebag and began to read. Then I heard my sister calling for me. I came running towards the house, but stopped as I saw her coming my way. With her were two police men, standing on either side of her. She motioned for me to come to her. I ran up to them, and the two gentlemen told me that my boyfriend, Derek Walburg, had gotten in a car crash with his parents. None of those that were in the car survived. I wrapped my arms around my sister and wept on her shoulder.
Two months later, I had not come out of my room. I was home schooled by my aunt and uncle, whom I lived with along with my sister. I chose not to come out of my room because I was living in grief. But on the two month anniversary of his death (dare I speak of it) I came out. I was dressed in black, my face covered so that I could escape all of those that were in the house at the moment. I walked out to the meadow, and into the woods. I sat down next to a rock, and pulled out a knife, and aimed that knife at my heart. But I was stopped. My aunt and uncle had heard me leave the house and went out to look for me.
About two months later, I was submitted into a metal hospital. Saint Bernt’s Mental Hospital. I was led into a room that I would get to myself. I unpacked the little clothes that they let me take. I knew why I was there. My family thought it best because there, someone would be around to prevent me from killing (or attempting to kill) myself again. I looked out the window at the mental people walking around the courtyard. I didn’t need to be here. I wasn’t mental.
At that moment, the door slammed open and some tall man is a white suit was holding up a young man by his shirt, and he threw him on the bed.
“This is your roommate. Enjoy!� he said walking out and he slammed the door behind him. I glanced at the man.
“I was under the impression that I would get a room to myself.�
“Well, that’s what I thought up until now. They probably just lied to whomever stuck you in here so that they could get on their good side!� the man answered. He had dark black hair, a pale face, vibrant green eyes, and a smirk on his face. He looked like more of a juvenile delinquent than a mental patient.
“So...what’s your name?� he asked. I didn’t answer; I just kept my attention on what was going on outside of this retched room.
“Well, my is Billie Joe! Nice to meet you!� he stuck out his hand in front of me. I shook it, then folded my hands back into place on my chest. I wasn’t up for any kind of communication, nor did I want to interact with HIM. My uncle and aunt thought that this place, of Saint Bernt’s Mental Hospital, would help cure me, get rid of my illness of depression, but it wouldn’t. This place was for mental patients, not one as intelligent as I. What were they thinking? I wouldn’t be able to see anyone here, no friends, no sister, and I didn’t even want to see my uncle and aunt at the moment. But finally I answered Billie Joe.
“Piper.�
“Well, since we are going to be sharing a room together, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?�
“I don’t want to talk about my life right now.� is what I said, and that was it. He crawled under the bed and didn’t say much of a word more to me. I pulled up a chair next to the window and stared, longingly out at the courtyard, watching all the sick patients stroll on the grass, some in wheelchairs, some playing cards or checkers at a table by themselves, even some trying to run away from the guards in white suits. Eventually I walked over to what was oriented as MY bed, and slept.
I got up in the morning to a loud noise of Billie Joe jumping on the bed. I sat up and looked up at him, and he stopped. He flopped down and sat at the edge of his bed.
“Good morning, roomy!� I shook my head and walked over to the nightstand where I kept a picture of Derek.
“Whose that?� Billie Joe asked.
“None of your concern.� I replied.
“Well...if you ask me, you are looking at his picture like you’re in love with him or something.�
“I was in love with him. Still am, but he can’t love me back now, at least not here.�
“Did he put you in here?�
“No. My aunt and uncle did. They were worried about me.� I turned and looked at Billie Joe, who was now leaning over my shoulder. He sat back down on his knees and looked straight into my eyes. I took a deep breath.
“I’m not mental! I was put in here against my will by people who think that one tragedy in my life is going to make me some sort of a basket case.�
“Well, I’m in here because I have panic and anxiety attacks.�
“That couldn’t be the only reason, could it?� I asked.
“No. But the other part isn’t important right now.�
“Right.� I said. At that moment, the tall man with the white suit came in and told us that breakfast is going to be served right now.
I walked slowly down the halls, dragging my feet. The guard (tall man person) walked behind Billie Joe and I as we walked down to the cafeteria. Billie Joe looked at me that whole way. His staring at me made me uncomfortable and I didn’t like it. I didn’t want some psycho looking at me. What if his history, or why he’s in here, was violent or something. Not something that I ever would be comfortable with, and I think that you’d agree with me when I say that it’s just plain creepy!
When we got to the cafeteria, the guard sat us down at a table with two other young men. They were sitting there, talking quietly, and they greeted Billie Joe as if they were his friends (probably were, but whatever.) I stayed standing. Billie Joe put his arm around my shoulder and introduced me as his roommate. I hated it when men put their arms around me. Only Derek could do that!
I sat down, looking as pale as ever, and breakfast was brought to the table by some woman is a yellow nurse’s dress.
I didn’t talk at all. The two young men sitting with Billie Joe and I names were Tre and Mike. Tre was in a wheelchair, not because something happened to him, but just because he wanted to be pushed around and refused to walk. Mike was wearing an orange jumper and had these urges to scream out “fuck� and “bitch� when he was not talking. Mike also refused to eat, but he was forced by the guard. He was complaining about being fat or something of that sort. I just sat there as they all chatted. I pretended not to be interested in their conversation, or pretended not to be listening at all, but I could hear every word loud and clear. I paid attention to every word of self explaining and personality sharing. But I didn’t dare talk until I knew everything about them and was sure that they wouldn’t try and do something to me with their mentally challenged ways! I wasn’t in the mood to be hypnotized by some devilish ritual. Billie Joe explained me, well, what it was that he knew about me from our little conversation earlier.
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