Beautiful Mess (Book I)

Chapter five

"You can't change the events of the past, but you can change how you feel about them. This is the art of letting go."

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•Rae•

It's cold today. It's been raining for hours now and it seems like it won't let up soon.

I'm sitting in the gym, alone as usual. I see Kyle in the opposite corner of the room. He's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

I've started paying attention to my surroundings lately. Oliver and Star look happy and energetic whenever I see them. Lilly and Flint are the opposite. Megan seems athletic and the only time I see her smile is when she scores in basketball. May keeps her head down and tags along with Star. And Kyle, he's the one I relate to the most. He seems to be the kind of person who keeps to himself but wouldn't shut people out if they approach him.

As he glances up and meets my gaze, I instantly look away.

This isn't like me. Since when do I stare at people?

*     *     *

"You're going to focus on yourselves today. " Shelley starts, handing out red sticky notes and pencils.

I expected her to get rid of our paintings but here they are hanging on the wall behind her. As she explains to us what the goal for today's session is, I keep staring at the one Kyle and I painted. It would've been a masterpiece if I hadn't partaken in it.

"I want you all to close your eyes and concentrate, " Shelley tells us, so I finally look away from the painting to follow her instructions. "Think about what you need in your life right now. It could be something that you would like to accomplish... or a dream you want to fulfill. Take a moment to bring that goal forward and visualize it in your mind. If you know what it is, open your eyes and write it down."

Mom and Dad are all I can think of. If I hadn't lost them, everything would've been okay. I would've been okay. But things will never be the same no matter how much I wish they could be. I can't get my parents back.

There is something I can get back though.

I open my eyes to write down a single word. '𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖.'

I feel like a prisoner, and I can't take it anymore. I want to be free again. Free to do as I please. Free to... harm myself whenever I feel like it.

I pause as the realization hits me. I've been seeing this place as a prison, but maybe it's been my refuge all along. A shelter protecting me from my own self.

I slightly pull up my sleeve and glance down at my left hand. The scars on my wrist are fading to pale lines, but they're still visible. Reminders of how much of a danger I can be to myself.

After we're all done writing, Shelley asks us to hand it over to her. Some of them hesitate until she assures them that no one would read it. She walks over to the far corner of the room and pins the sticky notes side by side on a wide board. She then starts handing out bright blue ones.

"And now, I want you to think of all the obstacles in your way. What's holding you back from achieving your goals? Take as much time as you need, and write it down after you're done."

I write it down without a second thought. '𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎.'

Collecting the sticky notes and pinning them next to the previous ones, she starts handing out yellow ones. "And finally, I want you to think of what you need to do to overcome the challenges you're facing."

I didn't see this coming.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes again. I've never seen it this way before. I've never thought for one second that my own actions could be influencing the outcomes of this therapy. I mean it's all in their hands, right? They can lock me up in here forever if they feel like it. It's not like I have family or friends that would come for me.

But now that I have to write what I can do to make a difference, it kinda makes me realize that I can.

I open my eyes and stare down at the paper in my hands. I've always felt like it was their job to 'fix' me, and I haven't been cooperating at all.

I take another deep breath before writing down my answer. '𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.'

I don't know why, but I feel like something in me has already changed. It seems silly to think that all I needed to do in order to feel hopeful was realize that I have to do what's expected of me.

Maybe hopeful is a bit of an overstatement, but still.

"I made you do this for a reason," Shelley says, gathering the papers. "Writing helps, more than you think. It gives you the opportunity to release pent up negative emotions and keep you in a more... positive frame of mind. Now I know you might be wondering how writing in a journal can have that much effect on our mental health, because after all, it's just putting some words on a page right? But trust me, this simple practice can do a lot by reducing stress and releasing tension. It helps you to recognize triggers and learn ways to better control them. It also helps you prioritize your problems, fears..."

She opens her bag and takes out a few notebooks with similar dull covers. She hands them out to each one of us before going back to her seat.

"Don't forget to write in it daily," she tells us.

"So... basically we're supposed to keep a diary from now on like a little girl," Oliver states, on the verge of laughing.

Megan chuckles, but it turns to a frown as soon as he glances at her. Do these two like or hate each other? I honestly can't tell, but it's entertaining to witness the little moments between them.

*     *     *

I sit cross-legged on my bed with my new notebook placed in infront of me. Jill is asleep even though it's not time for bed yet.

Gripping the pencil tighter, I try to come up with a way to start my... journal, I guess.

I think back to my twelve-year-old self, filling her diary with stupid and meaningless stuff. And I remember that one time my friend Hailey found it. We were having a sleepover and she somehow managed to read half of it while I was in the shower. She was disappointed that I didn't trust her enough to tell her about my crush. But she was wrong. The reason I hid it from her was because I was embarrassed. After all, the boy didn't even know I existed.

A sad smile forms on my face as I remember my childhood. Oh what I wouldn't do to get back to that time again, to be my old self again. To be that cheerful girl who smiled at strangers and laughed at stupid jokes.

Maybe I should write about that. I hold my pencil again and start to scribble everything that comes to my mind as I think of those years.

I wish I could turn back time.