Mommy had told me I wasn’t just weird, or strange. I was an abomination, an unnatural little thing that she could no longer call her daughter.
That was the day she sent me to the asylum.
It was a dark and scary place, it smelled like soiled garments and sweaty bodies. You could never get any sleep at night, not only was there screaming and fighting, every once in a while
someone would escape the straps that held them to their bad and run through the
building, stopping in random rooms. At least once a week you would wake up with
an escapee leaning over you breathing deeply.
I stayed there, waiting for my mom to realize that she still loved me, and it wasn’t my fault that I was… a little strange. But my sixth birthday passed, then my seventh, I began to give up hope
and I began to feel the effects of being in a dark hole your entire life.
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