Where did i go wrong?

I never thought starring at myself in the mirror could have been so hard.  Flash backs of my stupidity still running through my head, just about as fast as the car was going.  I deserve every bit of what I got.  All I can think of idiocy of my actions that day.  My chest is tight, probably from the impact…

The water is running in the sink, it annoys me.  This place annoys me.  I annoy myself.  That’s why I’m here.  The simplicity of my room is sort of comforting.  The walls are blue, the sheets are white and if you open up the desk in my room you will see all of the others thoughts and expressions carved into the piece of cheap wood.  Most of these thoughts say “fuck you” or “I hate this place” or “boss man is a stupid nigger”  I write in my little expression and get up to take my shower…

The shower is definitely the best part of my stay here so far.  I’ve already had my Doritos stolen by an autistic boy.  The shower is relaxing.  It’s the only place in this hell hole that is private, my own, no one can interrupt me.  I’m not around anyone else and it’s warm.  This entire place is cold, to either make us suffer from our wrong doings, or to make a cleaner environment so there isn’t as many germs around.  I think they want to torture us…

As I am cleaning up with the 200% concentrated shampoo and the orange broken piece of soap I relax and let the hot water surround me in a mist of steam.  I’m surprised they actually have hot water here.  For these 10 short minutes I actually feel good.  I then snap back to reality, still dreaming of another morning to feel that happiness again.  I hop out of the what seems too be a three by three shower stall and dry off with the towels that don’t even absorb any moisture.  They gave me three towels, one for washing, one for drying, one for standing on as to not get the floor wet.  I use the one that I am supposed to stand on to finish drying.  Fuck them.  Fuck this place…

I’m breathing hard, my heart is racing, I don’t know what I’m doing.  90 miles an hour, 100 miles an hour, 120 miles an hour.  What the hell am I doing?  The 1996 Grand Prix is shaking violently from the speed.  I just passed my 3rd, no 4th car.  I’ve been driving on the left hand side of the road for about a half mile now.  My mind is set and I don’t care.  As I approach my target my foot lifts off from the throttle and slams on the brakes, my fathers face flashes before my eyes and everyone I love is telling me no.  I lock up the parking brake, the emergency brake and the foot brake.  The car is squealing and sliding…I’m actually scared…At least I think I am…

I only have the clothes I came here with.  My parents haven’t brought me more clothes yet.  I can smell myself on the clothes, I don’t like it, I don’t care, I’m not here to smell pretty.  Boss man comes to all the rooms and tells, no ordered. us to come to group.  I walk in and sit on the couch.  There is seating for about 10 or so.  I haven’t seen many other kids here so I don’t know what to expect.  Bridget walks in, she’s a gothic freak.  Josh walks in, he looks as if he has some mental issues wrong with him and wears Homer Simpson slippers, Juan walks in he’s a big guy, about 6 foot 5 and about 220.  Pretty scary looking guy. Austin then walks in and sits next to me.  He’s 8 years old, cute little kid, brown eyes a bowl cut.  He kicks me for no reason and throws a smile my way.  I want to hit him…

All I can feel is the sensation of having the wind knocked out of me.  I can hear the street light above me buzzing,  it must have broke from the impact.  I need to get out of here.  I can see a white truck in the intersection, a man gets out, probably to see if I’m alright, I give him the finger and I put the car in reverse and burn rubber as flee the scene, just another law broken, “Fleeing the scene of an accident.”  I take a back road and almost end up with my car in a ditch.  The roads are slick with ice and my speed and adrenaline isn’t helping matters much.  I don’t want help, or do I? I must have slowed down for some reason.  I did slow down for a reason.  I hit a mailbox.  I keep going…

Group starts with me.  How exciting.  I stand up and say my name, age, where I live, why I’m here, and three coping skills to get me through the day.  I said sleeping, napping, and looking for cracks in my eyelids.  I thought I was a tough ass.  They put me back in my place, made me stand up there looking like an imbecile while I thought of three more coping skills.  I tell them writing, guitar playing, and drawing.  They then go on asking me questions about why I’m here.  I have nothing to hide.  Why should I? They all seem crazier then me.  I tell them the story and every ones mouth drop.  They cant believe it.  I still don’t know if I believe it…

A little girl walks into the room carrying a blanket and a bag of skittles.  Her name is Sarah.  As in little girl I mean she is short, as in short I mean she is no taller then an umpa lumpa.  Her hair is wet and she looks pissed.  The counselors take the skittles from her and tell her to sit down.  I finish my group session by telling them a goal I have for the day, I tell them that I want to have a positive outlook on the rest of my day and stay happy.  I learn quickly that sucking up gets you benefits.  Especially in this place.  It shuts them up.  I like when they shut up…

I go through the front yard of a high school and sit in the parking lot.  I hear my sisters phone ringing, it’s my mother, I don’t pick it up.  I sit there.  I’m wearing no more then a pair of blue jean shorts, a Mexican blanket that I got the day before, and a pair of gray high top converse.  My nose is bleeding, my eyes are tearing, and my chest hurts like hell.  I’ll get over it.  I get out of the car to inspect the damage, the front passenger fender looks like an accordion.  The green paint is turned to black and there are wood splitters throughout the damage.  The tire is cocked to the side, it’s out of alignment.  I’m a dumbass. I hear the phone ringing…ringing…ringing…

Sarah is a heroin addict. She’s a 17 years old girl from Warren.  She overdosed on heroin and died for 25 minutes, her friend saved her life.  She called the police and had an ambulance come get here.  She thanks her friend repetitively.  I wonder if she realizes her friend isn’t here.  Maybe it’s the Methadone they gave her to help quit. I’ve also learnt she doesn’t like to main line her favorite drug.  She only snorts the expensive addictive opiate.  She wants to get better, or maybe she’s doing what I’m doing and saying what they want to hear so she gets out of here early.  I wouldn’t blame her if she was…

Juan is a depressed guy.  He wears a black t-shirt that says “Stop Snitching” and it has a bright red stop sign on it.  He’s 17 and from the south side of Youngstown, he’s gotten in some trouble with the law before and is under house arrest.  He’s runs with the bloods.  He’s loves to draw, read, and work out…

I fell asleep while Josh was in front of the group.  He wasn’t saying anything.  He just stood there mute.  I wanted to tell him to speak up, but I don’t know the kid, I’ve only been here since last night.  All I know is my room, the shower, and that I want a pair of the slipper socks that everyone is wearing… 

Austin is a troubled little child, I feel bad for him.  His father beats him and he acts out.  He’s jumped through a window thinking he was spider-man and he “tears stuff up”  I think I love the little kid… 

Bridget is the last to go today, she is kind of odd.  She wears all black, likes metal chains, razor blades, fire, and lives in a Group Home.  She’s been here four times before.  This is here 7th day here this term.  She is 17 and lives in Poland Ohio… 

I pick up the phone and tell them to go away.  I hang up and sit in the car with the heater on full blast.  It’s the day before Thanksgiving and I know that I just ruined it.  The depression starts to fade, but it is definitely still there, it’s always been there.  I can push it back to an extent.  I couldn’t today.  I fucked up.  I fucked up big.  The phone rings again.  They won’t go away.  It’s my aunt Jodie.  I talk to her, I cry.  My nose is bleeding, I’m crying, and my chest hurts like hell.  I’m fine.  She tells me to come home, I tell her no, I’m not ready and I hang up. The phone rings again, and again, and again…

I walk out of group and get a drink or water.  The water fountain has a pressure problem and shoots water half way across the room.  I slowly take a drink, feeling the cold wetness of the water upon my cracked and chapped lips.  It feels good.  I stop drinking and look around my enclosure, my cell, my home for the next week or so.  I want to escape this horrid place, it’s only been 4 hours and I hate it here.  Why did I agree to come?  The walls are beige, the carpet is blue.  There are signs posted everywhere about the “levels” I already know the rules here, I know that level 3 is good and level 1 is bad.  The level system don’t work with me. It’s free time right now and all I want to do is sit in my room and sleep.  I don’t need to talk to these people.  I don’t want to talk to these people.  I want to sleep…

My head is resting on the steering wheel while my nose is running uncontrollably, I can see the bleeding has slowed down.  I look for something to blow my nose on.  The only thing in the car I can use is my sisters bra.  I blow my nose and toss it out the window.  I look at my chest and I can tell it’s not that bad.  I didn’t break anything, bruised a rib maybe, but I doubt it.  The pain has already went from throbbing and pulsating to a steady low buzz.  I don’t mind.  I deserve it. The phone has been ringing for the last 5 minutes non-stop.  I pick it up, it’s my mother.  I say nothing, I let her talk.  She keeps asking me to come home, and I am not ready to come home.  I need space right now.  She needs me home and I know it, but I don’t care at this point and time. I hang up…

Everyone else is playing cards, uno, poker, and rummy.  The counselors are sitting around talking about last nights football game.  I lay down on the couch and close my eyes.  Austin keeps poking me.  I don’t love him anymore.  I want to hit him.  He eventually stops and I fall asleep…

I wake up to Austin starring at me.  His fingers are covered in paint.  I push him off of me and get up off the uncomfortable, green, piss and vomit stained couch.  Everyone is laughing at me.  I rub my eyes and realize that Austin put paint all over my face.  I don’t care.  All I can think of is how I deserve this.  I do deserve this right?  I do.  I walk into my blue room with white tiles and walk into my bathroom.  It has a chrome toilet, like that of which that are in jail cells, and a porcelain sink that is bolted to the wall.  I look in the mirror above my sink and look at the little monsters creativity.  It’s smeared from when I rubbed my eyes and I cant make out what it says.  I wash my face and watch the multi-colored swirls go down the drain.  I try to look at myself in the mirror.  Every time I look at myself I feel depressed, angry, and confused.  Why did I do it?  Why? Why?…

Why?

I see my mothers silver Monte Carlo pull into the blacktop parking lot of the high school.  I turn the car on and spin the tires into a smoky, squealing confusion.  The car whips around and I drive over the curb to get onto the road and I take a sharp right.  I drive about 50 or so and I see that it’s a dead end road.  I turn the car around in a quick fish tail like movement and I see my mothers car waiting for me.  I get past her, by mere inches, and head onto the main road.  I’m speeding through Cortland and I’m surprised I haven’t hit anyone yet.  I see my mothers car three cars behind me and I slam on the throttle.  The car picks up speed quickly and I realize that I’m now in a chase.  I don’t want to cause more trouble for myself, so I decide to pull over into a parking lot. I turn the car around quickly so if they try anything I can escape hastily.  I see the silver Monte Carlo coming…

The water in the sink is still running, I turn it off and dry my face with a stolen wash rag and  I walk out of my room and everyone starts making jokes.  The heroin addict tells me I have pretty eyes and Bridget agrees.  I’m kind of scared.  I sit down not saying anything more then thank you, and watch I TV.  The rest of free time passes quickly and it’s now snack time.  In this place we get one junk food item, 3 healthy snack items, 2 drinks, and if your on level 3 you get one extra junk food snack.  I pocket about 4 fruit roll ups and get me a bowl of orange jell-o.  I also grab 2 chocolate milks, and a oatmeal cookie.  I sit down next to Austin and he tells me stories about his home life.  I feel bad for the kid.  I might as well treat him right, no one else has.  I give him an extra fruit roll up he smiles his little innocent 8 year old smile and I laugh.  I’m starting to like this kid even more.

I can overhear Sarah and Bridget talking about me, about how on a scale of one to ten I am an eight and half or a nine.  In my opinion Sarah is about a four or five and Bridget is a two.  I eat my stale oatmeal cookie and stare off into the distance.  Josh sits alone and Juan wasn’t hungry, or at least that’s what I think, he didn’t show up for snack.

After snack we have quiet time.  I like quiet time.  You have to sit in your room and either sleep, draw, write, anything productive, or at least quiet.  I decide to sleep.  The mattress is as comfortable as a cardboard box and the sheets are thin as paper.  I use my sweatshirt as a pillow and doze off.  I have a feeling I will sleep a lot in this place.  Even if it isn’t a good coping skill it works for me.

I see my mother get out of the car and I rev to the engine to 4000 rpm and I can feel it shaking the seat beneath me and I yell at her to get back in her car.  She complies reluctantly and I call her on her cell phone.  I tell her I don’t want to come home right now and that I will be fine.  She is worried sick to death, I can tell.  I don’t blame her.  I can see the hurt in her eyes, the hurt that I be stilled in her.  The fear in her eyes.  The fear that I be stilled in her.  It’s all obvious.  I feel like an ass.  I still tell her that I am not coming home and we argue back and forth till I see my sister in the passenger seat of the Monte Carlo.  I tell my mother to put my sister on the phone and I tell my sister to walk over to her beaten Grand Prix.  She gets out of the car and I feel anxiety, do I want her to sit down in the car with me? She will take me home.  She’s getting closer.  I rev the engine, she stops, I stop and tell her to come.  Another step another rev of the 3.6 Liter Pontiac engine…

I wake up to a black man standing over me patting me on the forehead.  I don’t know this mans name, nor do I really want to know.  I will be out of here soon enough, I’m not here to get friendly with anyone, I’m here to help myself, or at least that’s what I think I’m here for.  He tells me it’s time for another group session and I get up reluctantly.  My red sweatshirt is soaked with drool, I don’t care, I put it on and walk out of my room and into group.  We pick a secretary, some one that will write all of the groups information down.  I am the lucky one this time.  I write down everyone’s name on a Dry-Erase board and sit down.  The name, age, where you are from, and why you are here mumbo jumbo start now.  I write down everyone’s coping skills and the goals for their day.  I am last to do the group, My name is Cody Dempsey I’m 16 from Kinsman Ohio, here for suicide attempts and depression.  Everyone says Hi Cody and I tell them that writing, playing guitar, and drawing are my three coping skills.  My goal for the day is to stay calm and too keep a level head. Everyone claps and I sit back down.  That was exciting…sarcasm…a beautiful tool…

As we all funnel out of group Sarah pulls me to the side and hands me a note.  You aren’t allowed notes in this place.  I take it discreetly and put it in my pocket.  I’ll read it later.  She starts talking about how long she’s been here and things of that nature.  I learn that this is her 2nd day here, and that she seen me when my parents brought me in to see if I had anything wrong with me from the accident.  I don’t remember her at all.  I barely talk to her, I have nothing to say.  I’m not a heroin addict nor will I act like one just to talk to someone.  We walk to the drug rehab clinic and take a seat. I pick one away from Sarah so she doesn’t get the wrong impression.  I’m here to talk about drugs and in all reality I don’t think I have a problem with any drug.  I have drank and taken pills, I’ve smoked pot once and I’m fascinated with hallucinogenic drugs.  Does the make me an addict? I have stolen Vicodin and other pain pills from my aunt, but I don’t think I have a problem.  The counselor there is a plump man.  Short curly hair who was addicted to alcohol for 20 years.  He kicked the habit and has been sober for 15...

I ask him about acid, and he tells me about how he has tripped more then the average person could have done.  He sort of glorifies the drug, which I don’t think is the right attitude for this kind of place.  He tells me about how he used to go to Quarry and trip all day long.  He tells me about his bad trip where he almost drowned in the lake there.  He talks about his friend who lost his penis after taking 5 hits of high strength white perforated blotter acid.  It makes me make sure my pride is still there and makes me have second thoughts about trying it.  He talks about the effect of different drugs and how they can mess up your life in a hurry.  No one is paying attention.  No one cares when they are 16 or 17 years old.  I know I don’t…

My sister opens the car door and sits down.  I tell my mom to leave the parking lot and that I want to talk to my sister alone for awhile.  She leaves after arguing on the phone for about 15 minutes.  I’m glad she left.  Me and my sister have always been close,  so I didn’t mind talking to her about it.  She tried to take the keys away from me more then once and I wouldn’t let her.  I have to blow my nose.  She hands me her shirt off her back and I blow my nose on it.  It’s still bloody.  Probably from the Vicodin I snorted last night.  The crash didn’t help matters much though.  I know I hit my nose off the steering wheel, along with my chest.  My sister asks what’s wrong with me and I don’t say anything, mostly in part because I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  It can be numerous things, my grandfathers sickness, the feeling of being to protected and having everything handed to me.  It could be a number of things. What could I say to her? I shouldn’t use my grandfathers sickness as an excuse, I’ve came to realize the fact that, that using excuses like that just don’t cut it.  I take responsibility for everything I do, why I do it I don’t know, but I do it.  My mind is racing. My sister just stares at.  I start the car…

…not finished…