Defending Sanity

          My name is Winter. I'm 17 years old. And apparently, I'm crazy.
     When people find out where I am, they ask "Are you depressed? Are you schizo? Do you cut?". The answer is no. To all of them. I'm here because of self-defense, but no one believed me. They assumed I was homicidal instead. And since I'm underage and there are some problems at home, they didn't send me to prison and instead, diagnosed me with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (no idea how they came up with that). Sometimes, I wish they had sent me to prison though. I'd much rather spend 4 years there than where I am today.
     Currently, I live at St. Francis Behavioral Center, but I'll soon be transferred to Jestorial Mental Institution. I hate it here and I know Jestorial is only going to be worse. You're probably saying "It can't be that bad!". Well, trust me. It is. First of all, I enjoy expressing myself with the way I dress and look. Can't do that here. You're required to wear only white scrubs and your identification bracelet. You're hair can't be dyed or longer than your mid-back. You can't wear jewelry unless you get written permission by your  parents and it goes through processing with the staff. You can't have any makeup or hair accessories either.
     Obviously, cell phones are a no and so are any kind of music player (which is driving me insane). I personally like art. I have a deep passion for it. Guess what? No pencils allowed except during study hours, and that's if you're good. If you haven't behaved good, then you're only allowed a felt-tip marker and maybe a box of crayons. I once stole a mechanical pencil from study hour, but it ran out of lead. Therapy isn't a help at all. They don't actually talk about your problems. All they do is try to preach. And I'll admit, I'm a Christian. But the doctors need to understand that not everyone is Catholic.
     I would say more about it but I suppose you're wondering the reason I'm here in the first place. Well, it was the end of summer vacation and I was heading back to school. I used to go to a boarding school out of state, so the only way I could get there was by an airplane. My mom dropped me off across the street and left because she had a hair appointment (she isn't the best mother in the world). So I stood on the curb waiting for the light to change so I could cross the street. There was a strange man next to me and I was getting bad vibes off him so when the light changed, I walked as quickly and casually as possible. He followed me and stared me down the whole time. I thought I'd lost him when I sat down on the plane. I was dead wrong. He had the seat next to me. He kept giving me this creepy grin and staring at me. It made me really uncomfortable.
     I needed to pee really bad but I don't trust airline bathrooms so I held it for 2 hours until we landed. I was relieved to be rid of Mr. Creepy Grin, until I walked out of the stall. He was standing right there, in the girl's bathroom, his grin erased from his face. And when he flicked out his pocket knife, I screamed. I tried to run but the bathroom was too small to get around him. "Come here, you!" He screamed at me. His voice was really grainy and dark. It made me want to crawl in a corner and cower in fear. I tried to fight him but he was too strong for me. He cornered me and tried to stab me. I dodged as much as I could but he had good aim and it did more than graze my skin. He must have got my hair a few times too, because I saw little black threads of silk fall to the floor. I heard the door creak open and someone screamed. Then he threw my head against the sink and everything went black.
     When I came to, my vision was fuzzy and I had a serious migraine. Every part of me hurt. When my vision started to clear I realized I was in a hospital. "Winter Farlow" I heard someone say my name. A male voice, but not my attacker's. I looked around and saw a doctor standing at the edge of my bed. I also saw freshly stitched cuts all over me. The doctor smiled at me and asked "How are you feeling?".
     "Jee, how would you feel if you were almost stabbed to death by some stranger?" I can get irritable when I'm in pain.
     A nurse came in to take my blood pressure and wrote down something on her clipboard. The doctor glared at her. "The man who attacked you escaped from the police. He ran as soon as the woman who saw him called 911."
     I sat up, wincing from all the cuts. "So he could still come back to kill me."
     "Not necessarily." The doctor glared at the nurse again. She nodded and left quickly. I watched her leave. She looked at me through the window in the hallway, a combination of pity and fear on her face. It made my stomach turn upside down. I wished she hadn't left.
     I turned back to face the doctor. "What do you mean?"
     The doctor's emotionless expression soon changed into a grin similar to my attacker's, which scared me. "His job is still incomplete. So, I must be the one to finish it." He looked at me, his grin widening, and lunged at me. His hands clamped around my neck, cutting off my air. I couldn't loosen his grip, so I acted on impulse. I kicked him in the shin and we fell off of the cold metal table. My back hit the floor, knocking the breath out of me. I kicked him where the sun doesn't shine and grabbed the first heavy thing I saw, which happened to be a small metal lamp. He tried to grab my waist and throw me down. I shoved his head to the floor and I beat him over his head and neck until he passed out.
     The security guards came in and started chasing me. I ran out the other door and out of the hospital to the police station down the street. They just looked at me, shocked. The security guards came in and tried grabbing me by my shoulders and pinning me down. The policemen didn't believe anything I said. They just told the guards to sedate me right there.
     When I woke up, I was back in the hospital and my father was there beside my bed. He told me I was being sent to a mental hospital because I murdered a doctor. I didn't believe him at first but then he showed me the admission bill to St. Francis. I begged him to not let me go, but he said there was nothing he could do.
     So that's how I ended up here. I still don't know why they are transferring me. I heard it was because they "didn't have the medication" to treat me. I also heard it was because I was a "danger to other patients". And someone else told me it was because I was too anti-social. Whatever the reason was, I just want to get out of here and have a normal life again.
     But I have feeling that's not going to happen any time soon.