when we fell down a rabbit hole

Dear, Diary: (ugh that sounded so cringe, I'm not 7 anymore...)

Well, I'm not going to name you like a freaky weirdo... (Ahem: Joy Dean). But 'diary' is so cringe, I am literally cringing just seeing that written from my own pen. I didn't even want this piece of crap; my therapist, Dr. Badman (I know, right?), told me to 'vent' into this notebook. Not a diary, okay? Notebook. Say it loud, say it proud!

Anyway, today is November Eleventh (11/11) and I feel luckier than usual... But yeah. Well, my mom told me to fill one page with a stupid 'about me' section, so here goes nothing.

ABOUT ME!

Name= Bailey Nelson

Age= 16 (17 in February!)

Favorite Food= cheesy nachos from Lil' Pete's Nachos (yum!)

Favorite Color= periwinkle!

Favorite Number= 117 (it's a mix of 11 and 7, so yeah!)

Friends: Blythe, Matilda, Valerie, and Ruth. (we call ourselves the 5 musketeers, we own the freaking school!)

Favorite Subject: English!

Favorite Teacher: Mrs. Wilkinson, my English teacher

Okay, that's all you need to know about me. None of the reasons are bad. This journal is myself in good spirits. You won't see what anybody else sees. This is all I want to be. You'll catch up on all the gossip in the junior wing of Nicholson High.

You won't see the Bailey that got herself suspended, in therapy, and in the hospital. You just won't, so deal with it now!

Yours Truly, Bailey Nelson

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To: Journal (ugh, that won't work either)

Date: 11/12 (November Twelfth)

I visited Dr. Badman earlier today, and she said that she wouldn't read my journal if I didn't want her to. Oh, hell no, she's not going to read this! This journal is top secret; Bailey Nelson's eyes only!

But anyway, we talked about what I was going to write in it. "I am going to write my perfect self, Dr. Badman." I said, and I wish she had looked pleased. She wasn't, and that made a knot form in my stomach.

"Bailey, I love that you're at least writing, but I want you to at least get some of your struggles out on paper. It helps a whole lot of people. It's okay to stay perfect in the journal, and I think I understand why you would do that, but you need to at least admit that you struggled immensely, and that you need help. On that note: how are the new pills working?"

Oh, how I loathe Dr. Badman. If I were a cartoon character, every time I sat on that bulky couch of hers, I would have steam just pillowing out of my ears. That's how much I hate her.

"Well, I'm not a whole lot of people, Dr., and I think you know that." I said, the knot in my stomach traveling up to my brain; intoxicating all my thoughts. The pills made the thoughts fuzzy, yeah, but they're still there, loud as ever.

Oh, shoot. This is supposed to be ideal, perfect Bailey. Not loud thoughts, pill-taking Bailey.

No, no, no...

Oh well. Today, after my session at 9, I went to school and said that I slept in (my daily excuse; I actually woke up really early. Can't sleep, you know?) The four other musketeers were already sitting, Ruth half asleep, and Valerie secretly texting Milton Wood, her boyfriend. They were literally the picture-perfect couple at school, and they both had plans to go to the same Ivy League school: Brown. They were literally perfect for each other; smart, funny, good-looking (but not overly good-looking, you know?), and mildly popular. But in Val's case, she was mildly popular just because she was friends with The 5 Musketeers.

We were literally at the top of the food chain of the juniors, always getting invited to senior parties, and never upsetting.

Again, this is Perfect Bailey. Both Baileys get invited to senior parties, but only one Bailey doesn't try to kill herself after one party. But hey, this is Perfect Bailey's life now; no messing it up. This life is under my control, like a game.

But anyway, that was my day. The rest was uneventful, and I only had one shot at Matilda's house. Fuzzed my brain even more, honestly.

Oh, but wait! Perfect Bailey is the designated driver, the one who would NEVER drink underage, or smoke pot!

Never mind that sentence, then!

Let's try that again:

But anyway, that was my day. The rest was uneventful, and I only watched one movie at Matilda's house. It made me feel comforted and nostalgic, honestly.

There we go. That's the Perfect Bailey we know and love.

Yours Truly, Perfect Bailey Nelson

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Dear Anybody Who's Willing To Listen (ugh, still no. It sounds like I'm a homeless beggar)

Date: 11/13 (November Thirteenth)

Today sucked, quite frankly. It was the most sucky day of sucky days. You're probably wondering why Perfect Bailey had a sucky day. Well, say goodbye to Perfect Bailey because I can't keep pretending. I can't keep pretending, okay?

So let me introduce you: Bailey Vera Nelson, the Real and Raw.

Let's explore what Bailey's done over her life!

6th Grade= Bullies!

7th Grade= Punches & Suspensions!

8th Grade= Feared By All!

9th Grade (Freshman Year)= New Life! Bottom of Food Chain!

Sophomore Year= Meet 5 Musketeers, Share Depressing Backstories! (Val= No Dad! Ruth= Self Harm! Matilda= Addiction! Blythe= Anorexia!)

Junior Year (The Big Bang)= Lose Virginity, Get Invited To Big Senior Parties! At One Party (Hosted By Yours Truly Mallory Osborne: Senior To Be Reckoned With), Try To Kill Self; It Doesn't Work! Oh No! Then, Start Therapy! Then, Start Smoking & Drinking More! Then, Become Feared By Underclassmen! Then, Take Pills! So Many Pills! Also Known As Trying Again, Despite Other '"GOOD" Pills & Therapy & Friends & Popularity! Nothing Matters! Go To Hospital! Stay For Three Weeks; Say You Have Really Bad Flu! Only 5 Musketeers Know The Truth! Get Suspended For Accidentally Being Spotted Doing You-Know-What With Neal Banks, And Be Happy! Such A Great Year- 10 Out Of 10!

Senior Year= Still To Come!

So that is how my life has played out since middle school. As you can see, Real Bailey isn't one to be played with- or to do anything, really. Real Bailey is a bit scary, and she doesn't know what to do sometimes.

But Present Bailey accepts that, I think, and honestly, I will tell Dr. Badman about this, but not now. But if I would tell her, she'd say: "That was a real breakthrough, Bailey; I loved how you can open up to me now." Or something along those lines, and I would have absolutely started laughing, and all of my fairy-tale tears would slow down and I would crack a smile and then Dr. Badman would be confused, but happy that I was showing some sign of emotion around her.

Anyway, today was sucky because all my friends hate me now. I have to go to freaking therapy now, but I'll spill more tomorrow, okay? (Who am I, talking to a freaking journal like it's one of The 5 Musketeers or something?)

Yours Truly, Real Bailey Nelson

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To: I don't know at this point (I STILL can't figure out what to put!!)

Date: 11/14 (November Fourteenth)

My friends still hate me. They hate me because of two things, and I can't stop bawling my freaking eyes out. I'm listening to such depressing music right now and writing and I just took my pills (only the ones I need to take, don't worry), and my head has gone fuzzy.

Here's the first thing that got my friends to absolutely despise me: (and this one is A RUMOR!) Milton Wood broke up with Valerie over text, saying that he was seeing someone else, and couldn't go on with Valerie anymore. Holy Mother Loving Cocoa Puffs, at this point. Since Milton Wood and I have been friends since childhood, and he was my first kiss (in 7th grade, OKAY?? Seventh. Grade.), of course they all suspected me.

But it wasn't me. I haven't even felt a romantic spark around Milton since seventh grade. I hadn't even seen him for like, a month. He and Val only ever hung out together- red flag number one. (You don't want to see her friends? Oh hell no.)

It was Trix Anderson, of all people. Not me. Even Milton said that it was Trix, but The 5 Musketeers still won't even bother talking to me. Well, all of them except for Ruth, since she fears what I know she fears.

No secrets here, okay?

She fears that if they all leave me, I'll try it again. Because Ruth knows. I didn't tell you this, but for about a week when I was in the hospital, Ruth was there as well. The cuts got a little too deep for her mother's liking, and that was the absolutely horrid part. Her mother knew the whole time. Ruth whispered to me that she had even created some of the scars. But most of them were Ruth's doing.

But we don't talk about that.

Because in a friendship like ours, we don't talk about how Val tenses up at the sight of any fatherly figure, or how Ruth wears long-sleeves, even in 100 degree heat, or how Matilda has appeared passed out drunk in her bedroom when she's had a bad day, or how Blythe doesn't eat half the food on her plate, and pinches her thighs daily. We don't talk about that. We don't talk about those two nights where I was below empty.

We don't talk about those things; we just pretend that we are fine and we love our lives.

The second thing is this: they were now suddenly mad at me for ever wanting to even end it all. Throughout all of it: all of the tears, the breakdowns, the nightmares, the pills, The 5 Musketeers were there for me. They never judged me, and we never judged each other. But now they were mad at me for even wanting to do it. They said that I had them, and that it made them feel bad, and that they were done always having to carry me; afraid that I would break and finally leave if they dropped me.

They might have as well dropped me from a skyscraper, but when I started the whole therapy thing, I had to make a promise. A promise never to do it again; never to try. I'm a freaking loyal promise keeper.

The thing they never tell you about people who commit suicide or at least try to, is that they usually have letters to write; reasons to stay. But sometimes that's not enough. Usually, guilt and grief weave their ways into the whole reason, but the person committing it usually has loved ones, but no clear reason to stay.

If there are reasons (and there usually are), they are foggy and crumpled up and thrown away, crushed and forgotten by the sadness instead.

It's kind of like falling down a rabbit hole.

Kind of.

Anyway, that's why most of my friends hate me (Ruth is still staying, I think.)

Yours Truly, Bailey Nelson

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Dear Journal or Notebook or Diary (I'm not even trying at this point, lol)

Date: 11/15 (November Fifteenth)

I keep thinking about what I wrote yesterday. I sounded hella depressed, didn't I?

Yeparoozles! (That's my new favorite word!)

But I have good news. A good bit of it; enough to outweigh the bad, at least.

Dr. Badman was THRILLED to hear that, and I didn't roll my eyes as far back as I usually do.

Anyway, here's my good news: I am still here. I am breathing, I am writing, I am real. Ruth has been by my side, and I've actually been happier, despite everything. I still have my weight, but it's not as crushing this time. I hope that it's never as crushing as Those Two Nights, though. But Dr. Badman said as much as I try to forget those nights, they will always be there, and that I should just focus on something else; something happier!

Because, she said, we have to remember things; think about things, to forget them. Which sounds kind of ironic, right? Like, you have to remember things to forget them. So really, trying to forget is pointless, if I'm being so honest.

My friends are still pretty mad, and there's still a lot of tension, but I think we'll get better. I really, really want us to get better. I know we can.

But I was thinking about the rabbit hole thing I said.

Because when we fell down a rabbit hole (when I say we, I mean all the people out there like me and The 5 Musketeers), in my own personal connotation, I feel like it means we get caught in things that reveal more deep things, and reveal more deep things, and so on. Thinking that much can hurt, actually. So when we fell down a rabbit hole, it had a negative impact, sure, but I think it happened to warn us for the future to come.

Like, oh, don't go too deep (whoa, pause...) because it could hurt. It probably will hurt.

So, I guess in the end, it all comes out as a learning thing. (Finally, school proved somewhat useful.)

But I'm still here, and that's all that matters.

Stuff matters, you know?

(I sound like Dr. Badman, ha)

Yours Truly, Bailey Nelson

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