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Ever since I was a little girl, I've never been able to understand feelings. No, not like the feeling of objects, nothing simple like that. I'm talking about human emotion. Anger, sadness, jealousy, anything a normal human can feel, I just simply can't. My parents thought I was autistic so I was pretty much raised on pills and lived surrounded by nurses and beeping machines. When I turned six I was allowed to attend a regular school since nothing but my doll-like state had been found wrong. I was greeted by the usual smiling faces asking me to play with them, and because I was simply overwhelmed by children, I agreed. They sat playing with their dolls and I just brushed the hair of the one they gave me, even at that age I remember feeling a connection to that doll.

Without her painted-on smile and shiny eyes, she was dead inside, like I was. As the years went by instead of being fascinated by me, the children grew scared. They ran away from me, called me a monster and a freak but I didn't care, I just couldn't. I sat playing with my porcelain doll I had been given by my mother. My life was a simple routine, get dressed, go to school, get teased, go home and sleep. Until one day in 9th grade, when that jackass Caitlen Morris came up to me, calling me by the name I was now so familiar with.

"Hey, Porcelain! What's with the ugly doll? That thing is just as hideous as you!"

This was answered by her usual gang of girls laughing their butts off. Caitlen was queen bee at Caledonia, my school. If you didn't want to obey her every command she'd drive you to commit suicide, she already had twice. I ignored her and brushed a speck out of Iras' hair, that was the doll's name. 

"Aww is little baby doll too scared to answer? The poor little ugly freak is afraid! Aren't you?"

I again ignored her and turned to walk away, only to have her grab my arm and pull me back.

"Don't ignore me when I speak to you, freak! How many times have I had to tell you that? Well I've had enough and it's time to teach you a lesson!"

She snatched the doll up and threw it to the ground, shattering it to the point of no return.

She laughed and walked away, her sheep following close after. I stared at the shattered pieces of my only friend, of my only real family. A sudden rush of thoughts swam through my head and I... felt something. It shocked me at first, then angered me. I was even more surprised to realize that I was feeling something! This emotion slowly overtook me as I watched that self-centered jerk walk away. I slowly got up, a piece of Iras' face in my hand. I started off slow, then began running to catch up with her. As I looked at her surprised face a sick, twisted version of happiness filled me, and I jammed that sharp piece of porcelain into her throat. She clawed at her throat as she slowly drowned in her own blood, with her sheep screaming for help for their already lost shepherd.

I just crouched down at her side and whispered into her ear.

"Never play with fragile things, dear Caitlen, you never know when they might shatter."

That's why I am here. In this hospital, right back where I started. It's given me time to think about the world I've seen in these 15 years of mine. When you turn off your emotions you can see crystal clear, see the world for what it is. A world of liars, cheats, and unfair rules. The weak are picked on and the strong thrive. People like me are seen as freaks while every day people themselves are the freaks. Girls tanning their skin to a sickly orange, and starving themselves just to try fit in and be normal... but who the hell decided what was normal? Why are we the freaks when nobody nowadays seems sane?  


The tortured souls who are picked on by the truly insane to only make themselves better. It's almost better here, I can escape the ones outside and be free to my own thoughts. It was so nice to be a doll, I didn't have to worry about it. But like any porcelain, I shattered and I was left to my own hands to try glue myself back together. But how can a broken body fix itself? The doctors here expect me to save myself so I can be healthy again. But my fingers have been crushed. Only a skilled hand can put me back together, can put anyone of us back together. I wonder if anyone can... I want to be whole but I want to be free to listen to my own mind and not influenced by the thoughts of others. You can never have both, can you? Those who break are in pain but free, those who are whole are bound, but can be happy and be loved... we never can.

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