Dodder Vine

I remember reading somewhere about the Dodder Vine. These vines aren't like any other plant. They can't photosynthesize. It's a vine that gets its energy from other plants. Kind of like a Vampire. It wraps itself around its victim and just start sucking the life out of it. People can be like that, too. They can do stuff to you to the point where you just, well, want to die...

"And that's when I decided enough is enough. So I came here."

The group erupted in applause as Oscar put up his hand in thanks. He was a recovering alcoholic who had a bad relationship with his daughter, Frances. The person in charge of the group, Dr. Rebold, wrote something down on her clipboard and looked at me. "Alex," she asked me, "how was your day?"

I was trembling. It was my first day at the hospital, and I wanted it to be my last. I was terrified. All the other people in the group had something wrong with them: anger management, depression, alcohol and drug abuse, or maybe the judge had sent them here. Why was I here? I said some stupid stuff to the wrong people.

"Ummm... what do I do?" I asked Sebastian, the guy next to me. He tried to kill himself by drinking some bleach and swallowing a whole bottle of aspirin.

"It's simple," he told me. "Tell her what your highs and lows were for the day, tell her if you accomplished your goal for today, and rate your day on a 1-10 scale."

My goal for that day was to take all my tests. You know, all the tests the doctors make you take. I took the mandatory drug test, the mandatory psych evaluation, and I spent 45 minutes talking to my doctor.

"Well, my goal for today was to take all the tests and talk to my shrink, and I did just that," I told the group. They all looked at me, expecting some more, so I explained how I pissed inside a cup and told my doctor that I didn't need to be here.

Dr. Rebold interjected. "Okay, what were your highs and lows for today?"

That question was a bit difficult. I hadn't really paid attention to my day; it went by quickly. But, I manged to give some responses.

"My high was getting a roommate," I told them. I was in room A-3, where I'd be bunking with Matt Stuart, a kid who was here for kicking his teacher in the head. "My low for today, well, was coming here."

And that was true, I cried on the way to this place. I remember it in perfect detail. I was called down to the office from my 1st period class. My guidance counselor, Mrs. Waters, asked me about something I had posted on Facebook about wanting to "see the kids in my classes sent to the slaughterhouse." She called my dad, told him about it, and recommended this place, this crazy-person palace, where I'll probably spend the next month or so. My dad took me, and signed me in. I told the group all of this.

"And I would give my day a 3."

I thought Dr. Rebold was going to move on to somebody else, but she asked me a question. "Why, Alex? Why would you say such a thing?"

I told her why. My classmates rejected me. They didn't care about me, not at all. They didn't care that my mom died and that I lived with an uncaring father. They didn't care about how their mean words and actions affected me. Or how they'd take stuff from me and cheat off my tests. To them, I was just a loser. And that thought enraged me. And hurt me.

I was blinking back tears as I was telling everyone this. It was the first time I had ever opened up like this to anyone. Dr. Rebold saw the pain I was in, and wanted to help.

"Well, Alex," she began. "We're all here for you. We're not perfect. And sure, we may not know what you go through everyday at school. While you may be an outcast there, everyone is on equal footing here."

Her words, accompanied by the caring looks from the other "inmates" (as my roommate would call them) touched me. I wasn't accepted anywhere up until then. I felt right at home with these crazy people. And if that makes me crazy, then so be it. But I want to make it clear: nobody was going to be my Dodder Vine anymore.