claymoore. fucking claymoore. how’d you end up in a mental institution? it’s as if the world can’t handle a mentally ill teenage girl anymore.

it was weird in here. you were checked on every ten minutes, had to take pills every night, saw a therapist every morning.. and the people in there? fucking weird.. but what could you expect, really?

this morning, there was a lot of screaming and yelling. a newcomer? nah, she’s been here before. definitely. a blonde girl with awful bangs, walking around like she owned the place.

yeah, she’d definitely been here before. because when she spotted you, her smirk widened. she pulled up a chair, turning it around and sitting on it backwards. “heyyy.. what brought you here?” she asked. she wasn’t friendly.. but at the same time, not mean. hard to read.