Fickle Fool Ophelia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

Bipolar Ophelia must embark on the struggle of survival in a psychiatric rehabilatation center full of people--proving her dislike for them stronger than she knew.
Will she be pushed over the edge when surrounded by other patients, or will she be cured of her fear of reality by reality itself?

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Fickle Fool Ophelia

Submitted: July 02, 2012

Reads: 168

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Submitted: July 02, 2012





Have you ever been putting up laundry, smelling the faint scent of artificial flowers from the detergent, and suddenly stopped? Just sat down on your bed, dresser drawers still ajar, hamper—half full—on your floor, and looked at the window? Looked out your window and watched the birds fly off the tree because your reflection repulses them, as the squirrels scurry down your lawn because they don’t need anything from you, as the clouds kept moving because you are so insignificant?


Congratulations. Perhaps you do not know this, but you know what it is like to not feel.

That isn’t common.

It’s passed sad. It’s passed depression. It’s passed the point of wanting to die because you just don’t care anymore about how you look or how you act or talk or smile or dress or think or observe or even how you do nothing. Because you aren’t good at it; at anything.


There are hidden signs of The Numbness in what you do:

  1. It is a Saturday evening and you are home, doing laundry, yet you are a 16 year old.
  2. You noted the smell of detergent because nothing important is going on in your head.
  3. Nothing is going on in your head.
  4. You don’t close the dresser drawers because “why should you”.
  5. You stare outside the window like the beginning of some depressing 1550s flick.
  6. You think the birds leave because of your face.
  7. You think the squirrels leave because you don’t have anything but yourself.
  8. You think the clouds move because you are not worth noticing.
  9. You want to disappear. Not die. Just, you know, sleep forever like a bear.


That’s me; numb.


not important.






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