February 22nd, 2006
So this is the first letter I am writing to you. I was told nobody will see these pages I write on, except for me. So that means that I can write about whatever I want right? Whatever comes into my mind- my supposedly “injured” mind. I hate it when they say that. Let me tell you, it is one of the worst feelings to be sitting in a room full of people with PHDs and white coats with stethoscopes telling you that you’re officially insane, when you know that you’re not. Then they go into telling you about how no one is aware of their insanity, but at that point I just zone them out. Of course I have my moments of doubt. Maybe I am insane, after all, here I am writing notes that no one will see. But I know one thing for sure, I don’t belong here. Not just in a mental health office, but in this entire world. My psychologist tells me that writing journal entries will help with my coping process. Don’t worry, she also tells me that it will come easier with time and my thoughts will seem more coherent and less of a rant. Although if I was totally honest, I doubt that they will.
But I suppose that’s what happens when you wakeup from a coma. At least, that’s what the doctors tell me.
February 26th, 2006
I’m sorry. I haven’t properly introduced myself! I feel silly saying that considering I’m in no place to be introducing myself. I know who I am! The basics are pretty much as follows:
-My name is Nicole Harvey
-I was born on December 9th, 1997
-I’m pretty short, only 5’1′
-I am an only child
-My mom is a fashion designer for Gucci and my father is a CEO
-I have been homeschooled by my grandmother since the age of 6
-I am not crazy!
Simple enough right? Exactly. So why is nothing the way it was? On my hospital wristband the name says “Michelle Fis.” My birthday suddenly changed its date to August 29th, 1997. I came home to find myself in the suburbs. A plain house in a plain neighborhood. No city lights, no limos. Of course at that point I wasn’t shocked to find out my “parents” didn’t have glamorous jobs. To make matters worse I have just been enrolled to the nearest public high school. The building itself looks like a jail, but nobody understands that this is all a big mistake! I am a different person than they think I am! Some accidental identity swap or something! I want things back to how they were!
The only thing I should add is, I am somehow in another body. I’m now a blonde, and not to mention nearly a foot taller. I can’t exactly explain that with my “identity swap” theory, but I rather not think about it.
March 1st, 2006
Ever since I’ve been on this planet, I’ve had the feeling that someday I will return to my past life. I’ll be back to my family; my mom and my dad, and my dog Yogi. Of course he is included into the family, as the story behind getting him is pretty much exact to how adopting a child would go. Not that I would know, I’ve never had a child adopted into my family. That is, until now. But that goes into a very complicated and confusing story, which I won’t bother telling you yet. Mostly because, honestly, I have no idea how the story even goes! As I write to you, I admit that I have no idea what I’m talking about.
Yesterday I asked my counselor if her calendar was misprinted… Only to have her giggle and tell me that I must not remember that there is no such thing as February 31st.
Yet, I know for a fact that my father’s birthday is that day.
I’m done with these journal entries. They are pointless and I repeat: I am not crazy! I don’t need counseling or therapeutic writing.