яenғιeld ρsʏcнιaтяιc нosριтal.

Nestled deep within the forest surrounding the small town of Whetherington, Vermont is the Renfield Psychiatric Hospital. Established in 1932 by Doctor Elijah Lennox, Renfield was the first state-run asylum. Dedicated to treating those of the more "unstable" minds, shunned members of society were welcomed with open arms into the facility. It quickly gained nationwide exposure as families, unwilling to pay the high price of treatment and unable to care for their "disturbed" relatives, began abandoning these burdens of theirs at the hospital doors and getting on with their lives. If there's one thing to know about Renfield it's that no patient is turned away; leaving them with a most interesting little bunch of residents.

Complete with barbed wire fences surrounding the property, barred windows in each room, and a full floor of isolation cells, Renfield does everything in its power to keep its patients under control and out of the public eye. There are a total of three floors. The first being temporary patients being treated for depression, eating disorders, mild cases of multiple personality disorder, suicide scares... minor psychological issues which usually result in a few rounds of pills and nothing exceeding a two month stay. The second floor is home to some of the more dangerous patients; pyromaniacs, moderate cases of bipolar disorder, masochism.. those who may pose a threat to themselves or others if not carefully supervised. The third floor is where the more extreme cases are kept; sociopaths, schizophrenics, the criminally insane. Only the most highly-trained staff are allowed to even step foot on this floor. Shock therapy, isolation rooms, and ice baths are a few very common treatments [more commonly punishment for undesirable behavior] on this floor.

Every afternoon, the patients are allowed one hour to roam outdoors. Within the confines of the barbed fence and under careful supervision of the facilities best staff and security, of course. While each of the first and second floors have roommates, patients on the third floor are strictly numbered to one per room as a precautionary mesure.

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- ♀ H a r p e r | eighteen | depression, insomnia, oneirophrenia | lost in this place | pg1
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[list][list][list][size=10][img]http://fontmeme.com/create.php?text=name&name=SILVS___.ttf&size=10&style_color=404040[/img]» NAME HERE[/size]
[size=10][img]http://fontmeme.com/create.php?text=age&name=SILVS___.ttf&size=10&style_color=404040[/img]» AGE HERE[/size]
[size=10][img]http://fontmeme.com/create.php?text=sexuality&name=SILVS___.ttf&size=10&style_color=404040[/img]» SEXUALITY HERE[/size]
[size=10][img]http://fontmeme.com/create.php?text=disorders&name=SILVS___.ttf&size=10&style_color=404040[/img]» DISORDER(S) HERE; include floor number[/size]
[size=10][img]http://fontmeme.com/create.php?text=personality&name=SILVS___.ttf&size=10&style_color=404040[/img]» PERSONALITY HERE[/size]
[size=10][img]http://fontmeme.com/create.php?text=history&name=SILVS___.ttf&size=10&style_color=404040[/img]» HISTORY HERE; optional[/size][/list][/list][/list]

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» Did you ever read that book To Kill A Mockingbird? You know the one about the little girl who gets herself into a shitload of trouble 'tryna get her neighbor to come out of his house? and her dad, Atticus Finch, who's some kind of hot shot lawyer in this tiny little town? Of course you have ... I'm pretty sure it's required in just about every high school English course in existence. Well growing up, my mom was obsessed with that book. So obsessed, in fact, that she'd go as far as naming her first and only daughter after its author. While I've undoubtedly failed to live up to the standard set by the infamous Harper Lee, I am Harper Leah Cohen... an eighteen year old fuck up whose only real accomplishment in life is the fact that she somehow - beyond the imagination of herself and every teacher she's ever had - managed to graduate high school... and well, ruin that by getting herself locked up in some psych ward out in the woods. Sad, right?
» I'm eighteen years old. Born December 16, 1994. WIP
» I am one hundred percent single and one hundred and three percent homosexual. Yes, you heard me right... I. like. girls. And before you ask, no, it's not a phase so don't even bother trying to give me that shit 'cos I'm most likely to do one of two things: a) ignore you or b) introduce your face to my fist. Moving on... I'm really not looking for any sort of relationship. It's not that I'm scared of commitment or anything, I just don't like feeling tied down to another person. Don't get me wrong, some of the girls I hang out with are hella cute, I'm just not a "love" kind of girl. Look at it this way: I'm not going to go out of my way to avoid a relationship if I feel something mutual between myself and another person, but I'm also not going to go out of my way to pursue it.
» You really want to get into this? First thing you should know is that I'm an insomniac; I don't choose not to sleep... I literally cannot fall asleep and when I do it's usually only an hour or two before I have to be back up for the day. It sucks. Directly associated with that is Oneirophrenia Syndrome; caused by... wait for it... a prolonged lack of sleep, which sucks equally as hard. I'm usually a pretty okay person, but these last few months have been pretty tough with getting ready for college and all, and the added stress on top of not getting more than one or two hours of sleep a night really started to add up. I'm here because I overdosed on some pills. My mom basically kicked me out after that and I guess since I didn't do a very good job at killing myself, the state decided it would be a good idea to send me here, where I can get the "support that I need". I really have no interest in leaving any time soon. I'm in no rush to be known around town as the pathetic attention-wh*re who couldn't even kill herself without fucking it up.
» PERSONALITY HERE
» HISTORY HERE; optional

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» I've never been in a relationship, so I can't really say I prefer one over the other... but Frank tells me I should fuck girls. He says I should fuck lots of girls. I never listen to him because in my own fucked up way I know that it's wrong, but it doesn't seem like all that bad of an idea. Maybe I'll get roomed with a nice sociopath. Fucking a crazy girl would be kind of fun, right?
» You know how normal - I hate using that word, but for conversation's sake, I'm going to go ahead and do it. Anyway, normal people always talk about that little voice in their head that tells them to do something, like ask Becky out to the school dance or finally hold hands with Steven? Pointless shit like that? Ok, now imagine that only ten times louder and the voices aren't just there when you're having trouble deciding which boy to ask out to the school dance... they're there all the time. And they're anything but helpful in my case. I'm here because I'm completely fucking insane, to put it simply. But I guess insanity's a hard thing to avoid when you've got to deal with sharing an already unstable mind with another person. He tells me his name is Frank - he never bothered to include a last name and I never bothered to ask. He first appeared when I was eight years old and being the shy kid that I was, I actually kind of enjoyed his company. Well, as you can imagine, my parents didn't take the news of their son losing his mind very well and years of therapy later, Frank's began to take over more and more. Sometimes it's hard to even hear myself think over his constant demands for me to kill myself. Which i've tried, by the way. Six times to be exact. And every failed attempt, his screams only get louder - more violent. And that is why I'm here.
» WIP. Brief explanation: Ben is, in a word, a strange person to talk to. He knows little of what's right and what's wrong and quite often fails to pick up on another person's discomfort. He's like a child almost with no filter on what comes out of his mouth. An innocent mind corrupted by a much darker force. He does anything Frank tells him to do without question; rarely considering the consequences of his actions.
» HISTORY HERE; optional

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» James Alexander Ross
"That's what they named me. I don't like it, shouldn't parents let their kids choose their own names I mean we are the ones that re going to have to live with it for our whole lives not the parents. Anyway, I don't go my James it's to formal call me Jimmy. Everyone else does, unless you can come up with something better."
» Twenty One
"Not quite close enough to the end of my life for me to be happy. Of course I might get lucky and be hit by a bus or run into a knife... Atleast I'm the legal drinking age and can vote. They won't let me drive because of that one incident were I drove my car over some dude. He had it coming. Oh and I don't drink either but it's nice to have the option. Don't get me wrong though I'm not one of those straight edge people, I'll smoke pretty much anything I can. As for the voting thing I guess that doesn't really matter considering the whole government and all politicians are all corrupt lying bastards out to get me and the rest of this country."
» Pansexual?
"I don't give much thought into my sexuality, I like who I like I don't need to label things. Depends what kind of mood I'm in but I'll hit on pretty much anyone, I've had sex with both genders abd dont realky had any preference. I've never had a real relationship though. I guess I don't trust people enough or have the energy to make that comitment. Hell it's not like people are really that interested in getting with me anyway It's been said that I'm not exacally easy to get along with. "
» Slight - moderate, paranoid schizophrenia and depression.
"They tell me I'm all messed up. Okay that not how they phrase it but it's true, I don't think I believe them they just want to keep me locked up here on the second floor of this prison so I can't tell everyone else what's going on. The are going to kill me in here one day I know it. I don't take any of the pills they give me; I hide them the nurses hate that. They hate that I'm. Not going to let them kill me. If anyones going to do it it's going to be me. Sometimes it's like I need to be alive so I can try and help people let them now how corrupted and fucked this world is, how no where is safe, the governments got eyes everywhere. But then I get hit with this crushing depression like nothing matters everyone things I'm insane and nothing I do matters. I tries to kill myself before they sent me here. I was living in my parents house my home found me in my room with a gun in my mouth after I had taking a bunch of drugs, that's where I went wrong with the drugs because I was so out of it I passes out when she walked in and never actually shot myself. But I would have, I OD'ed anyway so I would have died if it wasn't for my mother. I don't know why she would want me alive anyway. After all I'm a paranoid depressed freak that's most likely going to do nothing with my life but waste away in this place."
» Jimmy is hard for most people to understand considering he doesn't even understand himself a lot of the time. He his definitely eccentric not afraid to be hear and voice his opinions on just about ever thing and everyone. He is blunt and honest doesn't care about other peoples emotions or how they might react to something he says or does. Jimmy doesn't trust many strangers easily; he will talk to you until he deems you either a threat or a good person. If you make it past that phase and he likes you then you should be fine. He has a good heart and really doesn't want to hurt anyone. He is very creative but dark and is driven by fear a lot if the time. Jimmy isn't upbeat but somehow it's never a dull moment when he is in the room.
He tends to have a short temper and his moods are never quiet stable. His sentence could start out cheer and end in him talking about something complexly morbid or vice versa. He lashes out at people a lot for no apparent reason. Well there is a reason in his head but he can never fully explain to someone why he does what he does. Not only does he like to hurt other people when that's not a option hurting himself always seems to be a option and he finds rather interesting ways to do that, like climbing a tree or fence but of intentionally fall out of it or prevoking another patent ion tell they beat him up. Like a lot if people he has those off days every now and then were he really doesn't want to talk to anyone, usually caused by the depression and he just lays around, yet normal he tries to go and be as social as he can figuring might bear to fake a recover and be let go.

» Jimmy comes from a wealthy family of all successful well off people. It's no suprise that Jimmy is and always has been the outcast in his family of high archiving parents and his two brothers that have plenty of potencial to go on and run the family law firm. Growing up was hard for Jimmy not only battling with his own mental stability but all the pressure from his family and peers. He's a violent person and even in school he would beat up kids just for looking at him the wrong way. He once attacked a teacher with a pocket knife in highschool because he thought they were involved in some plot to kill him. Jimmy was naturally thrown out of school and arrested. He has never spend anytime in jail for anything he had done, his father is a great lawyer. However he was made to go to a bunch of therapist and such to try and help him. They couldn't help him since he refused to take the mess they gave him . His parents refused to fully accept there was anything wrong with their son and never made him get any serious help untill after a suicide attempt. So he just went on moving from school to school getting kicked out for various reasons usually for reaching violently towards others. Jimmy never went to collage highschool he said was bad enough, he can't work with other people so he just sold some of his artwork like paintings a such for money not that he needed to with rich parents that pitied him. They began taking his mental problems more seriously after he hit his own brother intentionally with his car and was arrested for attempting to burn down a government building. So they made him move back in with them for awhile before shipping him away.

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» "Scarlett Jakes, but don't call me that - call me Scar." Unusually Scarlett doesn't have a middle name. The reason being her mother wanted to call her Scarlett Maria Jakes and her father wanted to call her Scarlett Vixen Jakes. Neither of them would give in to the other and Scarlett Maria Vixen Jakes just sounded silly to them. So they just forgot the middle name. Her last name is, also unusually, her mother's. Mrs Jakes refused to take her husbands name being the feminist she is. Which was one of the arguments for Vixen; 'she got your last name!' The first name Scarlett was the name of the women who set up her parents in their first year at work together. She moved away to Australia and they lost contact with her before they could ask her to be maid of honour at the wedding. So instead, they gave the name to thier first born.
» "I am eighteen. I can do stuff now, legally anyway." It was a rather sunny August evening when Scarlett was born, her mother having been in labour for two days. Not that little baby Scar cared. No, she carried on her wailing for so long, the nurses had to separate her from her mother, to give the deprived women a chance to sleep. The ninth of August was certainly a loud day for Scarlett and has been ever since. Her parties were never very docile, and at eighteen they seem to have gotten worse.
» "I am single, currently anyway, and like girls and boys. Simple really." 'Most people like her for the chase, but she's one to wait.' Another thing she over heard about herself. Guys do like her. She's one of the guys, likes sports, and pink isn't exactly her top choice of color. She's one to skateboard or play football and isn't one to be afraid of a little dirt. Most of the guys see her as just a friend- some don't see her as anything. So flings are definitely her thing but long term relationships with guys may be out of the equation. To add to that Scarlett isn't actually choosy when it comes to gender. Boys or girls. P or V. She likes either. Scarlett does want a long term relationship with someone but she's waiting and doesn't think she's met the right person yet.
» "Me? I've just given up and let down but failed at falling down." Scarlett has been admitted into Renfield for her depression which has been engulfing her since she was thirteen years old. From that, twenty-eight attempts at suicide, of which only four came close to working, landed her on the first-floor of the psychiatric hospital. Thirteen of the attempts happened when she was fourteen and the one that came close to working she managed to pull off a lie; she said she was cutting some bread and she slipped and the knife cut her wrists. That was all that kept her from being introduced into a hospital then. She planned and when she was sixteen she started again, finally overdosing on some pills but was found by some girls who called an ambulance and she lived. The third attempt that came close to working was when she threw herself off a bridge, sadly the bridge wasn't high enough to do any damage except for a broken ankle and a canvas of bruises. Finally she had had enough of failing and she decided she would do something that surely couldn't go wrong; it would have worked if her sister hadn't walked in on her with the gun cocked and aimed at her brains. Immediately she was sent to Renfield.
» If you wanted to some Scarlett up in a word you wouldn't be able to, but the word 'mess' might come close to perfection. Because that is what she is; a mess. She's lost and confused and feels as if she can never do anything right. wip

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» Charlotte Pavelick. Pronounced Pavlick.
" I've always hated my last name because it looks like I lick the pavement or some shit. I've got no middle name. Never had one, and never will get one. I think they're stupid, because you already have a name and a last name. What else do you need? Three freakin' more names to be called by? That reminds me.. Never shorten my name. I hate it. I don't want to be called Char, or whatever the hell you come up with. My name is Charlotte. Don't shorten it, or make it longer. Simple as that. "
» 19 going on 20.
" I wish I was older. 19 is such an immature age. You're still a teenager, and I don't want to be a teenager. I want to be an adult for god's sake. In my messed up little mind, I'm 20 at least. I just want to turn 21 already and get it over with, so I can be an adult. No, I don't want to be a teenager forever. Those who want to be forever 16.. I hate those kind of people. "
» Heterosexual, straight, whatever you guys are calling it now.
" I've never had sex with a girl in my entire life. Sure, I've looked at boots and butts of others of the same gender, but I've never laid my hands on those boobs and butts. I prefer guys. Always have, and I think I always will. You can call it whatever you want, but I'm straight. Lately, there's been so many words for just one frickin' thing. Just call it straight, or heterosexual. That'll make me happy if there was one word, for one thing. For a few minutes anyways. It's not like a girl or guy would date me anyways. Face it, I'm ugly. I blame part of it on me, the rest on my parents. Oh and if you're wondering, no I'm not a virgin. I lost my card ages ago. "
» Bipolar disorder, slight sleeping disorder, and ADHD.
" I'm a messed up person, I know. First of all, I'm Bipolar. Which means I have horrible mood swings-and worse. It affects everything I do. As if I didn't sleep well before because being Bipolar does that, I have a sleeping disorder. So I'm practically walking around like a zombie if it turns bad. Sometimes I sleep well for at least 8 hours, but other times I only get 4-6 hours of sleep. You need at least 8-10 hours in order to feel healthy and all of that crap. Well, I've managed to survive on a measly 5 hours of sleep. And if that wasn't bad enough, I was oh so lucky to be stuck with ADHD through my teenage years, all the way to the future of being an adult. Let me tell you this, come 'round children, that this isn't a life you want. Having ADHD is tough, really tough. Why? Well I have a seriously short attention span, meaning I usually get scolded from not listening. Even though I get let off the hook sometimes, the stupid staff members expect me to pay more attention. That's why I hate them. So when I'm not off in my own little world, I'm bouncing off the walls due to hyperactivity. Bipolar and ADHD... not a good mix. I get pretty horrible, meaning I scream and shout when I'm angry or bawl my eyes out when I'm depressed. I'm usually depressed nowadays. And then when I'm seriously happy for no odd reason.. I get pretty annoying I have to admit. Since I'm not one of those schizophrenic maniacs, I room on the second floor. I pity the people who room on the third floor though. I could never know how they'd do it.. Plus the idea of 'seeing people' and all those crazy sights that the people see.. It scares me. I've tried killing myself before, but my ignorant 15 year old brother found me in the bathroom, trying to take the cap off some pills. Yeah, I was trying to overdose. What else do you think I was going to do? Fucking take some pills for my fucking headaches? "

» Bubbly, easily angered, and curious.

" Being bipolar and having ADHD has messed up my 'personality' big time. When I was a child, I used to be a quiet, shy kid. I knew that no one liked me. Because, well I didn't like them either. I was often in my own little world, since I hated the one I lived in. It's just that, life is so cruel.. It fits the people who live on here perfectly. Of course, now that I've been diagnosed with ADHD and Bipolar disorders I turned.. into a different person. Instead of being a shy, quiet loner girl like before I turned bubbly and excitable. Of course this included excitable in a.. you must have a dirty mind, so use it. People strongly disliked me, and when they knew my disorders.. Hah, that ruined me. They were afraid of me also. I could turn savage in just a matter of seconds. To shorten it, I'm like a ticking time bomb. I get easily angered quickly. Stole my sandwich? I'll try to hurt you by either slapping you, or seriously injuring you with.. Something. One last thing.. I'm extremely curious. I just need to know everything that's happening inside the building. If I don't know something.. I get pissed off. Because of this, I usually sneak around the place. Yep, I'm nosy. Sometimes it pays off, other times it doesn't. "
» { Might not make one.... I need my muse to come back. }

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» Alexander Hart
» Sixteen, awful young. I know.
» That would be a little bit more complicated that you would think.
» DISORDER(S) Alexander diagnosis don't exactly live up to when you met him. He had a severe case of trauma, induced social phobia and mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder, to put it simply. He lives on the second floor, but they rotate him to the third floor sometimes when he gets out of control
» Oh Alexander. Where to start. Well first off he hates himself, he is convinced he's ugly and dirty. Which leads him to take 3 shows a day. He doesn't like touching people period, it makes him tense up and freak out. Sometimes even puke. But no one tries to touch him anyway. He doesn't trust anyone, he doesn't understand why he is here with these weirdos. When you get to know him, and when he does trust you he is very sweet and compassionate. He does like to comfort others, but not right now. He's still too confused right now.
» HISTORY
This it the interesting/sad part. Of course, it was bound to be told right? Turns out he had been befriended by two boys, or men, both in their early twenties, the eldest being 23, nine years older than Alexander was at the time. The two boys gave him a sense of reprieve from his normal social outcast life. They took him under their wing and introduced him to a whirlwind world of drugs and violence. The sex, however, came later when they both raped him in the eldest boy’s car. Then, as though nothing had happened they sent him home, promising to see him the next day. The next morning when they saw him again, they did it again. Then they both took off; they had gotten what they wanted. Alexander was too scared and ashamed to tell anyone because he believed it was his fault, as most rape victims do. He thought he couldn’t tell anyone because they wouldn’t believe him because he thought boys can’t be raped. He kept it inside for months where it festered. He became fanatical with the fact that he was ‘dirty’ and developed the need to wash all the time. It got worse and worse, until his parents began to notice. They were completely ignorant to not notice their son having multiple showers and that he was afraid to interact with other human beings. They confronted him and he had a complete breakdown. They, unintentionally, made him realise the full extent of what had happened.

He thought it was ridiculously ironic that the one thing his parents were completely against had occurred and he began laughing. His laughter soon morphed into an insane, hysterical laughter that creeped everyone out. He retreated from society, afraid that everyone was out to hurt him. Once in the hospital the laughter dissolved into an uncontrollable rage, and then into hysterical weeping. Everyone was afraid he had lost his mind and he was forced into therapy where they discovered he had been sexually assaulted. When the therapy proved pointless, considering his mental state, he was admitted into mental institution. It was in here that they hoped he could begin to actually get better. All that and they weren’t actually sure of how suicidal he currently was and they didn’t want to risk anything. With parents so rich I thought they had taken the easy, coward’s way out by committing their son to a mental institution. But they were the kind of people that considered because they lived in such high society, it would be socially unacceptable to have a son who’d been raped and who’d had a mental breakdown. Hell, they even had to come to grips with the fact that their son had had sex (as unwilling as it was) with a man! So Alexander was dropped off and forgotten at the institute.

Sat upon the thin mattress of her first-floor bed, Harper's eyes were heavy with sleep but, as usual, refused to close. It had been two weeks, three days, six hours, and twenty four minutes since she'd arrived - precisely the kind of thing you had time to calculate when you weren't busy sleeping. Sometime during her two night stay in the hospital her mother had come to tell her she wasn't welcome back home. She didn't stay long after that. Just signed a few papers and carried on her way. But unless the doctors had been able to convince the bitter woman to pack up a few of the eighteen-year-old's belongings [which was unlikely], all Harper had to her name were the clothes she was wearing, half a pack of cigarettes [they didn't let her keep the lighter... some kind of precautionary mesure they took with all of their suicidal patients], and a battery-drained, out of service cellphone.

She sat there a few minutes longer, and when sleep didn't come, the brunette let out and exasperated sigh and glanced toward the clock. It was a little after noon and from the looks of it, a pretty nice day. Forcing herself to her feet, she started for the door. First floor patients as herself had quite a bit more freedom. They were mostly the suicidals and the druggies. The staff didn't have to worry so much about them trying to harm any of the other patients - well, other than themselves. "Good afternoon, Ms. Harper" her thoughts were interrupted by the overly-cheerful voice of one of the nurses, holding half a glass of water in one hand and a little white cup containing three pills in the other. "When are you guys going to start trusting me with a cup of water in my own room? I mean really, what am I gonna do? drown myself?" her voice was more playful than harsh and the corners of her lips upturned into the beginnings of a smile as she washed down the pills with a quick gulp of water. Of course she could probably break the cup and use it to slit a nice little gash in her wrist, but she wasn't going to bring that up. "I don't make the rules." the little blonde woman responded before collecting the cup from the girl and letting her on her way outside. That was kind of an all-around rule. No pills... no going outside. And in a place like this, where you only had so many hours in the day allotted to spending time outside of your room, you took whatever you could get.

The medicine hadn't been making her feel any better - if anything, it was having quite the opposite effect. She didn't know whether it was the lack of sleep, the fact that her mother had kicked her out, or the antidepressants the doctors had been shoving down her throat, but she was having more suicidal thoughts than ever. To the point where she couldn't simply look at an object without thinking of all the ways she could use it to hurt herself.

Glancing toward the sky for a brief moment as she stepped outside, she didn't look around much as she marched to her usual spot under the little maple sapling (anything taller could be used to scale the fence) and sat in a patch of dried grass.

| o~o ignore everything about this post. I didn't bother trying to edit anything out so yeah, that's why it sucks |

Ignoring most of what was occurring around her, Harper's gaze shifted to the now-occupied patch of dried grass beside her as a man a few years older than herself sat down, introduced himself, then wasted no time jumping into conversation. It took her a moment to realize he wasn't just talking to himself. "Well... it's an interesting thought." she began; her lips bearing a slight upturn as she glanced toward the man. "On one hand, you've got people who might argue that it's no more than a decorated term for murder, which technically isn't wrong..." she explained, keeping little eye contact with the stranger as she glanced toward the ground. "but on the other hand you've got those who might pose the question of whether or not you can really murder someone given their personal consent." She gave a light shrug before shifting her glazed eyes toward Jimmy. "It's really just a matter of personal opinion - religious beliefs could come into play as well, I suppose." Her eyes darted toward the grass for a brief moment before rising again; her previous smile appearing at her lips once more, only fainter this time. "Why do you ask?" she raised an eyebrow, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Almost expecting the answer she got [because, why else would he be asking?] Harper gave a soft smile, though it contained little trace of emotion. "Looks like we have something in common." She mused; raking the tips of her fingers through the grass at her side. "I was at a party, locked myself in the bathroom, took a handful of whatever they had in the medicine cabinet and washed it down with half a bottle of booze." She nodded, taking into consideration his point about this place only making them worse. She couldn't really disagree. "It's kind of ironic, actually. I'm here because of some pills, and every morning one of the nurses comes into my room with a little cup filled with more pills." She gave another empty smile. "I could lend you some, but they keep me under pretty close watch; making sure I don't throw them up or hide 'em under the mattress or anything." The girl's shoulders rose and fell in the shallow motions of a shrug as she gave Jimmy a somewhat apologetic look. "I'm Harper." She spoke, remembering she hadn't had time to introduce herself when he had. "And if you don't mind me asking, Jimmy... why are you here?" she rose an eyebrow, glancing from the ground and back to the man that sat at her side. "I don't think I've seen you much around the first floor."

Harper returned his smile, but it quickly disappeared as he explained his reason for coming here. Obviously he hadn't gone through with it, but she couldn't imagine dying so violently. Nor did she think she'd ever have the courage to put a gun in her mouth. She supposed that meant the statistics were right... in their cases, at least. She couldn't remember where, but she'd read somewhere that men tended to pick more violent methods of suicide over women. Then she thought about the mess... the blood. She thought about what it would be like walking into the scene; unknowingly opening the door to a sight that would change you forever. Growing increasingly uncomfortable with the mental images her mind was producing, she quickly pushed the thoughts from mind. "Doesn't it piss you off? How they act like they care by dropping you off here... y'know, to get the 'help that you need'; then they just leave?" The brunette mumbled; surprised by how easily she was finding it to connect with this complete stranger. "My mom only came by once while I was in the hospital and it was to tell me I wasn't welcome back home when I got better." she rolled her eyes, leaning back so that her weight rested on the palms of her hands, which were pressed against the grass. "And what does that even mean 'get better'? Is there some magical moment when we just feel ok about everything? When our mind isn't cluttered with thoughts about killing ourselves or how fucked up all of this really is?" She continued on, obviously upset and almost unaware of Jimmy's presence as she rambled on about everything that had been on her mind since the moment she had been admitted into this place.

She sat forward a moment and ran her hands over her face. "I'm sorry," her tired eyes glanced toward Jimmy and an obviously forced smile popped onto her lips. "A toast..." she began, holding an imaginary glass into the air in a joking manner. "To having cunts for mothers and being deemed forever and irreparably insane by society."

[sorry this took so long, I had to watch Hell's Kitchen to see who won lol. Now I'm off to watch the Masterchef finale so I probably won't post again until like 10]