unplugged

i laid on a white hospital bed in a white hospital room. the only color besides the white that consumed the room was the red blood that lay beside me in a bag. a women came over and pulled it from my skin. 

i fell back into the darkness.

i believe it has been just a few days since my last blackout. since the doctor told me i was slowly crumbling into pieces. since the doctor told me i was broken and could never be fixed. since i realized i'd be better off dead.

i started hyperventilating yesterday. i couldn't breathe. i couldn't live anymore. i simply expired. i remember so vividly falling apart right there on the bed, gritting my teeth at the pain that spread through my body. i remember nobody being there for me. i remember all of everything. how i was teased. how i was bullied for being a 'nerd'. how i wasn't average. how i needed to be cured. how i should kill myself. how my parents left me. ashamed. how i had no one. i remember all of everything. so vividly, clearly. 

the doctor said i was dead for a full fifteen minutes. i was dead. i was gone from this world. 

when i came back to life, i remember my heavy breaths, i remember staring at the walls for endless moments in the room, i remember the pain i felt in my head, my body. it pulsed with pain.  i remember being alone.

about three days later i heard the door squeak open. the doctor found me, surprised that i was alive. 

i was still immobile.

but i was alive.

i gasped as the doctor stuck a needle into my head. He pulled up on the syringe, pulling blood from it. i was stuck. 

he left shortly after, and all i could do was watch the white wall, immobile, not average, different, just like me.

he came back a day later. he said it was a miracle. he said i was cured.

but if i was cured, why can't i move?

but if i was cured, why do i still feel this way? 

I woke up with a start. I gazed around in the room that I was in. Brown desk, blue walls, brown bookshelf. I was home. But something felt off. I suddenly felt the itch to do things I wasn't supposed to. Things that nobody was allowed to do until you were 25. 

What was wrong with me? I can't be any different now. I've worked so hard to be average. 

Realizing I had school in just a few hours, I pulled myself up out of my bed and got dressed.

This was going to be a long day.

"What's the answer, Miss.Pierce?" my math teacher asked.

A feeling of ecstasy filled me as I answered.

"23532"

The class laughed at me.

Was I wrong??

"Miss.Pierce, I was asking for number three." he tapped his foot impatiently.

"Sir, I think you calculated wrong." I said unconsciously.

As I gasped at my own words, murmurs filled the room with judgement and fear.

Fear that I wasn't average anymore. 

"Miss.Pierce, detention."

I immediately fired back, "Sorry, just thought that you would've wanted the correct answer." 

What was wrong with me?

As the teacher got even more red, I flushed. I picked up my things and ran out of the room. 

Still I could feel the aroma of judgement around me. People staring, looking, watching for my differences. A thousand eyes surrounding me, driving me to the brink of insanity.