I am not crazy. That is what I tried to say; what I tried to get across. It was an accident. That is what I tried to prove. No one believed me-trusted me. They didn't think that someone like me could have feelings for anyone but myself; therefore, they expected me to be the monster I was born as. 

        My name is Astrid Roberts, and I am not crazy. I broke down, and in turn, it resulted in something fatal, and therefore I was sent to a mental facility. I am a 16-year-old who has been locked away since I was 12. All because of an accident.

        I am not crazy, and everyone knows. I am not insane, but no one seems to care. I am not mad, but it doesn't matter. No matter what I do to prove myself, I will never be free. I am not acceptable in society. I will never be allowed to show my face again.

        When I was younger, there was one person that actually seemed to care. He never spoke, and he never needed to.

   Everything he wanted to say was in every smile he made, every dimple he shared. His name was Gray. He was the boy that sat in the back, never said a word, never was in trouble. He said so much without moving his mouth. His eyes said everything.

        One day, I was sitting by the fence on the other side of the playground, eating my lunch. Gray came and sat next to me. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to because the comfort of another person actually acknowledging my existence was enough. 

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        None of what I just wrote makes any connection with the reason why I am writing this. 

        I am writing this to keep me sane. I am writing this to help me cope. This facility, this box, that I am in is nothing more than a trap for me, to make me insane.

        The society I was born into has shaped me into a person with no love for myself or others, but instead, hope that could fill oceans. Hope that people could love me. Hope that people could understand me. That hope was fueled that day when Gray sat next to me. 

        That simple act of kindness gave me hope. Hope for society to treat me like a human, rather than a monster. Instead, they locked me away for four years.

        Here, in this asylum, we scream. We scream, hoping someone will hear our cries. The other patients locked in here always yell. It is hard to sleep because It is so loud. I think they kill whoever is loudest.

        Ever since the new government took over, the sick and old are killed or locked away.They promised us Freedom, but they shut us away. They promised us equality, and they discriminate.

        It is hard to live in a world where you are discriminated against. Not just for the color of my skin, but also for my unnatural abilities.

    Growing up in Birmingham, Alabama, is hard for a girl of color. Especially if that girl accidentally killed someone, using an unnatural ability.  

I will close this entry for today. This isn't even half of what is yet to come.