It wasn't until I was sitting in the chair facing the wall and they asked what my full name - the middle included, that I fully thought about who I was.

"Sydney Ann Eloise Jones,"

"When's your birthday?"

"June 23rd," I breathed deep.

"Was your first encounter with Emerson Porter in group therapy?"

"Yes."

The monitors started to beat, unethically, and I wondered what that meant, granted I had only known her as Emerson, at the time. The whispers had already started behind me, though, but they offed the notion that I was lying to a faulty breath - could have been a mistake within the machinery.

"Have you ever had any other encounter with Emerson Porter besides the group therapy?"

"No."

There was a quick moment between the next question, a few heavy breathes and unsatisfactory grunts, "Sydney, have you ever interacted with Emerson outside of the group activities and dinner?" I imagined all the men and nurses gathering together to surround the computer, looking back and forth from the computer to me, facing the wall. The man who spoke was calm even though he spoke sternly, I pictured him as a good guy.

"No."

I felt the heat of their faces turn from left to right once those final words were spoken.

"Is this your first admission into Young Gardens Psychiatric?"

I softly chuckled to the question, and soon regretted it when the disapproving mutters amounted, "no"

"Scientifically, perfection isn't real. Those who walk with us under the same sky, treading the same dirt that's in different areas at different time zones - are those who have made decisions in their lifetime, deeming them imperfect. Camaraderie will vanish. That is to be expected, waving to it as it goes gently into the goodnight shouldn't be frowned upon and shouldn't be perceived as such - wrongful. Perfection will forever be an unrealistic, ideal to those who refuse to view the world for what it actually is. And it can be ruthless stepping into the world outside of your own making, forcing yourself to swim when truthfully, you haven't learned. Impulses will turn red and you will begin to panic without even knowing you've already began to drown...."

Perfection has killed within these walls, while the bright yellow sun was shining, happily, swimming in the great blue ocean above. But even a darkness follows the children around, masquerading itself as something we think we need, while simultaneously drowning us every chance it gets proving that once again, brightness can deceive.

Yael wasn't much older than me when she fell between the separations of the bridge, shaking the ground underneath out from under our feet. The one we had come to know as so steady, she was the one with the smooth smile who'd sell door-to-door, out of date, Girl Scout cookies. The one, once everyone discovered, Miss. Patrick was a Mrs. and Mrs. Patrick had a daughter.

Pretty and strong, she was.

"Have you ever been to Disney?" It was actually a cloudy day, that drug grey clouds overhead tempting to flood the gates and Jo had went testing so I was left to find my own way to school.

"I've never wanted to go," I chuckled in second hand embarrassment for her - she clearly needed something to do.

"It's beyond magical," she gushed and I examined her in terror of her idea of magic. I stopped in my tracks before continuing to the end of the road, knowing she'd pause with me. Although, she stopped it was a few steps behind me and I stood in shock before turning to her debating if I had something nice to actually say.

I chuckled and began to move again, okay, yes Disney is magical, but no, I spoke once again - I've never been.

So, how does one who once believed in the magic, fireworks that brighten the night sky, and unwavering cheer, fall into darkness without letting it conquer their soul but allowing it to suffocate their existence?

"Color coded blindness is constituted to self-perception. The perception of what you dictate as happiness and darkness is the same as allowing the devil to overpower God's voice suffocating your existence, drowning you out and leaving you to rot." Yael was wise beyond her years, she demanded attention in this room full of sophomores.

"More often than not we submit ourselves into a darkness we don't belong and it becomes the only thing we think about," Yael walked across the front of the classroom before proceeding with her speech. "So why do I say this? And not take my own advice?" It was clearly a rhetorical question, but she paused as if she was waiting for someone to answer.

"Because I'm human. Because I am imperfect. Because I don't have it all together, because I'm not dead yet so I still have the time to grow, and waking up every morning fighting those same relentless demons is strength and it is growth. But what am I really scared of?

She answered with her mind - it was her vicious thoughts and her pressuring demons, most of us, though, assumed she'd fear death.

I don't think Yael lost herself in the darkness, I doubt she suffocated, but rather than mistaking pink bunnies as pleasantries she lost herself in the bottom of expensive, stolen bottles. She forced herself to watch as her heart sank to the bottom, swinging back and forth on its way down, mocking her.

"Magical things happen at Disney, I imagine I could jump off the rides and begin to fly," she was clearly delusional but she chirped on about what mattered most to her, she didn't know that her days within these gates were numbered.

Magic happens within the walls, too.

There was one last question they asked before the test ended, "Did you murder Emerson Porter?" Now, that is a magical question, I was expecting pixie dust and little fairies to start flying around the room to take me away to Neverland - that didn't happen.

I straightened my back in the chair so maybe they could hear me more clearly, "I, Sydney Jones, did not kill Emerson Porter."

This is 'yes' or 'no' question, Mrs. Jones, they said. So they asked again and wanted one of the correct responses, "No"

No, I did not kill Emerson Porter.