Some people get “I love you” flowers, some people flowers after a performance, some people get congratulations flowers. I have never gotten “I love you'' flowers, I have never gotten performance flowers, I have never gotten congratulations flowers. You know what I have gotten? “I’m sorry you have a dead dad and mom” flowers. Flowers are nothing more than gifts from people who don’t know how to comfort a fifteen year old girl who is now just another orphan Annie. I’m not completely an orphan, my aunt is taking me in. Of course, another knock at the door. I swear to god if I open that door and see someone holding a bouquet of flowers I will smash the vase over either their head or my own. I opened the door slowly and as the door opened wider a bouquet of white roses. I have two options; take the flowers, say thank you, and then shut the door or take the vases and smash it over my head or the person holding the flowers but they seem pretty innocent here. I did just swear to god that I would choose the second option so I don’t really have a choice. WIthout thinking or thinking too much I grabbed the face and smashed it over my head. I passed out and that’s why I had to tell you that part of the story in past tense. I don’t know one hundred percent what happened next but I do know that I am now sitting in a hospital bed with an extreme headache listening to my aunt talk to the doctors. I should also let you know that this is the fourth time I have “accidently” injured myself. I think my aunt and the people in the emergency room are starting to realize that these aren’t “accidents.” Do I have a death wish? I don’t think so. I mean I do think that my life would be a lot easier if I was six feet under the ground but does that mean I want to kill myself? Only God knows at this point. It would feel good to put a bullet through my head or wrap a rope around my neck but I can’t do that to my aunt, she already lost her sister and her sister’s husband who she had been friends with since the third grade. I don’t want her to lose me too. “What about a psychiatric hospital?” Did my aunt just say “What about a psychiatric hospital”? What the hell? She better not be talking about me. I refuse to go to a hospital for phycos. Is everyone forgetting that both of my parents are currently sitting in two little vase looking things as ashes? My life is not exactly easy right now. A whole psycho hospital because I hit myself with a vase, stabbed my hand, burned the skin of my legs, and ate foods I knew I would have an allergic reaction to. Meds would be fine, even some weekly therapy, but a whole ass hospital is where I draw a big black permanent marker line. I miss my parents. I refuse to go to a hospital for people who are crazy. Yet again my brain became blurred and the next thing I know I’m standing in the middle of a Target in a hospital gown. I must have gone home at some point because I also had my backpack. I felt naked and gross in my hospital gown so I decided to buy some clothes, thank god for my backpack which held my wallet. I bought some gray sweatpants, a light blue sweatshirt, and a pair of off brand Birkenstocks. I changed in the bathroom, which smelled horrific so I plugged my nose. I walked out of the Target planning to go back to my house and find my aunt, then it hit me. The psychiatric hospital. The moment I go back I will be dragged, kicking and screaming, into a hospital meant for crazy people. I am not crazy. I turned around and walked back into the Target, I continued walking until I ended up in the bathroom, I disregarded every bit of disgusting public bathroom information I have ever learned, and I sat on the floor, in a stall, sobbing. I cried so hard the tears started burning my skin, I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe, and then I pulled out my phone to call my mom. I don’t have a mom to call, my hand went weak and my phone dropped onto the ground. After a while, I walked out of the Target bathroom, then I walked past the flowers. Those stupid little flowers, the flowers that represent my mom and dad’s nonexistent breathes, that represent my dad not being able to give me a hug anymore, my mom not being able to make me laugh while I cry, they represent the scars down my body, they represent that stupid pyscatric hospital. Suddenly my head began to pound and I don’t know what happened next. All I know is that I was sitting in a pile of flower petals covered in my own blood while the police asked me to stand up. I hate flowers.

Haven Behavioral Hospital of Eastern Pennsylvania

Patient: Alexa Mason

Admitted: 12 June 2015, 3:05 pm

Alexa Mason was seemingly triggered by the floral section in Target. She began destroying the flowers, she threw them on the floor, and she ripped them apart. She used thorns and stems to injure herself. She was crying and screaming while doing this. She is clearly a danger to herself and others. She has recently suffered the loss of both her parents in a traumatic accident which I believe was the more deep rooted trigger. She sobs for hours and asks for her parents in the night. I believe she has deeply rooted trauma and chemical imbalances that she began to show signs of when her parents died. Her psychotherapy starts today.