I’ve never experienced the feeling of being under hypnosis. Well, at least I don’t think I have, yet for some reason I can picture exactly what it feels like. Your mind and your soul are constantly being forbidden to take one step of independence. Your freedom is captured, but yet, you don’t want to do anything about it. You’re brainwashed. You’re a new person. You’re taken over by a power that’s bigger than you’ll ever become. It’s like being in love with a rebel; you want him so bad, but no one else wants you to be with him. The question that comes to mind is: who would want to be controlled like that? I did. I wanted it, and I still do now.

People tell me all the time that I’m beautiful. They say that I can get who ever I want at any time of day, but I always refuse to listen. Compliments are stupid. They don’t make me feel any better about myself, so I hate to receive them, which makes me hate giving them, so I don’t. The strange thing is, people still like me despite my stand-offish personality. They want to be around me constantly, and I don’t know why. Sure, I look presentable, but I never thought that looks were most of what counted when getting to know someone. That fact alone makes me even more depressed.
When I was sixteen, I was clinically diagnosed with Narcissism. It’s a different kind of personality disorder that people consider a typical attitude problem that can be fixed with a change of mind and heart, but it’s not that for me. Narcissism makes me severely over confident and conceded. It makes me love the way I look, and it causes me to feel more powerful than everyone else I come across.
In a way, I’m exactly like the Greek God, Narcissus. One day, he looked into a pool of water, and upon seeing his own reflection he fell in love with himself. He ended up dying there without any food, water, or resources to keep him alive because he couldn’t stay away from that beautiful person in the pool. I feel lucky to still be alive. I try to stay away from mirrors because, like Narcissus, I fall in love with what I see. It’s not right; it’s disgusting.
People don’t believe me at first when I tell them about the disorder, and when they do they finally give in, they just laugh and tell me that it is not a real problem. People assume that I, being narcissistic, would be happy with the disorder itself, but it’s a curse. No one is good enough. No one satisfies me. No one fulfills my hunger. My mind orders me to keep away from the feeling of love towards any being on earth. I’m only allowed to fall in love with one person, and I have. I’ve fallen in love with an emotional vampire; myself.

“Now, Amelia, I want you to think about you’re dream lifestyle. Think about something or someone that will make you happy; a boyfriend or maybe a husband. Try as hard as you can. We have all the time in the world.”
“I see myself being with a handsome prince; one who cares for me as much as I care for him.”
“See! There you go, Amelia, you’re being considerate of others as well as for yourself! Great job, Amelia, we are making progress.”
After a full year of psychological therapy, I’ve learned the art of lying to my shrink to satisfy her. I never make progress; I just make up the progress. My will to actually attempt to participate in Dr. Hale’s silly brain exercises is virtually non-existent. This disorder won’t go away with her help, and I’ve known that since I started attending these pointless meetings every week.
“It’s Mia, by the way, Dr. Hale.” I said. “I’ve told you that multiple times since I’ve been coming here.” She shook her head and smiled her generous but frightening smile. All her teeth were out of place, and her hair looked like a wig from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”
“And I’ve told you multiple times that Amelia is a beautiful name. Embrace it, Amelia. Don’t scare away the real you.” She closed her lips and tried to give me a sweet look. It didn’t work for her.
Little did she know; the real me is Mia, and I’ve been called Mia ever since I was born. I don’t even know who this Amelia Stone is. It’s funny because my mother named me Amelia with the intention of just calling me by a nickname my whole life. Why not just name me Mia then? That was kind of stupid on her part.
These are the dilemmas I go through daily; complaining about other people and what they do wrong. This is why I can’t fall in love. I want to so badly, but a person needs that feeling of attraction and satisfaction in order to be with someone else. That feeling has escaped me completely. Being so young, I haven’t ever been in love. Even before the disorder entered my body, I hadn’t felt that puppy love feeling most kids feel on their first day of kindergarten. Love is the thing I want the most, but it’s the only thing I can never get. It’s as if I’m trapped in my own body. It’s a little unfair.

“Okay, Mia, this is it.” Mom handed me the keys to her new Mercedes Benz. As she dangled them in front of my face, I stood there, shocked.
“Mom, are you serious?” She nodded. “I can drive this to school? No, I can’t. I’ll make a scene.”
“That’s what you want for your first day at a new school, Mia. Come on, you should know. You’ve been to what, four different high schools now?” I laughed and yanked the keys from her hand.
Mom was the only one who could make me laugh. I really did love her; not in a fiery and sexy sensation kind of way, but in a family way. She’s been my rock ever since my dad died. Coincidentally, he suffered from clinical depression, and he overdosed on drugs. Mom told me it was a complete accident and that it wasn’t suicide, but I know the truth. I know how it feels to want to kill myself. It is by far the worst feeling in the world. The only reason I stay alive is for my mom. She is the only person I care about, and I would never want to lose that trust with her. She trusts me to stay alive for her, and I will for as long as I can. Still, it’s harder than it appears.