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If you ask me how I’m doing I would say I’m doing just fine. But that’s not true at all.

My mom is a cocaine addict, my dad’s a schizophrenic, my twin sister is dead, and I had an abortion three months ago at seven weeks. Yeah my life is far from “just fine”, but I don’t want people to see what’s behind this smile.

                I’m Ronnie Miller. I’m seventeen years young. I have long, full, blond hair, green eyes, five foot six. I’m pretty popular at school but thankfully for the right reasons. I’m captain cheerleader, president of the debate team, and head of the school newspaper. I have a lot of friends but none which I tell my personal life stories to.

                The only two people who know my story are my sister, who was found dead, and my boyfriend, who’s been missing the last 4 months. I miss them a lot, I can’t talk to anyone like I talked to them.

                My sister Lydia was beautiful. We looked exactly alike except for her hair was a nice chocolate brown. She was tall like me, same features, everything. We got along like no sisters do, and it meant the world to both of us, because in our house; you need everyone that you can.

                She was found dead in the field behind our house. There is one huge oak tree that is in the middle and it’s a beautiful scene, but that day; the scene was out of a horror movie. She was hanging there from one of the ropes we kept in the shed on the other side of the house, and a daisy in her hand. I was the one who found her.

                I think she suspected that I would be the one who would find her because she had the daisy in her hand. When we were little the field would have patches of daisy flowers and we would lay there and talk like we were eachother’s imaginary friends, because whatever we would say in the daisy patches, would stay there. “Daisy” was our get-away word. In this case, she really did get-away.

                Let me back up for a second to tell you a little bit more about our family. My mom has been doing cocaine since I was born and my dad had had schizophrenia since I was 5. My mom sleeps all day and doesn’t care for us and just walks around the house like a freakin’ lost puppy. My dad is in a asylum in Connecticut. Neither of my parents miss the other, mostly because they don’t remember each other.

I used to make an effort to go to the hospital my father is at 2 or 3 times a month; take the train, eat, go there, and come back. But not anymore. Things have gotten too bad with my mother and now my sister is dead, 3 weeks tomorrow, and my boyfriend is missing, 4 months yesterday. What am I supposed to do, I can’t concentrate on schoolwork, my priorities aren’t straight anymore, and my mind is going crazy.

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       On my way to school earlier, it felt like everyone was watching me. The bus driver, the guy at the diner, the animals walking with their owners through the park; everyone. I know they aren’t, because no one knows anything about my family, but they watch me as if they know every little detail.

                My friend Samantha, the editor of the newspaper at school, kept making sure I was okay, like yes I’m okay, stop asking. The girls in the bathroom smoking out the window standing on the sink kept asking me if I want a hit, they know I would never. The people I sit at lunch with; didn’t even eat their lunch, they just watched me eat mine.

                And then I woke up.

                My name is Julia Robertson. I’m 18 years old. I killed my sister. Put my cocaine in my mother’s coffee so she would overdose. I never met my father. I’m a schizophrenic and I’ve been in Lake Bellevue state asylum the last 6 years.

kailene