What Doesn't Kill You, Makes You Stronger.

Rated Mature in the case of detailed and gory flashbacks

Pain
Suffering
Damage

You're here for a reason. You've been hurt, whether or the inside or out, and you need to be fixed. They say there's something wrong with you, and whether you admit it or your pride gets in the way, you'll have to face the truth eventually. But what is truly wrong with you, may not be what you think.

Welcome to the Slate Therapy & Runaway Center, where there's emotional and physical therapy to be had, any day and hour you can name. Where you're put with others like you, though you may not choose to believe you are as bad off as they are -- or where you may not believe that they aren't better than you (based on your reason for being here).

So get comfortable, it's going to be a long journey to recovery.

RULES:
*Stick to what you know. Do not give your character a past that you can't relate to, or know little about. For example, abuse. I've been abused, so I'll have a character that has been abused. But please, do NOT have an abused character if you have not experienced abuse. No one ever seems to get it right. Same goes for cutting, etc. If you haven't been there, or don't know someone who has, then stay away from the topic. Or if you must involve yourself, do your research. I'm not afraid to call people out who are taking things too far or not far enough.

*Don't be afraid to go into detail. Not only for when you do flashbacks, but for every reply. Don't be afraid to give us your characters' thoughts, connections they make, descriptions of how they look (in the moment, and just in general), etc. Dialogue isn't the only thing that makes up a good post, especially if it's just a one-word answer.

*Play it real. These characters have issues that may keep them from socializing in a certain way, or having experience with certain types of people. Someone who has suffered from abuse, for example, will not be open to trusting a new friend. When your characters are hurt (emotionally, or physically) they won't bounce back right away. Make sure you show the rest of us that your character is recovering, or at least reacting, to what happens in the chat.

*Don't let romance take over. Let's face it, CC romances really end up very similarly, in most cases. They're predictable, and people never talk to anyone but their boy/girlfriend once they have one. Make sure that your characters have friends, even if they find a lover! Especially since many of these problem kids need friends, as part of their healing process. Though if they're a complete loner-type, I understand if they don't have friends -- but that means they probably won't have a boyfriend/girlfriend, either, and even if they do, they won't have random mad skills at kissing and romance when the opportunity arises.

Like with my recent CC, just ask to join and then jump right in. Character formats give us too much information, information you should be divulging along the way, like the good writer you are.(:

Alice looked around the small room she was given. She hated being here but they (her ever-oh-so-loving parents) left her there. Its thier fault why I cut. She thought feeling hurt. Alice sighed and sat down on the bed. The room was white and she felt the urge to paint it. Painting was her way of getting away from everything. But she found cutting more soothing. Alice heard a knock on the door and answered
"Hello?" She asked looking out.
"Yes, You are Alice Bride yes?" Asked a very tall woman with a horse-like face.
Alice nodded and gave her a small smirk.
"Depends on who is asking."
"Well you have a appointment with your therapist in 10 minutes."
Alice nodded and sighed.
"Okay...."
She shut the door and leaned against it.
Not even 5 minutes and I already get assigned a shrink. She thought before changing her clothes.

I WANNA DO THIS.
*looks at her own cc*
MAY THE OTHERS SHUFFLE OVER HERE IF THEY WANT? *doesn't want 2 of the same cc*
WHY AM I CAPING? ER.
*poof*

If your chat hasn't started, and you mean bring their charries over, then yeah that's totally fine.

*bounces*
yay ^.^

Though I feel bad canceling out your chat....

Isabelle sighed, picking up the flaky, calorie filled bread and dropping it back down. It was mocking her, just like the rest of the plate. She sighed, crinkling her nose and pushing it away. Just the thought of eating it made her sick. She couldn't. No, she couldn't.
She bit her lip, it now raw from the repeated action, and looked around. This place was hell. Hell decorated with cheesy motivational sayings and white walls. She wanted out. Didn't they see, she was not sick, dammit. She wasn't even thin.
She glared back at the plate, trying to incinerate the food with random magical powers.
...Nothing...
Drats, they must be offline.

Don't be, I dislike running cc's anyway.
I'll let them all know Imma not doing it and to ask you to join if they are still up for it.

(question, is it possible to have more than one character? I'd like to use Lou in here as well...just because I don't have much on her rehab after the accident. If not, I understand...especially since this reply is like a mini chapter book...by the way I hope it's alright and what you were looking for, if not let me know and I'll change it)


Brooke:

I stared at empty space, my mind wandering as the therapist talked at me, pointing out all my flaws. Sure, he didn't mean too, or so he said, but I couldn't help but see it as an attack on my person. So, in an attempt to save myself some agony, I blocked him out. It wasn't like he was "helping" anyway, and I wasn't about to go pour my heart out to him. He could kiss my ass. Wait...never mind...he's old. Anyway, I'm not like those attention seeking whores that go around flaunting their problems.
Speaking of problems....I wonder if there is a way to get my hands on a knife.....well there is the bathroom and the toilet paper holders. The teeth on those things should be sharp enough right? GAH! Why am I thinking about this? I have no reason to do it anymore. But, then again, I have messed up...a lot...I need to be punished...it's my fault...whatever it was... I know the therapist is mad at me otherwise he wouldn't be drilling me with personal questions trying to get me to crack...why is he mad at me? What did I do to make him so cruel to me? I must be a bad person. I've done something wrong. Horribly wrong. Just...deep breath. Stop thinking about it. It's what got me here in the first place. Screwing up so horribly. But...I'm a screw up...I have to be punished...I don't know how else to punish...bruises aren't the same....

"Brooke? Brooke, I asked you a question," the droning voice of the therapist finally broke through my thoughts, ricocheting me back to the present.
"Huh?"
"I asked you how you felt about your parents divorce."
I shrug, staring at the balding man. "Why should I care? It's their life." I'll humor him for a little bit longer, then I'm out of here. I wish they'd run this place to the ground, then I wouldn't have to listen to Sir Feels-a-lot. I never noticed how bald he was until now. I heard his voice fading into the background as I examined the bald spot on his head and the ring of hair that seemed like a Cesarian wreath. I watched as two flies landed on his head, but he didn't seem to notice. A third came buzzing toward them and the two seemed to part.
You're good, bring 'er in! I could picture the flies using his head as a runway. Perfect landing. His hand waved them away and I frowned. He just waved away my dream, my entertainment.
"Are you even listening to a word I'm saying Brooke?"
I looked him square in the face. "No, Mr. McCain, I'm not." What was the point in lying? It's not like it would help my case any. They liked to keep people here. It was their guilty pleasure. I wondered how many were used for experiments on the brain like in that show...what was it again? Shutter Island or something? No...that was the weird one with the guy that killed his wife because she killed her kids.
"How about we try this later, Brooke, when you're more able to focus." Mr. McCain said, gesturing for me to leave. Ha! I told you he didn't want me here. He was just going through the motions. Fine with me. That's what I'm doing. I don't need help. I'm perfectly fine. I'm just punishing myself for things I've done wrong. That's not a crime, right? Correcting your mistakes and making sure they don't happen again?
I stood and shrugged. "Fine with me," I said and walked out the door, my brown curls hanging limply. I hadn't even tried to make myself look decent. What was the point anyway? I was here with nut jobs. It's not like they cared. Now...to find that bathroom...

(more than one character is fine, but any character you bring in is up for interaction. Meaning, don't bring in side characters that you don't want to use later on, because someone might talk to your side character as opposed to your "main character." This is simply because of the way this chat is designed.)

Alice felt exposed as she looked down at her nasty ugly hospital gown that she had on. A strong man was following her and she felt ugly. Her hair was wet from the small shower and she was freezing. The man lead her to the therapist and she waited for him to unlock the door and she stepped in feeling even more hurt and alone then ever before

(sorry Spired didnt understand the just of this...)

can i hop in with kaden?

Sure.

NOTE: None of them would have "dorms." They each have a sparse, carefully monitored room, with a small bathroom. They would not have access to straighteners or any other hair products, as they'd be deemed unsafe (aside for maybe shampoo and conditioner, but a special kind). No makeup, either. Their clothes would be simple, probably hospital gowns that couldn't be used to abuse themselves. And patients would not be allowed to roam the hallways unescorted, without some kind of pass of some sort. New patients would not have that, though.

Camden worked the yarn through his fingers absentmindedly, as he walked down the hall slowly, a yellow tag hanging around his neck. Below his breaths, you could hear a low mumbling as he stared straight ahead at something unseen. The therapists all agreed that he had a wide imagination, which wasn't helping him recover these past eight months.

But now Camden was on medication, on pills of blue and green, that helped calm his imagination, numb his fears. Though in the night, when the medication wore off and he refused to take more, it all came rushing back, anyway.

The pain, the ache, the burn, the hurt. The moans.

His yarn was all that kept him sane at those times, and he'd work it through his fingers like he was now. He'd form shapes and patterns with it, calming his nerves with a distraction. For Camden was so, completely screwed-up, that he would probably never full heal. Only pretend to, be lied to, caught in a web of numbing yarn.


Lyssa sat on her bed, the cuffs on her wrists chafing her skin as she tried to rub them off somehow. But it was no use. She knew that they would only fall apart at meal times, when she was allowed a little space between them to handle a fork and spoon. Never a knife. Not even the small, dull, butter knives that the other kids used.

As her wrists rubbed and her teeth gritted together in frustration, Lyssa revisited her plan from earlier, a dark sparkle coming to her already-black eyes. And as the plan formulated further in her mind, a soft cackle came from her throat, and she tossed her matted, blonde curls back as she chortled silently.

Her plan would work and she would find release. Because Lyssa always had her way.

Can i join?

Kristen: The mirror was absolutely mocking me. It cried out "look, loo how fat you are, you gluttonous girl!". My throat burned from purging my lunch, but I knew it was worth it. Eventually, that girl in the mirror would be skinny. She would be perfect, and gorgeous, and all the pain would be well worth the countless hours spent vomiting. I sighed, wishing desperately that day would come sooner, despair clawing at my empty stomach. I quickly rinsed out my mouth, and hurried back out of my room, disgusted once more by my reflection.

Once the therapy was done Alice quickly left. The man was waiting for her and she sighed. He took her gentley (sp?) by the arm and lead her outside for her 'break'. When the light touched Alice's skin she flinched as if being burned by it. Her cuts flurished her body and the sun made them more visible. She closed her eyes as the man lead her to a bench. She sat down on the hard surface and felt.... empty.