Struggling to breath and cursing life itself.  Each breath she could manage to suck in felt heavy and choking.  It was like she was being abused from the inside.  The truth is she was never physically abused, only mentally, and usually by her bipolar disorder.  She of course, never heard of that, and questioned what was wrong with her.  When I am happy I make mistakes, so logically she went into depression.  Why do I feel so heavy, why does nobody care about me, or yet, why does no soul care about anyone else.  She questioned life, and it’s conformity.  No one was allowed to be themselves.  She did not like wearing shoes, for example, but no one likes to see the disgusting sight of human feet.  What we all hide below ourselves.  There were times when she simply did not want to get out of bed and face the day.  I think it was because the day faces her first.  Bipolar disorder is when you have no middle... she was either up or she was down.  But I think it was because reality has no middle.  The world is either beautiful or crappy, and it is usually due to human action, that makes the world so pitiful.  She saw this truth and could not simply be in the middle of it.  She was bipolar, and did not know it, but it a pill really the only thing it takes to make a person “cured”.  Or is the pill nothing more than forced conformity, which in society, makes a person feel accepted.  “Normal”.  They can finally live life mindlessly and happily like she saw everyone else, only without the label, “bipolar”.

She was deep in a manic episode, and she did not know why.  Her mother begged her, angrily, to get out of her cinged up fetal positioning on the floor of her dark bed room.  But it was unbearable, when her mother physically forced her into a normal position.  It was bad enough she could not control herself, it was worst when her mother tried to control, and was angered when her daughter was not making it easy.  And worst of all, she would remember all of this, and will never discover why her.  He mother called her a b**** for not growing up, and that made it worst.  She could not just snap out of it, no matter how badly she wanted to.  Tears streamed down her face and her muscles were both tense, and numb.

Nobody could understand or feel her pain or grasp the numbness in her legs.  Her mother still in a separate world was blind to reality and desired nothing more than too much to ask:  for her daughter to be like everyone else.  She did not know how her daughter felt and yet, blamed her for everything that her her fault.  Whether or not it was really her fault.

During this breakdown, the mother gave up, without realizing it of course, and thought it would be helpful to drive her to the reservoir tell her to run.  She usually loves running.  It will get her outside, to where she can move and get this extra energy out, she always has so much energy.  The mother continued to justify the act while dragging her daughter into the car.  Partially thinking she was being over dramatic, and partially thinking there might be something mentally wrong with her daughter.  Her own daughter, that she raised from the day she took her first breath.  What did I do wrong?  Why is she so dramatic?  There cannot be anything wrong with her.

In a desperate attempt to distract herself, she scrolled through her cell phone... and object more than half the world population would be grateful to own, and some, even see.  But here it was in her hand, and she hated herself for having it.  most of all she hated the look of her own face in the reflection of the screen.  It was red, and disgusting.  She pushed a button so she would not have to look at herself anymore.  She found herself scrolling thru the contact list and changing everyone’s name.

By the time she was finished her mother had arrived at the reservoir and told her to get out and run.  The trouble with bringing her to the reservoir was that she was not capable of enjoyment and only manage curling up in a ball attempting to breath between tears.  She did run however, mostly to get away from her mother, and without knowing it she was carrying her cell phone with her, and not wearing any shoes.

Yes, I did the right thing.  I am good at this.  Mother though, and rather cluelessly.  But all her daughter ever wanted, was what was too much to ask:  for everyone to understand.  And nobody did, even if they said they did.

About an hours later, he arrives.  Her english teacher.  He also loved to run, so it is likely he just came here for that.  He saw her running along the dirt road.  He saw as an ugly red glimpse at first, for he was not wearing his glasses and could only see shapes.  Despite that, he was able to recognize the when he got close enough.  He could sense the tears on her cheek and the lump in her throat as she tried to brave.
“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned. 
Her eyes stared blankly at him.  And his at her, with concern disguised as disappointment.  She called him.  Why would she do that?  This is not how I want people to know me.  Why would she do that?  I cannot believe she called him.  She could not take it anymore.  Life was already too much for her with open eyes
She turned around, looking away from her teacher and ran, she ran off the dirt road and into the trees.  Still not wearing shoes of course.  She ran around the trees and towards the mountains.  Through the tall grasses and sharp tombs of rocks.

Confused, and concerned, for she was heading close to the edge of a bluff, he chased after her.
She dropped her cell phone in final dash, and it fell without a crack, between strains of yellow grass.  Approaching the buff, she jumped over a fallen tree branch and landed a mere two feet from the edge.  They both stopped. 

The teacher was right behind her where her cell phone landed, so he picked it up, examining it for cracks and blemishes that were not there. He then looked up at her, seeing the mountain landscape over the horizon behind her.  Hearing the water of the reservoir below.  The summer sky was darkening, preparing for the sun set.
She turned around, and stare at him, blankly.  Behind him was the highway.  A stream of cars and a single truck all heading home under the crescent moon in the dark blue sky.

The phone rang.  He looked down at it and wondered who “Conformity” was.  He was driven to press his thumb against the green button and then bring the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”  He asked.

Only to look back up, with deep green, healing eyes, now glistening with the sudden realization.  She was gone.