[she snorts] I'd bet that it should. You probably live here. What is it about you that makes - or lets, or whatever adjective fits best - that has you forgetting this stuff?
God, what do I even... Ugh. [Brooklyn flops down onto a bench, putting on her sunglasses and trying to make herself look distracted enough to ward away any people]
Gist: Brooklyn Yasujiro arrives to West Harbor Mental Health Community.
Etc.: yes hi hello
It wasn't a new start. With a paper trail like hers, Brooklyn knew that even if the patients didn't know who she was, the looks of the staff would be enough to set her off. It was no wonder that she was caught off gaurd by the blank slates she met at the train station. Surprise didn't suit her well, however, and the remainder of her journey was one of well-concealed pouting and wondering. She'd left her train in Atlanta and been picked up by some security-looking types, who drove her all the way out to the coast, where she was told to get on a ferry. Naturally, having watched "Shutter Island" and not in a particularly good mood, she'd not been the most cooperative that she could have been. Not that leaving a good first impression was high on her list; hopefully, she'd never have to see them again, even if she was on an island.
It was, as always, a little nerve-wracking to come to a new mental health facility. New people to categorize into such lists as, "Avoid", "Pretend They Don't Exist", "Avoid Like the Plague", and her favorite, "Oh God NOPE." More bothersome than that was relearning variations of one old routine. It had gotten tedious over the twenty-odd years she'd endured under its thumb. And, most of all, was simply the fact that she'd been yanked from one place to another all over again, which caused her no end of anger and upset. It was wholly unjust that she, an adult, got no say in the major occurrences in her life. Sure, she was, oh, what did they say... "Emotionally unbalanced"? Sure, she wasn't always the most rational of people, but if people would just leave her be then there would never be any problem. If she could just have one chance to live out in the world and get her own little niche, then all the doctors and therapists and even her own family would finally see that she was fine as she was.
But no. Of course not.
So there she was, backpack, a mesh drawstring bag, her old, beat up suitcase, and two duffel bags, standing in between the same people who'd brought her onto the island. She was...impressed. It was a nice place. Sprawling, almost. And the fact that there was actual civilization so nearby was a bit startling to her. 'Must be pretty high security.'
The paperwork was done and she was given a tour, on which she paid no mind and instead let herself defocus from everything and simply let herself walk: eyes open, mind closed. Only when, perhaps hours later, she was at last escorted to her room, in a house that was not hers, and let alone. It was barren, of course, and she had been told that she was free to "make it hers". Though she'd not put in the effort at the time, she scoffed at the memory as she kicked off her boots and dropped her bags onto the floor. With a long sigh, Brooklyn toppled over onto her bed, landing with a thud, and two smaller thuds as she bounced. In the background of the sound, she heard the squeaking of springs. 'Oh, joy. I get a nice, squeaking bed for the rest of my life. Maybe I'll drown in the ocean before it drives me nutso.' With a wry little frown, Brooklyn rolled over onto her side - 'Fuck if it gives me wrinkles.' - and decided to take a nap.
Now with Brooklyn you probably couldn’t come across someone who could be more complicated. She’d always been a bit weird; from her thick skin which no one could penetrate with harsh words or unkind actions, to the fact that she was far happier to stand out from the crowd, rather than find a way to fit in.
Early in her life it was discovered that she did not show emotion like most people do. While others swing between their moods with ease, Brooklyn’s ebbed and flowed with the force of tidal waves. In times of turmoil, she would feel everything at once. Anger, frustration, sadness… It became too much for her, so she was institutionalized by her parents who knew no other way of helping their daughter, nor were they interested in finding out.
Uncaring parental units, and being forced to live in mental institutions during her formative years molded Brooklyn’s unconventional views on relationships. Instead of seeking out friendships, lovers, or even acquaintances, Brooklyn chose to keep herself locked away so the people around her could not hurt her. Trust is something Brooklyn doesn’t do, since she has problems communicating with others. On the rare occasions she would attempt to communicate her feelings, it typically ended with her becoming angry and frustrated when others could not understand how she felt.
It was only recently that she was transferred from another psychiatric hospital to West Harbor, and it was here that she was diagnosed with depression, due to her fruitless work with the therapists. seems to be useless as she Her inability to truthfully open up, and opting to lie just to keep her therapists happy has rendered her therapy useless.
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