Eline Haworth, April 11 of 20XX

She appears to be improving, every day I worry about her, but she has a proud hop in her steps and look that says she’s ready for anything. I could only hope that’s true, but knowing the Sophie I know, she is likely hiding her fears under a thick mask.

We were inseparable, we played, we laughed together, and we used to be alike. She changed over time, her once blonde hair like mine became black with purple streaks, and she started acting out. I thought she was going through a rebellious phase, however, it wasn’t only skipping school and fighting with our parents. She talked to me about how she was seeing dead people and she said they wanted her help, that she needed to help them, and that fate had chosen her.

The day after she told me those things she started acting strange. Her actions, her words, even the way she walked wasn’t the same as before. She had become a whole new person and when I called her name she wouldn’t react. One day she left her door cracked and as I was walking by I heard her talking to someone. When I peeked through the door, she was alone, an unsettling image crossed my mind. I had gone to tell my aunt and uncle what was going on with her. They didn’t believe everything I said, but they did agree with me that something was wrong.

We tried to talk to her and she acted fine. Until a week later that is. In the midst of the night she screamed and I ran to her room. There she lied on the floor, staring at the ceiling wide eyed and holding her hands above her face. “No, please no. I’ve had enough,” she said and screamed again. She began flailing her arms around trying to defend herself from air. Is this really Sophie? It can’t be, I thought as I held my hand near my mouth. She looked at me, no, not at me rather past me. “Sam, why won’t you stop him?” She asked, her voice close to giving out.

Bursting into tears, I wrapped my arms around her and stroked her hair. “It’s okay…” I told Sophie with a whisper, hoping to comfort her woes. Rolling around, she buried her face into my chest and cried, crying which lasted all throughout the night. As the sun began to rise, she looked so peaceful sleeping in my arms. My sister, Sophine Haworth, wasn’t only going through puberty. There was definitely something else bothering her.

When her problems escalated even more, such as holing up in her room and not leaving it for days and the lines of pink on her arms that were reminiscent of cuts. Her depths were falling further, near to the bottom.

So, when we came home my parents decided to take her to see a psychiatrist. The doctor gave her a diagnosis, saying she had all the common symptoms. My parents couldn’t understand, their daughter was so young and nobody has had it in the family before, how could it be possible. He explained that though it was an uncommon case, he believed that was it. They held each other and bawled, fearing for her future.

I didn’t believe a word that doctor said, because it didn’t explain the bruises she had from that night. I took the liberty to keep a close watch on her and help her when I could. Two years have passed since then and she didn’t have any problems during that time.

I’ve seen nothing but improvement for her condition and I hope it continues to stay that way.

“I don’t need to hear that from you,” Sophie said outside my door. She must be talking to uncle Jason.

“Time for school,” Ellie said aloud, closing her journal.