Hello, my name's Jennifer Flarin, and I'm 14 years old.

Yes, I know some of you are going to be less than thrilled to be reading something written by a 14 year old girl...but could you at least try to understand?

It's hard being a teenager that knows Dr Hannibal Lecter.

I guess I might as well go ahead and tell you the story of how I know Dr Hannibal Lecter...

~0~0~

I am British, 5 foot 3 inches tall, I have long wavy golden brown hair with a fringe that almost covers my eyes and i have dark blue eyes that look almost black...when the light's not shining on them...

I like the fact that my eyes unnerve some people at school, which is very useful at times, because apparently, my eyes make me look possessed.

Sounds like someone's been watching too many horror movies...

And to add to my weirdness at school, I'm also incredibly quiet.

But it's nearly impossible for me to be quiet at home. If I was to be quiet at home as well as school then I think I'd go insane.

Who wants to try and talk to anyone at school, anyway?

If you talk too much then you get told to shut up, and then if you're suddenly really quiet you get asked if you're alright.

It's so annoying...

Anyway, I come home from school on a rainy Monday afternoon, and am greeted by my 38 year old mum who's called Sarah at the front door, looking rather nervous about something as she fiddled with her long brown hair out of habit of being nervous.

And then when she starts to stutter at me, I understand why.

Why the weather suddenly decided to change from sunshine to rain as soon as I stepped out of the school gates to walk back home and catch me without a coat or an umbrella.

My mother wants me to see a psychiatrist today.

All because of my school expressing their 'concerns' about me being quiet.

As if they could give two shits about me. They just want the money that comes with having a mentally unstable student that requires special attention in their school.

I already told them why I'm quiet. It's because I'm shy. But apparently there could be more to it than just being shy.

That's what they said to my mother when they spoke to her on the phone, the sneaky bastards.

If results somehow came back as me having a mental disorder, and the crappy school I'm forced to go to gets the money they so desperately want, then I'd be labelled as crazy for the rest of my life, when in reality I'm just really anxious.

After a lot of angry teenager shrieking at my traitor mother, I discovered some more annoying news.

The poisonous ideas that they slipped into my mother's mind to make her worry and want to sort out my 'problem' made her call a psychiatrist appointment for me a week ago.

A whole week ago, and I was never told about it until now.

Until the actual day of the bloody appointment!

Sighing in frustration, I push past her and stomp up the stairs to get changed out of my school uniform before going to get into my mum's blue Mini Cooper car and let her drive me to the hospital that's about 3 or 4 miles away from our house.

Changing out of my dull school uniform, I had put on a black and grey horizontal striped t-shirt that fitted snugly on my slim figure and a maroon jacket on top, and then some new-looking jeans with slip-on black boots.

When we finally arrived at the hospital, my mum told the blonde female receptionist that I'm here for the appointment.

After 10 minutes of standing in the waiting area, the same blonde-haired receptionist came over to us and told us that he's ready to see me now.

The receptionist also tells me that the psychiatrist is waiting for me in room 6, and I stare at my mum, who is once again fiddling with her hair.

"Do I have to go and talk to him on my own?" I grumble, confused as to why she's edging towards an empty seat in the waiting area that's next to the fish tank.

"Yes sweetheart, you do. Don't worry, you'll be fine. He always requests to talk to patients on their own, it's not just you, ok? He's one of the best psychiatrists at this hospital, so he's bound to be able to help solve your problem, Jen, and that's what you want, right?"

Swallowing my nerves, I nod my head and turn around to walk down the corridor that leads towards room 6 before I could run out of the hospital and walk home.

Talking a few deep breathes, I knocked twice on the door, and then opened the white door when a male voice called out to me to come in.

And that's when I first met Dr Hannibal Lecter.