PROMPT: The Story of My Name

It's Chel. Not Chelsea, not Shell, not Michelle or whateverthefuck you want to extend it into. Just Chel. I sort of picked it, actually -- I was born Renchel Regene Marie. But I was born to parents too young, who attempted but failed to maintain commitment after accidental child. I haven't physically seen my father since I was four. I hated him for it, you know. Just a little less than I pitied myself. I didn't even want to talk to him for the longest time. And that was just over e-mail. It was easier that way. When I had the opportunity to change my name, my mom let me choose it. Somehow it made it more special, I guess. It gave me control after lacking it for so long and being miserable because of it. That's what the doctors said the anorexia was. My feeble attempt at gaining some sort of control over my life. It went terribly wrong, of course. I'm all too familiar with the scent of hospitals, too familiar with the policies in the ICU. They don't even let immediate family in, you know. Not until you're stable. And they can't be bothered to come out and give them updates. I don't even remember the ambulance. My mother cried and cried all night. It was Mother's Day.