I’ve reached the end of something. Something I thought was eternal. I’m just not sure what. All that was certain has long since passed, as if it were never there, and I am a stranger.
“I’m ready for my life to be over.”
The doctor shook his head and let out a consolation “aw”. The nerve. I didn’t know why I was there. I’d begun hurting myself again, sure, and I could have sworn something had been following me for days, occasionally striking me with, and without a moment’s notice, an overwhelming sense of impending doom. But what good could come from isolation or routine sympathy? I suppose the alternative was something far more permanent.
They lead me back into the waiting room and began searching my bag. Embarrassed, I asked if I could step outside for a quick smoke.
“Hmm, I’ll have to check with your nurse, but I doubt it.”
I was now their patient, a liability. The fact that I was contemplating escape as the next however many days or weeks began to dawn on me made me forgive their hesitation. They were right to distrust me.
They returned what was left of my bag, and the weight of my situation flattened me.
That and my existence as I knew it. No longer free to be as I see fit, held, gently I’m sure, in the hands of strangers.
So came how I lost my independence and my mind.
It was ugly but still nicer than I expected. Everything was white. The walls, the floor, the ceiling. White, clean, sterile.
“Try to think of it as a kind of hotel.”
“I’ll try,” I said. I can’t imagine she believed me or her own ridiculous suggestion.
The nurse showed me to my room, perhaps my cell.
“This is your bed, toiletries, cupboard for whatever it is you have left, and your pyjamas.”
She must have read my face.
“I know they’re ugly, but trust me, they’re actually quite comfortable.”
Still, I wouldn’t be seen dead in them. For all my flaws and insanities, I was an immaculate dresser. Even if, in many ways, I was dressed by other people.
“If you need anything else, do not hesitate to ask.”
What crossed my mind in that moment made me hate myself that much more.
And just like that, I was alone again. My entire life had passed me by, and I suddenly felt so old. One does not anticipate lunacy with preparation and clarity. At least, I could not.
Looking back, it’s clear I lost myself long ago. To some, I was simply pathetic. To others, someone else entirely. I adopted the interests and styles of people, of cultures, that I loved to distance myself from the one thing I wanted to escape more than anything else - me. A failure, entirely.
I saw a sky void of clouds and chaos wrap itself around the world like a great, blue blanket. I felt hands and heard voices eager to greet my own.
Life itself simply spilled beneath me, taking with it every muscle, every embrace, fighting with spoiled vigour against the current.
Again, I contemplated the end. A place outside time or suffering. Somewhere I could leave this decaffeinated shell behind and drift gently through an endless sleep.
If only I could rid her of my burden without all the sorrow and the whole tired procession. The end, that beautiful other world, would already be mine to marvel.
I laid out on my bed the remaining contents of my bag. A hat, two novels, and a notepad. I really should have packed some clothes. Now those sickly-green pyjamas seemed more inevitable than offensive.
I got changed, quickly glanced at the disaster staring back from the mirror, and laid down.
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
discoholicmusic
areudirty