visiting hours.

dead.static's picture

visiting hours.

I was sitting there, trying to drown myself with the busy yet diseased air. It will come, I thought but I was not sure what will come. Then I realized that it was never the whiteness. It has never been white, instead it was the palest shade of grey. It was as if someone turned on the lights that I could see. Disgusting grey. Like the papery skin of the dead and the dying. To burn and fade away into the ashes they tell. Incineration. Fucking fire.

I wanted to run away or to scream until my throat bleed out and I might miraculously die from the blood loss. Still, I doubt it. I bled for a night yet they managed to take me back.

Focus. I need to look fine or else. Or else what? They'll throw me in the nut house? But isn't that what I wanted in the first place? To rot with the dead ones like me until it is finally time for a funeral. But no, somehow, a tiny little voice whispers for salvation. Escape. Fucking lie.

What do you expect? I am a liar.

I talked cautiously with the nurse interviewing me. I preferred the female ones but he talked like them anyway. I liked how his voice rippled in my mind. Grey areas. I wanted to look sane. My skin started to itch like millions of tiny hairy feet crawled inside under my skin. I clawed on my arm for a minute until his reassuring smile burnt me successfully than his question of comfort. Prejudice. I simply shook my head and hid my hands under the uneven weight of my lap. I felt the cold metal on my back moving as he continues to sing the conventional questions of progress. Lies. I told him what he wanted to hear. He'll repeat those words to the doctor, I figured, I am too tired to restart this conversation to the doctor again.

To die quickly. Rebirth. For some strange reasons, I cannot look at the doctor's eyes. I can't even if it was partially hidden behind glasses. I only allowed myself to watch the words form out of his mouth. Sensitivity. I forced my eyes to take in my blurred reflection on his eyes. Repetition. I have to look into his eyes while I tell the progress he wanted to hear. I should look calm and normal. Textbook liars. My eyes lied to get away.

Encouragement. I made it. He wrote another prescription as a prize. But I didn't feel like taking them again. They were weak. I wanted something that'll make me go away even for some time. To fade into the greyness. Never the white, white, white.

I would apologize for writing this but I lost any of that intention as I finally tell a rare truth.