I can see nothing around me. It is all dark. My tears fire up blue electricity to pierce the darkness. I can see the blue dancing now. To the tune of a thousand dead. What is there left to do, but cry?
I come out of my daze slowly, and gaze around me in horror. There is nothing left around me. The harsh terror of reality creeps over my skin, crawls through my veins to grip my heart. How can I face him now? The coat restricts my physical, causing my mind to wander farther and farther afield. I can lose myself in dreams, even if it is only for a short while.
Doctors in long coats stare at me through small windows. I know what they are thinking. I can hear what they're thinking. I'm not crazy. I just snapped. Everyone has a breaking point. I stagger to my feet. Stop staring, stop staring at me! I run, hard at the door, arms bumping my chest hard. I contact with the door and my world goes dark once more.
I wake up screaming. I try to move my arms and legs, but I am strapped down. In my vague consciousness, I can feel something soft beneath me. My world is still white. I pull and yank at the straps. Voices start hissing evil words in my ears and I scream more. I have to try to drown them out. My sanity in question, I don't want to hear this. I don't want to be here anymore. My world is becoming demonic, with evil surrounding me. My sentences are becoming less and less coherent, but on the contrary, my thoughts are becoming crystal clear.
The material is scraping my skin. Movement is searing pain through my pores. I want to scratch the rash spreading across my back, but the restrictions of the bonds halt any possible freedom. The white walls start to appear to be different colours. The blues and greens most prevalent. My eyes, can't take all this white. The colours fade up, and my mind welcomes the change. I walk into the waiting open arms of insanity. She greets me with a soft hand and a sweet kiss. We walk into the field together.
I can hear the sweet gurgle of a stream nearby. I look upon it. It shows my face back. Happy and bright. This is heaven. I have greeted death. It is calm here. I feel no pain here. There are no strains here. I can be who I want. This is a lot quieter than I expected of heaven though. It is just me here. Which is peaceful. I can run along the fields, in the flowers, feel the warmth of love from the sun on my skin. This is my world now. You would not understand. I had my expectations of heaven, and this is not like any of those. The peace is the one thing that prevails in my new mind. I am safer here. No one can hurt me but myself. And it is a good feeling.
I smile at myself in the stream. My face looks bright, young, like it hasn't since before ... now what was I just thinking? It's gone out of my head completely ... It feels like some sort of block. Where was I before I came here? And why do my wrists feel tight, restricted? I shake my head; try to clear half formed thoughts that are blooming in my mind. Red. What is that? That is a colour I haven't seen before. I look out over the purple flowers and they are stained, tainted by a colour my mind is calling red.
I hesitantly advance to the plants, and reach out with my hands. Just as I am about to touch the nearest petal, I pause. I don't know if I want to understand. I have a bad feeling inside myself. Then, as if something is dragging me forward, my hand touches that petal, and, for the tiniest of moments I would have staked everything, everything I know, I was sure, that the petal was sticky. But the moment I touched it, all the red left my vision. Along with this, an uneasy feeling swept over me, and suddenly, being alone wasn't as appealing anymore.
The colours are less bright now, and although the sun is still shining, I feel cold inside. I feel dead. Emotionally drained. I see a figure on the crest of a nearby hill. Maybe I am not alone after all! I abruptly strive for company with every fibre of my being. I shakily stand, and immediately sprint towards the shape in the distance, but my legs won't work, I have been sat down too long. That familiar sensation of "pins and needles" in my legs, cause me to trip, and fall. I yell out, but the silhouette can't hear my words, or it was never there in the first place, as when I look up, with my face covered in mud, it is gone.
An unfamiliar sensation is returning to me, but it is unfortunately familiar at the same time. The pretty purple flowers are thorns, they cut and pierce my skin, scratches and scrapes, and I start to cry. Unfamiliar, painful feelings, emotions return, and I trudge back to the stream. I immerse my cut arms in the water and the stinging sensation brings more tears to my eyes. I cup my hands and splash my face, and again. I open my eyes and look into the black mirror. Horns, sharp teeth and a tail. All glistening shiny red.
My world spins and I remember all the pain, my pain, and screams rip from my lungs, painfully tearing their way out of my body. My body jerks, as if someone is shaking me. Hard. I bang my head on something as I shake and shake, my eyes blur and this world, this heaven, dissolves, and breaks away from me. I am alone still, but this time, there is no visual. I am floating, falling. Spinning around. I can see my cut up and mangled limbs stretch before my eyes. My world, my life, or death, I can't breathe, pain explodes across my cheeks and I shudder. Judder. Wake.
Days and nights blur. I am awoken now. I have not spoken to anyone since I got here. More doctors. More nurses. Different attitudes. They are becoming impatient with me, and all the while I still see him staring at me through the window. They won't let him in. Not since the last time they let him in and I lunged for him. None of the meadowland was real. I was not in heaven. Just the hell of my psyche. The cuts were real though. I don't understand how they got there, but I do have scrapes all along my limbs. They moved me to a more secure unit for my safety.
I don't like it here. I don't like these new doctors. I don't like what they are trying to do and I don't appreciate being labeled as crazy. I refuse to eat. They pump me full of "nutrition" through an IV drip in my arm. I save my protests for things more worthy of protest. If I protest everything, they won't take me seriously. They don't anyway.
I spend my days staring at the wall. They really could make it more interesting. My thoughts are lucid, but I seem to have forgotten how to communicate verbally. Oh well. It is not as if I need to. They give me what they think I need anyway. Things like sustenance, and the sleeping solution I know they inject into my drip when they think I'm not looking. But I am always looking. I am always watching them. They have brought the chief investigators in here a few times now, to try and tell me where they are in the investigation. I don't care. I don't want to know. I just want to lose myself in the dream again. The dream that seemed so much more real than this. The horrors of my life.
The other unit never brought the police in. My nurses knew better than that. But the nurses here are glassy, vapid. And the doctors are cold and uncaring. This is probably why I refuse to co operate here. I don't think they know what is best for me, or even want to work it out. I hear them talking of another transfer. They think that other places may have better ways of "dealing with me". I know what that means. Violence. More and better drugs. Well then, let them come. I don't care. I don't want to live anymore. I don't want to continue like this, or to carry on being a disappointment to him. He deserves better than one such as me, tied here.
The bed at this facility is much less comfortable than at my previous one. They think I won't notice how they are cutting the costs of dealing with me. Well I do notice. I just don't care. I look up at the ceiling and think about the other patients here, and wonder if they are treated this poorly, or if they are responsive. I don't even miss the freedom of doing things for myself anymore. There's no need when they will do everything for you.
One doctor comes in the room now; it must be late, because they always use the same one to send me to sleep. They think I no longer have facial recognition, I heard them talking. But I do. They don't think I can hear them. He has given up talking to me, he is not a very social person and he knows that I will not reply anyway. They have all stopped talking to me now. They know better. It has been a while since I last heard a human voice. I would have thought that I would be bothered by this development, but strangely I am not. Human contact is pointless to me. They will never make things right. Nothing will ever be the same again. He injects my dinner into my drip, and I feel drowsy very quickly. I think they may have stepped up the dosage. Just before I drift off I hear the nurses murmuring something about a shock treatment, and the police.
Something snaps. I am awake. This happens a lot now. My sleep is dreamless and suddenly I come to. I am somewhere different again. So they did move me after all. I seem to be in the children’s ward. It is not white anymore, but colourful. It feels strange. My carers seemed to have forgotten I was a child until now. They have been treating me like the adult I will soon be. And I probably will become whilst still in these centres. A nurse comes in and talks to me. She doesn't try to be all sunny and nice, she doesn't try to make it better, she doesn't try to say she knows what I am going through, and she isn't being fake. It is nice.
I think that they will treat me better here. She is very nice, but I still don't want to talk. She seems to understand and she stays with me anyway. She tells me how they want me to get better and how they understand that I am not ready to talk yet. She tells me all that has happened since I have been asleep, and apparently I have only just got here. She tells me all of this and how they are hoping to treat me, and this honesty is refreshing. My brain turns over what she is saying and my body responds. I look at her instead of the wall, and this is a start. A positive sign I feel. She has wavy brunette hair and white teeth. I don't know how long she stays with me for, but it is a while before she goes away. When she is gone I start to think. A lot more than I have done in a long time.
These nurses and doctors are a lot more open with me. After a few days they have slackened off my bonds, so I can move a bit, and they ask me if I want to sleep yet. I still haven't spoken to them, but I want to. They are helpful and nice. They take my nod or shake head yes or no as a wonderful improvement, and they encourage me every day. Some are more understanding of others, they can tell I don't want to speak yet, whereas others want me to hurry up and speak so they can ship me out. But Ellen has made their contact with me minimal. She is my favourite nurse. She is the one who sat with me that first time for so long. She has put up a clock and calendar in my room, which has helped me to decide when I want to sleep. Although I still have the room to myself, it is bigger, brighter, and I have much more social company than before. The nurses come and talk to me whenever they think I may need it, not just to administer injections. They think that I am doing well and so do I.
Moving my muscles is hard. Not moving for so long has meant that I have lost a lot of muscle mass. They have told me that once I speak, they will remove the bonds completely, they they just need to verify that I am not dangerous, but until then they have slackened the bonds off a lot. I can move my limbs enough to cross my arms, or itch anything that needs to be scratched. I do a lot of mouth exercises too. They have got a physician in for me who says that when I do decide to speak, or eat, it will be a shock to my facial muscles, and just like I had to build up my arm muscles slowly, in order to be able to move my fingers, move my arms, and scratch, I have to exercise my mouth for a while before I can eat solid foods again. He is impressed with my progress and tells me that anytime that I want to speak now, I should be fine. My other hospital didn't tell me these sorts of things. This is further proof for me that they are far more caring here than it has been anywhere else so far.
I spoke today. It was hard, and mentally very stressful, but I requested something to drink and to be sat up. My voice was very gravelly and it hurt quite a lot. Ellen cried and told me that she was proud. Sitting up is very hard for me. My neck is straining in order to keep my head up, and my chest aches, but drinking water felt good, and I want to build myself up to eating again. I have ambition, and I have hope. Things that I haven't had at all since I was admitted. It will take a while, but my ambition is great, and my hope is vast, with perseverance I will achieve my goals. They kept their promise and took my bonds off. I'm free now.
Exercising my vocal chords to ask for solid food. It is a few days since I first spoke and I have been saying a few words a day since, trying to keep going. Getting out of bed is really hard. I can barely put any weight on my feet without falling over, but I will achieve it soon.
I didn't expect food to be this hard, even though I should have known I would need to build up slowly. My hands seem to have forgotten what a fork is, and how to use it. I feel clumsy, useless. A tiny forkful of food makes its way up to my mouth, and chewing seems to be another long forgotten talent. Something I used to take for granted. They say I'm doing well, but it certainly doesn't feel like it.
I ate my first full meal just now. I feel proud but also impatient. I think things should be moving quicker. I am able to walk properly now, though. It is nice to know the date and time, I can tell how things are progressing, but I am impatient. I get tired quickly and have to go back to bed often. They tell me they are going to get me a therapist soon. They are worried about me going back into my insanity but they need me to get a therapist before they can discharge me. There's talk of them discharging me! I didn't think that I would ever be able to go out into the real world again!
I knew this must be too good to be true. The police need me again. Now that I can walk, they need to interview me. My carers are nervous for my mental health, but they can't deny them any longer. Apparently they have been trying to see me since I said my first word. I guess this place isn't as honest as I thought it was. A doctor I have never seen before has come in, and is escorting me to the room on-site that the officers want to speak to me in. I know that I don't want to co operate, but I also know that if I don't, not only will I disappoint everyone, but also my chances of getting out will slowly disappear. I open the door, and I see, sat there at a little table, a tall Asian male in the classic blue uniform of cops that you see in movies and on the television. There is soundproofing on the walls, but a window in the door, from which the doctor will be waiting and watching with a couple of nurses. I feel so alone. I don't know what to say, I can't even remember what happened very well. I blocked it out I think. I slowly walk across the room and slide into the seat across from the cop.
He asks me a few innocuous questions at first, about how I feel I have been treated, and how I feel that I am doing. I answer them hesitantly, and study him. He looks like he feels awkward, and I don't blame him for it. He looks nervous, unsure. Like there is more going on than this. Finally, after what did seem like a very long time, he started asking me questions about that night. What we had for dinner, what time we went to bed, and whether anyone had any grudges against us at all, most were answerable; spaghetti, eleven in the evening, but I didn't think anyone hated us.
I knew what he was doing. He was trying to get me to remember the less important parts of the evening in order to be able to remember the rest. He reaches into the bag beside him. This is unexpected. "Maybe this will jog your memory a little", and he pulls out a clear plastic baggie. I see his mouth moving, but I cannot hear him. There is a rushing in my ears. Everything has faded out except that bag on the table.
This must be what they meant by shock treatment. I start to scream. My voice ripping out in rags. I'm shaking uncontrollably as memories flood back into my mind. I can see him. Dark blond, with a prickly beard and dark clothing, pulling his arm back and stabbing repeatedly in my father's back as my mother was screaming in terror. And then, with a sick grin to me crouching in the corner he turns the knife on my mother, ripping her to shreds in front of my eyes. If the neighbours hadn't called the police as soon as they heard noises, I would be dead too. The police bursting into the house, and then running upstairs and dragging me away from the window, where the man had pulled his hood up and jumped out of not very long ago, leaving the knife in the middle of the floor. The large police man dragging me away from the vacant and staring eyes of my parents, not just dead, but mangled. I remember him pulling me away from the blood that slowly trickled from their gaping wounds, as I was still screaming until I couldn't breathe anymore.
The last few months of my life flashing before my eyes, the fitful sleep, the waking and screaming at the wall, the weeks on end of doing nothing at all, the drug induced sleep. My slow recovery, but I had forgotten my heritage. My parents. I had forgotten my horrors in my recovery. The police officer looks very shocked at my reaction and I lunge across the table. I feel several bodies on my back, pulling me back, away from this devil in disguise. Laying on the table, in a clear plastic bag, the blood stained knife that has ruined my sanity.
The bearded demon, had been wearing gloves that night, so they obviously wanted me to identify him. If I ever was able to speak again, they would always want me, be asking for me. In order to avoid the horrors, I can never lead a normal life again. I close my eyes, although my screaming continues on and on, and I welcome lady insanity. I wonder where she will take me this time. I wonder if I will have company. I can see my doctors and nurses, gentle and understanding no more, but evil and grinning, sharp fangs protruding, I spin in my madness and the disappointment and evil prevails in my mind. I am restrained, although I fight. I fight them and try to get my revenge on this evil demon who has robbed me of my chance for normality. My nightmares begin again and this time they are so terrifying that I scream out just imagining the tiniest part of them. They force me into a straitjacket, and the restrictions make me violent. I don't want this! I want to be normal again! Get rid of this demon and let me be! He is evil! I want to be free!
I'm no longer at the nice hospital. I no longer know the days, the months, the time. I am rarely in reality, because when I am, I get violent, so they induce my insanity and keep me tightly bound. This place is cruel. They just restrain me now. They don't care if I get better or not. I assault anyone who lets me out. He has stopped coming to see me. I have noticed in my rare trips into reality. I know because he has never not been there when I looked before. He has left me. Without even a goodbye.
I am not even bothered anymore. My worth is little, and lady insanity beckons once more. I willingly follow her into the forest, and this time she stays with me. I am not strong enough to stay on my own anymore, and since I am always alone when I come into reality, I enjoy the company when I slip into the insanities in the darkest corners in my mind. She makes me relive the darkest moment in my life over and over again, with different daemons each time, including the police officer, all of my different carers and myself. I no longer know who to trust because everyone has murdered my family. I will never be normal. I will never return to reality. I will never see him again and I will never live, not in the sense that people perceive. I am doomed to insanity.
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