That's what they said. The little pill that lay in my palm was supposed to be my saving grace. They Lied. It didn't stop the voices. They wouldn't go away. An elderly woman stared down at me from the foot of my bed.. Her form twitched, fading in and out. She wore a white shirt. Ties dangled about her limp arms, sleeves a bit too long for her withered arms. Her skin was pale and paper thin. Translucent I think is the word. Desperately I point out the frail woman, but they all ignore me.
"She's there! She's right fucking THERE!"
But they didn't look up. Their noses buried in their clip boards. In here, I'm just as crazy as the rest of this nut house. But I'm not. I know I'm not. She's standing there clear as day, looking right at me with shadowed eyes. So why am I the only one that can see her? Why me?!
I knew her too. The old woman. She was known as Crazy Caroline. Room 204 - right across from mine. Around the age of fifty she started to fade into the arms of dementia. Over time, her mind was reduced to mush. She became prone to fits of rage and clawed at her self.
She died just hours ago. Yet for some reason I'm fucking looking right at her.
I don't understand any of this.. I want to go home. I want to see my friends, I want to go to school like normal. I want to see my little sister April. I shouldn't have told my parents that grandma comes to visit me every day. "Honey, aren't you a little old for imaginary friends?" My mom used to say. But my best friend wasn't imaginary. His name was Daniel, and he used to live just down the street. His obituary said he froze to death. He was on a ski trip and got separated from his group. He still won't tell me what made him go astray. Now he haunts my room.
No one knew what's wrong with me. I wasn't any different from the other kids in my class. I just saw things no one else could.
The pills just kept coming. For every month I claimed I could still see things, they upped the dosage. That is until I was at risk of over dosing. There were so many, and it wasn't just one color. Some of them had numbers, letters, or symbols. It got to the point where I just didn't care any more. I swallowed what ever they gave me just to shut them up. Arguing never did any good. I didn't even try. A little girl around the age of five-ish hid in the corner, crying for me. I wish she didn't. Her wails were giving me a friggin headache. Just stop already!
I wanted it to be over. Maybe I really am insane. Schizophrenic is what they called me. All these voices, these people crying out for help. They're just a figment of my imagination. Well my imagination can stop any freaking day now. If this keeps up I'll end up just like Crazy Caroline, no doubt about it. That's something I don't want April to know. I don't want my parents to see me this way. I know they meant well. I had a good childhood. They did their best. But I cold tell they were at the end of their ropes. It was only a matter of time.
Paul... James.. I wish I could be there with you guys now. Ditching math class in the back of the school just so we don't have to hear Mr. Mathews drone on and on about shit we don't care about. Are you guys finally dating yet? You tried to hide it, but damn you two made it obvious. Everyone in our class knew already, the way you two teased each other. We're all waiting just for you two to make it official so I can finally say I told you so.
A nurse gave me a diary to write my thoughts in. A little black book. She said writing can be therapeutic. When I feel like I can't talk to my doctors, or my parents when they visit, I can record it here. For a while, it helped. But instead of writing my own thoughts I wrote about the people I saw. The lawyer who wanted her son to find her hidden will so her backstabbing sister wouldn't claim inheritance. The prostitute who finally fell in love and took her own life after rejection. The old man who just wanted to say good bye to his daughter. I wrote about them all, in detail. It seemed important to all of them that I didn't forget any of it.
The voices, they finally started to quiet down. For once. FOR ONCE! I was getting a moment's peace. The silence was welcome, and over a couple of weeks I remained that way. The doctors started to think I was finally cured. Maybe they gave me just the right amount of something called Amisulpride. Maybe it was just a god damned miracle. Either way. My results were conclusive. I was going home!
My things packed, my heart racing. I was happy. Excited. Finally I was busting out of this joint. The nurse who gave me the diary beamed with pride, claiming she had a hand in this some how. I guess in a way, maybe she did. I thanked her as I drifted off to sleep. My last night in this hell hole.
Little did I know I was wrong. Oh so fucking wrong...
They found my journal. They read about the people who came to visit me and once again refused me clearance. On my last day! They said I was wrong and claimed I was still mentally unstable. They just didn't see it. I learned to hide it so well!
I hated doctors. I hated the nurse who gave me the journal, and in my anger I pegged the journal at her face. Bitch could die for all I cared. That day I was readmitted into my old room. My journal on the floor where it landed, and I haven't moved it for days. The voices, they were coming back. They were angry. I didn't help them yet. My head felt like it was going to burst from so much rage. Their voices raked in my head like nails. Piercing screams. Menacing growls. It's not my fault! Why won't you go away??!!
I had enough. I didn't care which way I went out of here. Even if it was in a body bag. I just wanted it all to stop. I'm tired. I'm going to be sick. Just stop, I'm begging you!
A careless nurse left a bottle of meds on the table, seems they were going to be my saving grace after all. I was getting out of here one way or another. And in my attempt to do just that, I swallowed the whole bottle. It didn't take long before they started to take effect. My stomach. It hurt. My head.. The room spun. I felt so dizzy. Pressure in my abdomen forced me to chuck all over the floor. My system's way of trying to flush out all the pills, but I took too many. I ralphed uncontrollably, white foam forming. my limbs shook and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. But the voices finally shut up. I couldn't see, I couldn't hear anything but the muffled, hurried voices at the doctors scrambled to get me into the the hospital wing. This shit was about to end, thank God. I accepted death with open arms while I fell into dark, cold, silence.
But damn it was taking too long.
Not before long bright white light pierced that darkness, and to my dismay the hospital wing came into focus. I was alive. "Welcome back." They said, smiles on their faces. I screamed my hatred at them. Why did they bring me back? I was better for once! I didn't hear the screams, the crying! I didn't see stuff any more! I was out of control. I hated them.
I was deemed unsafe. Beat on a few doctors and suddenly you're not just a nut job any more. You're considered a freak.
In their last attempt to 'cure me' they lobotomized my brain. Stuck some cold, sharp, needle in my eye and just sort of wiggled it around a little. It hurt, even though they injected me with something that was supposed to numb me from feeling anything. I could feel the point scraping the back of my skull.
And just like that something clicked. The voices, they went away for while. Though I could still see shadows in my peripheral, around the areas where they didn't jab the needle. Days passed. Months. Another year. They tested me out, putting me in another room with other patients around my age.
"She's doing so well!" They exclaimed, claiming I was finally cured this time. I could go home now. Back to my home on Elm and 31st. I could see my friends again in Ravenblack Middle High School. I was finally freaking free! This time, I'll keep those shadows to myself. No one will know that secretly, I was still a nut job. No one will know my secrets. I'll just be me. Crazy Kayde.