by LoudSilences on March 07, 2015
i tell myself over and over again that if i just keep telling them that i'm OK, i'll get out of that place, and then i can figure out where i go from there.
'That Place' is long corridors, and green, blue and yellow spotted curtains. It is dozens of pictures on the walls by the same artist, and bedrooms locked from ten thirty in the morning to four in the afternoon.
i have been there since the 19th of January, admitted one day before my 15th birthday. Long enough to no longer notice the hospital-disinfectant smell of the corridors. i'm allowed home on the weekends, which is the only thing i look forward to all week, because it means i get to escape from the judgemental, assuming stares of the nurses, and the rigid hospital routine, if only for two days.
i don't ever really talk to the other teenagers, but occassionally some variation of this conversation takes place:
-Are you OK?
-Yeah, I'm fine, are you?
-I'm good, thanks.
Both of us know the other is lying, and both of us know the other knows we are lying, but we never call each other out on it. We do that for each other. We pretend.
i am a master at pretending. i hate myself for it, but honestly, it's the only way i can get through the day. As the song Doll Parts by Hole goes: 'I fake it so real I am beyond fake.'
Driving back to 'That Place', sat in the back of my parents car, watching the dark blur of the motorway and the gold-silver glow of the Moon, i had a reaization. And it went like this: maybe i couldn't be saved. maybe the reason why i haven't even tried to save myself is because it simply couldn't happen. maybe ever since 'It' started to creep up on me, growing insidiously with each passing week, i was always headed for one thing, and one thing only.
I was listening to the song SRXT by Bloc Party on my MP3 player, and when it got to the part where the line: 'I called up Eugene, told him I was drowning' is sung, i didn't even stop to wonder who Eugene is, i just started to cry because the word 'drowning' did something weird to me inside.
During the months where with each passing day it got worse, where i had to push hard just to make it through the day, i used to think that i was drowning. It seemed like the right metaphor. Appropriate somehow. But now i feel different. Not drowning, so much as already drowned. Not dying, so much as already dead.
When i was younger, my family used to go to this water park. We'd all swim in the 'Lazy River', and my Dad used to lift me up, and throw me high into the air. As a kid, i loved it. The sense of freedom, of weightlessness, that came with falling. The somersault feeling in my stomach. The way that i should have been scared, but wasn't, because i knew i would land, safe and sound, back in the water.
Lately i've been feeling like that more and more. But not in an enjoyable or exciting way. In fact, it's terrifying. i feel like i've been tossed into the air, and i'm falling and falling and falling, and i know i'm going to hit the bottom soon, but all i can do is just go about my business as usual, falling and falling and just waiting for the inevitable.
i keep telling myself that if i keep telling everyone i'm OK, then i can get out, and figure out my options of what to do then. As if there is any other option other than the thing i can't stop thinking about. i have to get out.
Because there only ever was one ending to this, wasn't there? There only ever was one ending.
Not so much drowning as already drowned. Not so much dying as already dead.
i'm OK. Really. i'm totally fine.
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