There are many surreal memories in my mind. Therefore, I will tell you a short story from my past, a memory. As hazy as it may be, I recall certain parts of that day and will do my best to convey it to you. So, I wrote this short story to help you gain insight into what might go on within our minds when we are left with no choice.
The Bed Was Floating
I lay on my bed. After all, I had just had a fight. I had also let my banshee out to air its grievances. The way home blurred into a feint dream in my mind. In fact, I didn’t know how long it took me. Nevertheless, now I was here, on my bed.
My mother wasn’t home and to be honest, I preferred it this way. Less prying eyes on me. I could do my dark rituals in peace, behind closed doors.
After a while, I took out a book and started reading. The wooden frame underneath felt like it could break at any moment. I held on to the covers and pressed my face against the stale pages. This too, would pass soon. It would pass, even if the bed seemed like it was lifting my hundred-ton body to the roof. My mind drifted away as I closed myself from the world.
The Threat Was Taunting
A buzz startled me. The phone was not kind in its intrusion. What’s more, the screen did not showcase the violator.
“Yes?” I said into the mouthpiece.
“Hi, Maria. How are you doing?”
What do you mean how am I doing? Who are you even?
My mind couldn’t comprehend this assault on my privacy. The rudeness of it all sent me down a dissociative spiral.
“I’m fine. Who are you again?”
“I’m from the ER. I got a call and wanted to check on you.”
“Now, Maria. I’d like you to go to the clinic near you. Talk it out.”
Someone had ratted me out. And I had a feeling I knew who it was.
“If you refuse, the police will come and escort you.”
That was it, wasn’t it? I was such a danger to myself that they had to recruit the big bad boys with guns. There weren’t any alternatives, and heavens know I didn’t want my mother to have to deal with a bolting daughter. Evidently, my only choice was to obey. The consequences of not doing so were too humiliating.
The Waiting Room Was Suffocating
Half of the chairs were taken. I never knew there were so many crazy people in my town. Each one looked more lost than the next. Yet, I didn’t harbor any optimism for their futures. At least, I wasn’t as deep as they were. Right?
At first, the greys and pale blues of the waiting room annoyed my senses. Then the scent of disinfectant pierced my nostrils. I would end up with a migraine if they didn’t call me in soon. Clink. Another poor unfortunate soul slouched its way inside. It sat next to me, and for a moment I thought I saw a figure of a young man.
I waited. And waited. I kept my eyes on the floor tiles, the bizarre concrete slabs with sparkling stone inside. My behind turned numb, and my breath shallowed by the minute. Finally, they called my name. The anemic sunlight guided me through the plain door.
The Two Were Staring
The seat underneath the woman was more comfortable than mine by a mile. I could tell from the way she sat on it, all her muscles relaxed. Afterward, she took out her notepad and pen and turned her attention to me. I avoided her gaze in the meanwhile.
The man took his position next to the woman. He looked at me, appraising. He never said a word. I wondered why he was there, to begin with. Weren’t these things usually dealt with by one nurse? Then I felt my heart sink under the pressure of their united, judgemental stare. Of course, he was the muscle.
I had finally fucked up so badly that they had to have a bodyguard for the nurse. And a possible police escort if I hadn’t come. What a mess this had turned into. Curse that sniveling coward who blew my cover.
Nobody spoke. The reality turned into a forgetful haze. Indeed, only one sound echoed in the chamber of my demise.
The Clock Was Ticking
It was a plastic demon. White with black dials and even darker whiskers.
The sound made me want to scream.
I hated that clock. And I knew its cursed offspring would haunt me for years to come. Because of it every timer on the walls of plain, clinical rooms, became a source of frustration. Every tick sent me back under their stares. And, of course, every tock reminded me of the utter defeat and humiliation of it all.
After a while of this torture, they let me go. In my memories, I still haven’t said a single word.
Yet, some of the moments are vivid in my mind. This story is one of them. While it may be raw, and with some creative tones, it is true to my experience at the time. Following this, I felt so humiliated over the fact that I had been ‘outed’. Moreover, the shame turned into anger when nothing happened afterward.
Eventually, though, I got over my loathing of the paramedics. I’ve even learned to appreciate them somewhat. I got my treatment, and as of writing this post, it seems like I’ll be out of therapy within the next few months!
And yes, I’m still on the same boat with Captain Hook.