Beep… beep… beep…
My vision blurred when I first opened my eyes to see the tiled ceiling. I was far too out of it to realize where I was. Gazing around the room, I saw the television fastened to the wall, two ugly green, square chairs, and the blinds down on the black framed window. Where am I? How did I get here?
When I went to move my arm, I felt it – a tube fastened into my wrist, and my skin began to crawl. Not here was the only thought that crossed my mind.
Beep, beep, beep…
The heart monitor quickened when, in shock, I threw off the thin blankets and sheets to reveal myself in a dotted hospital gown, legs covered in cuts and bruises. Immediately, I was hit by a wave of tiredness, and I settled back down into the bed, cursing under my breath, “Shit.”
It hurt to even say, and upon moving my mouth, I felt the tube in my throat. I croaked, reaching up to feel where they’d forced a feeding tube into my mouth. My fingers touched where it hooked in my nose, and I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. Not this. I’d worked so hard to achieve death, and now they’re nursing me back to life.
Desperation clawed in my mind. I felt like an animal trapped, yet most would be thankful they survived taking several handfuls of pills. Most people would view this as a second chance at life. Not me. I’ve been done with life for some time, and not a single doctor, nurse, psychiatrist, or therapist can understand why.
My body was too weak to move. I attempted to lift myself out of bed but fell back before I could even get myself lifted. My body was emaciated, skin and bones, and I just let out a tiny cry from my sore throat. I did this, I thought to myself as I again attempted to lift myself up from the bed, pushing tubes away. And now I’m stuck recovering again.
Why? I thought to myself. Why won’t it just let me die?
“You’re not supposed to be moving.” I looked up to see a blonde nurse standing in the doorway to my empty room. She gripped a clipboard in her hands, and her round face showed concern.
I simply rolled my eyes and attempted again to get up again. She ran to my side almost instantly, pale hands clasping my bony shoulders. I squirmed, trying to get away from her, but my state made it impossible to even fight back. She pushed me back and begged, “Please, calm down.”
I refused to even look at her. My brown eyes rested on the blinds while I pursed my lips, breathing heavily. I felt her checking some tubing and machinery, listening to the clattering going on beside me. She placed a blood-pressure cuff on me. I didn’t even flinch, fighting back the tears lingering. My chest was tight.
While that was happening, she outstretched the thermometer to me. I refused it at first and then relented, realizing there was no point in even fighting this. I’m tubed, I’m hydrated, and I’m alive. How wonderful.
After taking my vitals, she gently said, “I know it must be a shock. You’re lucky to be alive. Your name is London? My name is Kelsey. I’m going to be your nurse for tonight.”
I didn’t reply, still refusing to look at her. She couldn’t fathom how badly I wanted to rip this stupid tubing out of my throat and throw it at her. After a few seconds of silence, she took the hint and decided to leave. Leaving the door cracked to my room, I breathed a sigh of both frustration and relief and settled down, staring at the tiled ceiling, and plotting how in the hell to get out of here.
Obviously, this is not my first rodeo in a situation like this. I’ve attempted numerous times to take my life in my own hands, as I call it. I’ve been hospitalized several times before this, at least five, and each time I come out the same – unchanged and on a different set of pills and therapy practices.
Nothing works. I knew this would be no different. I took five bottles of pain killers. I’m about 96 lbs, 5’6”. I searched for an answer for how I’m still alive while I lay in that bed with the beeping in my ears, stifling back tears of true frustration. I do not want this. I crave death.
Most would say this is a miracle. I fail to see how. I’m in constant peril. Even then, I waited for it, listening intently. I knew it lurked beneath the surface of my subconscious, watching and waiting and laughing at every little mistake I ever made. It never slept – no need for it, I assume. Plaguing my mind, it hissed when it spoke, words so heavy yet pillow-like at the same time, billowing and yet whispering.
A true monster existed inside my head, and not a single soul believed me.
“London?!”
I heard the familiar voice ring out to me, and I turned to see my mom standing in the doorway. Great I thought to myself. Now this.
“London… oh thank goodness you’re alive!” She walked in and sat in one of the puke green chairs off to the side. Pushing her burnet hair out of her brown eyes, she continued, voice cracking. “Look at you!”
I couldn’t even look at her as I fought back tears. My eyes rested above her head to give her the illusion I was looking at her. The words caught in my throat as I fought back my own sadness. She could never understand.
“Mom…” I finally muttered as my face twisted into a grimace of despair.
“You’re just… you’re just bones!” She covered her mouth with a pale hand, fingernails painted red. I could tell she, too, was holding back how she felt. “What have you done to yourself?!”
Her demand fell out of her mouth and hit me right in throat. A single tear fled down my face, and I had to avert my gaze while my chin trembled. Composing myself quickly, I turned back to her, and, heaving a sigh, my words wobbled out. “Y-you wouldn’t understand.”
“How… how could I not understand?!”
I flinched. I looked her dead in the eyes, a rage boiling inside my chest. “I have to.”
“You have to what?” She appeared confused, and I knew we were about to fight.
“It’s inside me.”
“Not this again.”
Yup, we were about to fight. I threw my gaze back to the window as another tear escaped my left eye, running down my cheek with speed. My words caught in my throat again as I swallowed the ever-growing lump. I cannot handle this. I thought.
And then, it happened as it always does. My mom cried out, “London, you’ve completely destroyed yourself over this. I haven’t seen you in 6 months, and now look at you. You know it’s not real.”
As she spoke these words, a voice in my head mirrored it perfectly, predicting what she’d say. I squirmed. You son of a bitch I thought to myself, gritting my teeth as I wriggled around in my bed. That’s when I ripped the IV from my arm.
Everything that followed is just a haze. I remember pleading, “You don’t understand.” I sat up in bed. My mom had already jumped up from her chair and ran to my side. She pushed me back into bed, begging me to stay.
… Beeeeeeep…
I ripped the heart monitor off of me, teeth tightly together while I groaned. I breathed heavily as I heard it ring out. It made my skin crawl.
You’re alive, aren’t you?
“Mom, please,” I remember begging. My consciousness was fading when I watched Kelsey enter the room.
“Please… she’s too weak!”
My mom cried, “She’s ripping everything out!”
You can’t escape me. The monster loved predicting what other people would say. That’s how I knew it existed separate from me.
“Please cooperate with me here!” both the voice and Kelsey called. I just fell back into my bed, emaciated, and let it happen. I had no choice. I was too weak to fight.
And as I faded out, I could hear that thing cackling. No words, just laughter. It shook me to the core. That’s when I knew—it planed this.