Our Disappointed Hearts

The clock ticked mercilessly upon the wall, each hand movement signaling another second of agony, and torture. I bled rapidly, the flow constant and unchanging, and it seemed as though it would end as such. Perhaps I would bleed dry tonight- loose consciousness and simply not wake up the following morning.

I sighed and look down at the open wound, I had to clean it and seal it, death was a tempting prospect, but definitely not the answer to my problems, nor my questions. I had no wish to end my life, I simply wished to alleviate my worries and my anger. Attention wasn’t a goal here either. I had no desire to see a counselor or have a crowd of people feel sorry for me. I didn’t care about all of that… I just couldn’t carry such a heavy heart. It was far too painful and daunting.

I washed the single dash in my skin thoroughly, ensuring that I disinfected all areas that posed potential bacterial problems, and wrapped it tightly to speed the clotting and healing process of the red blood cells. I wasn’t proud of what I did, or why, but I wasn’t stupid about it either. Infection was a key mistake in taking such actions- they led to doctor appointments and inspections, which then led to psychology.

Once my disposition had returned to its normal, happy state, I exited my room and went into the family room. My mother had yet to return from work, and it was unlikely that she would until the early hours of the day. She could come home if she wished to, she could take lunch breaks to come see me, or at least speak with me, but she preferred being at the hospital, taking care of the patients that so desperately needed her.

I knew it wasn’t that she didn’t love me, or that she didn’t want to be here for me as a mother… I knew that it was because I reminded her of my father, her ex-lover, who had died on her very own table years before. I couldn’t blame her for her prolonged mourning, or her distance, and I didn’t. Many spouses deal with the death of their partner, but very few of them have to fight for their lovers life, and then lose it in their very hands, unable to do anything to save them… unable to do anything but watch the inevitable run its course.

I learned to deal with it long ago, but the idea of having no parental figures or guidance in your life along with additional stress sources and worries is a scary one.. To me, at least. Perhaps I’m just weak, and unable to control myself the way I should be able to. Perhaps I’m just like my mother, ignoring the world around me and remaining in mine and mine alone. I had no-one to talk to, or go to, I had no encouraging friend or sibling, I had nothing but myself.

I had nothing.