What It Takes

How long has she been here? She can’t remember. She doesn’t recall what she is wearing. Her head is too tired to look down to see. She can faintly feel her hair resting below her shoulders in a thick dark mess. When was the last time she combed her hair? She can’t remember. She thinks she is losing it.
Someone walks behind her and her ears perk up like a cat. The person continues down the hallway, avoiding her like a fly on the wall. Maybe they don’t see her. Maybe, perhaps, she is finally invisible. As invisible as she feels she is.
“Keira, it’s time for visiting hour.” A large woman with an outdated wardrobe calls her name behind her and her heart sinks a little at the recognition. She is alive after all. She must remember that.
Keira looks at the lady, past the lady, at the wall behind her and nods vacantly. Seven o’clock every Friday is when visiting hour is, for those who are safe to visit. Keira isn’t dangerous to anyone but herself, at least that’s what they keep telling her. Sure, she should be feeling happy about this, right? Or, at least she should be feeling something. That would be normal. Happiness, that’s supposed to be a normal emotion, but she is still learning, as they tell her too often, of what she is supposed to be feeling.
For some reason she is feeling frustration right now. The annoying lady is not leaving her alone. Never, never is she ever alone in this Goddamn place, and it’s making her crazy. The mental institution is making her crazy. Is she supposed to find that funny? She doesn’t feel like laughing at her thoughts, it just seems too pathetic to laugh at.
Now she is exhausted.
“Keira, honey, are you ready to see your family tonight? If you’re too tired, just say so.” Her voice is sweet, like nectar, but it’s lost on her.
The frail little girl doesn’t meet the ladies eyes. Her own liquid blues are blank; tug boats lost at sea, never really seeing any kind of land, just drifting in and out of darkness. The lady, Marty, looks at her with grief, but it’s not the usual pity other people lay upon her, it’s more than that. Marty has known Keira since she first came to this place. She knows more than anybody what pain Keira is holding back. Other people in this institution are complainers. She’s a survivor.
She’s just not sure what it is that’s good about that fact.
“Okay, I’ll tell them you’re not ready today and then bring you to your room. Just stay right here, Sweetie.” She left quickly and Keira was thankful. She hates responding to people. If she could have her way she’d be invisible so no one could expect anything from her. That’s all she wanted, but they forced her alive.

They sit in a circle of chairs with the group leader, Stacey, at the head of the circle. She is dressed in jeans and a blouse, trying to make an impression on people who don’t even pay attention to her. No one here likes her because she makes them talk. And who the hell wants to talk about their feelings when their feelings are the things making them go insane?
“You guys may not know this right now, but it’s your choice to be here. Only you can allow yourself to change and get better. If you talk then you’ll start the process of healing. Don’t you all want to be healed?”
The way she says this makes if sound like they’re all dogs and she’s trying to get rid of their fleas. Keira sees right through this girl, who she believes is only here for the big fat pay check. This institute is the priciest and they must pay their employees well. Keira wishes she were the employee instead of the dog.
“Keira,” Stacey turns her attention towards her with a fake smile on her orange skin. She uses her money for tanning. It doesn’t work for her.
Keira looks at her blankly.
“Do you want to recover?” her words hang in the air for a few minutes while everyone waits for Keira’s response.
She doesn’t blink or twitch. She sits there in a stare contest with Stacey, and Stacey is becoming uneasy. It’s almost like she’s the dog now and Keira is the trainer. Heal, dog, and shut up. Keira’s eyes are burrowing into Stacey’s. Stacey looks nervous now and takes her eyes off Keira’s to the wall behind her, to the other dogs in the room, to Keira again. “Do you want to recover, Keira?” her voice isn’t as strong this time.
“Recover from what?” Keira’s voice was sweet like candy.
“Um,” Stacey doesn’t know what to say. “From your overdose,” she squeaks out.
“I’m alive, aren’t I?” she counteracts Stacey’s question and raises her eyebrow.
“Yes,” she says, unsure about herself. “But do you think you would do something like that again?”
Everyone in the room is staring at Keira with admiration and curiosity. They didn’t know anything about her until now.
“It depends,” she ponders. This is making her tired. She wishes Stacey would end the session now so she can go back to her bed. It’s only three fifty in the afternoon, but her oxygen is all used up.
Stacey stares at Keira as if she really is crazy. “That’s why we’re here, to make you guys sure that you’re ready to live a normal life. Obviously, Keira, you still have some time to be sure that you’re ready to go back to your normal life, but this institute is all about making you all proactive in the process of recovery.” Stacey went on for a few more minutes, turning the attention to everyone instead of just Keira.
Keira thought about what it would be like going back to a ‘normal life’. She’s never had a normal life. Her life was killing her. Is that what Stacey wants her to go back to? In that case, fill her suitcase with pain killers and give a ticket back to Boston. Keira’s ready for take-off.