Mad Like Me

Sob- related to the Old English seofian: “to lament”

Speaking of crying I’ve been crying all day. I don’t know why, I just feel so sad. I guess I do know why. I mean, if I keep this up, what are the chances of me getting out of here? And that in turn makes me cry harder.

Even if I do get out, could I really live with the fact that I’m on drugs forever? I mean, I don’t want to live my life drugged upon antipsychotics. What’s the point if I’m not seeing life the way I should?

Maybe I should just end it now.

But how? There’s nothing in here to do it with. The lamp’s metal, so I can’t smash it and stab myself with the shards. The clock’s barred off for the same reason. I don’t have any poison, and they probably have the supply closet locked so I can’t drink cleaning fluid or something.

Cat. Get a grip on yourself. Why are you thinking like this? You can’t think like this. You have dreams, and a long life ahead of you. You’ll get out.

Shit. Time for therapy.

“So you’ve been having de suicidal thoughts?” repeated Dr. Gonzalez in her thick accent.
“Yes.” I couldn’t see the expression on her face because my head was buried in my hands, but I had a feeling it was cynical. All I could see was the putrid pink uniform in the gap between my fingers.

“Dis could be de medicine you have been put on. It is one of de side effects. I will write a note to de doctors not to deliver it to your room in de morning.”

That voice. I knew she couldn’t help it, but it was getting on my nerves. Is there anything I can stab her with? I shook my head.

“Why are you shaking your head? You don’t want to stop your meds?”
“No, I want to get thoughts of killing you out of my head.”

“Rest assured that de feeling is mutual. JK,” she added quickly. “Dat was a joke. Isn’t dat what de kids say now? JK.” Oy. This one’s a piece of work.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can I leave now?”

“Not until we figure out an alternate treatment plan for you. Tell me, Catalina, have you ever tried acupuncture?”

“No. And I never will. I don’t fancy becoming a human pincushion.”
“You will not even feel it. Trust me. It helps to overcome both de physical and de mental difficulties.”
“I don’t care. I’m not doing it.”
“Yes you are. If I say it is part of your treatment plan, you must partake in it. Dat is de point of you being here.”

I threw my hands up into the air and walked out. Luna was waiting outside.

“What up, chickadee?” she chirped.
“Nothing. And don’t call me that.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, chickadee. You look very upset. Even I can tell that. And while I read rather well, I really don’t read people. But it’s on your face, plain as crackers.”

“Plain as… you know, never mind. If you must know, I feel like killing myself and everyone around me. Including you if you don’t stop calling me chickadee!”

Luna nodded and pursed her lips.
“I see. You know what I do when I feel like that?”
“No. And I’d rather not.”
“I scream.”
“Is that what I heard yesterday? I assumed it was a nearby jet taking off.”
“Try it,” she insisted. “Scream at the top of your lungs.”

“Will you stop bothering me?”
“I just want my friend to be happy.”
“You think we’re…” I stopped. This girl’s closest friend was probably Willow. Any friends she had outside the institute she wouldn’t see for a long time, since she’d probably be here for months, if not years. Why should I deny her the gift of a friend? “Fine. I’ll try it.”

I took a deep breath and let loose a long, ear-piercing shriek. When all my air was out, I took a deep breath and smiled. It was like my pain had gone out with my voice. I wasn’t perfect, but I was better. Luna was grinning.

“See? Isn’t it a bit better now?”
“Yes. It is. Thank you, Luna. I owe you.”
“Anytime, roomie.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “So how do you like it here?”

“It’s hell, but at least I’m among my people.”
“I hear ya, love. Lunch is the best part of my day. And that’s saying something, with the shit they serve us here.”

“I just… I just want to go home, you know?”

Luna gave a wan smile, and I could see her eyes tearing up.
“Yeah. I know.”

Well, truth be told, I still feel like crap. But at least I’ve made peace with one of my roommates. Now on to Willow. She hasn’t said a word to me, since I got here, although the glaring is now interspersed with pitying looks. She’s in the room right now, staring into space.

“Hey Willow,” I said, “we haven’t really talked. How was your day?”

She glanced up from the laptop and frowned.
“Miserable. Like you.”
“Why do you insist on hating me?” I cried. “What did I do wrong? If you just tell me, I’ll try to fix it, I promise.”

Willow stopped typing, snapped the laptop shut.
“That prank you pulled on Luna that second day. It was cruel. You know she’s fragile.”
“But I didn’t know that then! And I think she’s forgiven me for it. We had a little heart-to-heart earlier, and it was nice. No hostility.”

“That’s good to know. But you of all people should have known better. And I’m sorry, but I just don’t like you very much. I don’t like most people, actually.”

“Oh,” I sighed. “So there’s no hope of friendship?”
“Not really, no.”
“Well, then I propose a truce. We won’t fight, okay?”
“Fine by me.” She flipped open her laptop again and kept typing.

Feel like sleeping now. It’s still daytime – 3:00 – so I shouldn’t have trouble. Plus I doubt Willow’s going to turn out the light. Good night, dear Journal.