Mary Without Sound

1: They Say That What Doesn’t Kill Us Makes Us Who We Are

I am numb.

I feel nothing.

I hear voices drifting in and out of my ears, through my mind, then back out again.

The one familiar voice stands out, but it’s one I haven’t heard in about a year.

The rest of the unfamiliar voices drown it out.

But only a few words register at a time.

Ones like “stabilizing” and “heart rate” and “overdose.”

“Emergency contacts” and “insurance.”

“February 3rd.” and “Ativan.”

I don’t open my eyes.

The bright white light pierces through my lids anyway.

I let go.

My consciousness drifts away from me into silence.

I wake up again to voices.

To my dismay.

Shock.

Anger.

I’m not supposed to be awake.

This wasn’t the plan.

I can’t feel anything besides my head pounding fiercely behind my eyes and my heavy limbs lying limp and unmoving.

I flex my fingers.

I open my eyes.

Everyone stops talking.

My eyes adjust to the brightness to register that everyone is looking at me.

The only sound is the humming and beeping machine I’m hooked up to.

Everyone is shocked into silence.

I’m not supposed to be awake.