Sweet Insanity

“I still maintain that I am not depressed, and therefore do not need the treatment that you have so graciously extended towards me. Honestly, I am not, scouts honor,” Carson battled. The nurse remained unwavering in her resolve to see Carson placed into treatment. It was true though, she was not depressed, at least not in the sense that most people categorize depression. She was simply aware of something more than what she was around now. It was not so much suicide attempts as it was trying to return. She had tried explaining it to people countless times, but they weren’t there, they couldn’t understand, and for that she could not blame them.

“Miss Marris-”

“Carson, please call me Carson.”

“Carson then, you have tried to kill yourself a record thirty times and have almost succeeded at least twenty, if you were not depressed you wouldn’t have tried it. The judge was most kind to place you in this treatment. You have to complete it. I have showed you to your room, and I have helped you unpack, and you are still battling. Please, just stop it. You have therapy first thing after lunch. Maybe you will make a friend.” The nurse left, leaving Carson alone in a white sterile looking room. It was nothing like her bedroom at home which was decorated by light pink and white polka dots she had painted herself. This place just seemed cold.

Her feet hit the tiles with a soft pitter patter sound. They were snuggled in to her favorite pair of slippers, the only pair of shoes she was allowed to bring from home besides the ones she wore in. They gave her an odd sense of comfort in an uncomfortable home. People walked past her, it reminded her of being in high school again almost, all the people crowding around, each in their own special clique. It was oddly reminiscent of Mean Girls, if Mean Girls was set in a rehab clinic anyway.

“Are you Carson Marris?” She nodded and the girl smile at her. She was a redhead by birth, you could tell, and her giant brown eyes peered into Carson’s soul, causing her to shift uncomfortably. “I am Ruby Harolds, of the New Hampshire Harolds. I was told to meet you and bring you to therapy since you have finished eating. Can you tell me why you are here? No, of course not, you do not know me. I am here for exhaustion, Daddy thought it would be a good idea for me to get away. You know father’s always worrying about their princesses.” Carson nodded and followed the girl silently. She did not want to open up to the girl, it seemed rather fruitless in effort to tell the girl that she did in fact not know anything about having a father to care about her, and she was not rich like herself, and she was here for what some people would consider an actual problem.

They walked down the hall silently after that until they reached a large metal door that adorned a simple sign saying ‘we all get better within these walls.’ The message was positive, there was no denying that, but when a person doesn’t wish to get better Carson knew there was nothing that a therapist could do to change things. Everything in life was a mind game. And she knew some of the people in the room with her would not get better, their mind was simply saying no.

The room was divided between boys and girls, one half of the large circle of chairs was inhabited by one gender, and the other composed of the opposite. You could tell immediately some of the people were there longer, they had fuller faces, joyful eyes, and they were shockingly contrast to the gaunt, sad looking individuals seated around them. One happy, perfectly recovered individual for every two pathetic creatures. Carson took a seat next to a perky looking brunette. The bubble gum smile she was wearing looked fake, fabricated by the need to appear happy. Carson was used to seeing past people’s masks.

“Hello group, my name is Bethany, and I am the Therapy Coordinator here at Brooke Hollow, I see there are quite a few new faces so I would like to take the opportunity to use today to get to know one another. So if you could each one by one take a moment to stand up and introduce yourselves and say why you are here and one fact about you that would be awesome. I will start so things aren’t awkward.” A few people rolled their eyes; introductions didn’t make anything less awkward. The woman remained unperturbed though, and continued with her introduction speech. “My name is Bethany, I am thirty-four years of age and I am a recovering methamphetamine addict. I have been in recovery for thirteen years, after using for seven. I started using young, having been raised by addicts, and I was court ordered into rehab after stealing a neighbor’s car while high. I am currently engaged to be married to a man who also works here and is a recovering meth user, and I work here part time, and I am also a part time Special Education Teacher. Now we will go in a circle, so please Andrew stand up and introduce yourself.”

The boy named Andrew stood up and gave a brief introduction of himself and sat down. Carson paid very little attention to the next few people; she was busy fact checking in her own head, who was she aside from the person medical personnel made her out to be? What was interesting to say besides what was in her chart? She knew what was interesting to her friends and family, but these people were nothing to her aside from peers. What would they find interesting? All too soon the nudge on her elbow took her from her thoughts and she stood, she nervously smoothed out the lower portion of her oversized, dress like sweater, and tucked her hands into her pocket before facing the group.

“My name is Carson Marris, and I am here because I died once. I died and saw what heaven was and how beautiful it is, and wanted to go back. The literal term I suppose is being ‘suicidal,’ and so I am here to learn how to regain my life and love for living. It was April fifteenth and I had just picked my sister up from college. She had broken up with her boyfriend during class and needed a little time, so I offered to pick her up and we would go shopping or something. There is this intersection in town, people wreck there all the time, they never put in a stop light and the speed limit is not lowered like it is in other parts of town, so I came up on this intersection during sixty-seven or so, and this person flew around the corner and hit me. The cops told me later he was going over a hundred, and was incredibly drunk. He walked away from his car, but mine was flipped. I was holding on to my sister, holding her against her seat making sure she wasn’t hurt. She broke her leg but that was it. A piece of glass had hit me in the neck, slicing my throat. Blood blocked my windpipe. And yeah… That is about all there is about that, I died and then I lived. I am twenty-one years old and have tried to kill myself approximately thirty times. I am not depressed or anything, but I was ordered into this place to learn what it is to live again. I am not sad about it, I miss having joy in something, but I am not happy either. I am not on drugs, I do not feel sad over mundane things, I just am here. And I am okay with being here. I am not exactly sure what else to say though, so I am going to go ahead and sit down.” She took her seat and everyone looked at her oddly. It was obvious they did not hear a story like hers very often.

A few more girls passed by in their introductions before Carson met a familiar face. It was her roommate; she had seen her picture on the night stand near the second twin bed. She did not listen to what the girl was saying, instead she searched her face. There was something familiar about it. Something defiant, and yet unnerved in this place. She had seen tragedy, which was apparent in her eyes. People who had seen sadness had a deeper look to their eyes, one that had seen something so profoundly tragic their entire life dynamic changed. The world was no longer a happy place. It was wrought with misfortune and horrible creatures of defiance.

“My name is Ben, and I am a part time druggie, and rockstar, and full time sexy beast. I am here only to get back out there. I don’t give a fuck what any of you think of me, and this sexy fucker here is Danny, and he is my best mate, and is sexier than most of you.” Carson eyed the boy curiously. She did not often encounter people who spoke so brashly and rudely with no filter. The only time she had heard someone speak in a way that was offensive to others was when her grandmother had shouted that her grandfather was a ‘bloody womanizer incapable of keeping his damned pecker in his trousers,’ at a company dinner party after a bottle of wine.

He sat back down with little care, and closed his eyes as if waiting for the entire ordeal to be over with. She knew he was going to have a rough go at it, druggies always seemed to, at least they did on the shows she watched on the television. Maybe he was already experiencing that, perhaps which was the reason his behavior seemed so out of the norm. “My name is Danny, and uh…what Ben said.” Carson laughed quietly, both men watched her as she tried to regain her composure. It was not a glance to make her think anything other than they interpreted her as someone who would appreciate their cocky behavior. They were probably right.

“Okay then guys, you can go back to your rooms now. Some of your roommates are actually in here with you now, and thankfully we can be happy that these two,” she motioned to Ben and Danny, “Are not roomies or else this place could burn to the ground.” She chuckled good naturedly and stood up and ushered people towards the door. Carson made her way over to the girl she had seen in photos and smiled at her.

“I am Carson, I believe we share a room. Incredibly white, really bland and in need of decoration, or burning. Sound familiar?” The girl chuckled, but seems uninterested. Carson understood. Each person needed their time and space to deal with what life was presenting.

“Elise, nice to meet you. Excuse me.” She hustled off towards the nurse’s station and Carson sighed and walked back to her room in silence. She would cut off her hand for some coffee right now. She had to leave her mustache mug at home. She had found it at a thrift shop in America for a dollar fifty and thought it was the best thing ever. It was a pearl white with a black mustache that said ‘I mustache you a question…’ people had laughed at her when she returned home and drank from it. But it was her prized possession, and she had never drunk tea or coffee from another mug since.

She lay on her bed with her eyes shut and the lights off for what seemed like hours before there was a light knock on the door. “That person told me to tell you that supper is in ten minutes. You have to be there apparently. We crazies need our crazy fuel ya’ know.” She nodded at the boy she remembered as Ben and stood up, picking a small piece of lint off of her tights and setting her sunglasses on the table next to her. She tugged on her beanie and shuffled out after him.

“Thank you for letting me know. You didn’t have to.” He shrugged and she found herself reeling for small talk. “So, you said you were a rock star? What is your bands name?” He shrugged and took a drink of water from a water bottle he produced from his pocket.

“Well, you may have heard of us but we are called the five man sexy stand band. We mainly do county fairs in America. People come to see us play the washboard and eat corn on the cob. I met a guy named Bubba there, if you ever go to America and a man in overalls asks you if you would be interested in seeing his tractor, for your mental state say no.” Carson laughed and nodded.

“I have been to America. I think I may have seen the man you speak of. Very little hair, about two teeth and a penchant for pulling his trousers down? Yeah I encountered him. I do not think I will ever be the same. For hours I sat in the corner of his barn crying with the other girls he had mentally and emotionally scarred.”

“Ah yeah, I think I may have seen you there. You were the one crying in the shoes right? Next to the straw stack? You may not have recognized me since I was in drag. It is a weekend hobby, I like to dress in drag and see how many homophobic rednecks I can pick up. It is a bit of a passion really.”

“Yeah, I do believe I saw you too. Was it you that stole my red pumps?”

“Bitch please, only I could pull those off. I did you a favor.” Carson laughed and Ben smiled at her before they were called into the gender specified areas of the dining room. She took a seat at her designated table and waited for her food to arrive. It was interesting how people could sit here and still have a good attitude about them. Her roommate sat silently beside her picking at her supper with a frown. Carson found herself doing the same once the slop on a plate showed in front of her. As her fingers swirled the food around on her plate she could hear the laughter from the two boys, and couldn’t help but wonder what they were laughing about. Laughter reminded her of home, and she would do anything to be home right now. She closed her eyes and thought about her house with all of her might, and when she opened them for a brief second she thought she saw her kitchens wallpaper before it faded back into the sterile white walls of Brooke Hollow…