Erotomania

She had that crazed look of jealously plastered across her face. She spat in my direction clearly naming me the victim of her green rage. It didn’t make any sense though. There was nothing I had that was worth anyone wanting. She was clearly too wrapped up in her own arrogant tantrum to know anything about me. If she knew, she would pity me like everyone else.

I smiled for the first time in a while. She had treated me like everyone that came into contact with her destructive behavior. She hadn’t seen anything wrong with me.

The group therapist decided to end the session early, since the psych ward was now severely understaffed due to Beverly’s outburst. I wandered over to the other side of the hospital, and made my way through the oncology department.

“Hi there Derek,” Penny smiled at me as I walked into the waiting. “I have some forms you need to fill out, birthday boy.”

“The usual legal nonsense?” I asked giving her a small grin and looked over the clipboard of forms she just handed me.

“Since you’re a legal adult now, you get to enjoy all the legal responsibilities like the rest of us,” she smiled sweetly. “You can fill it out while I take some blood so we can get you out of here early to celebrate your birthday.”

“Kay,” I nodded busy reading over paragraphs of words in tiny print. “I’ll be in my usual chair.”

I walked past kids and teens hooked up to machines and drips. They all had toxic waste flowing through their veins now. The realization that I would soon be enjoying my own personal chemical cocktail made my stomach twist and churn painfully with nausea.

I took a seat at the far end of the room and rolled up my sleeves. Tiny purple dots aligned along my most visible vein. I pulled out the catheter that had been inconspicuously hiding under my shirt while providing easy access to my blood stream.

“You ready?” Penny enthusiastically asked as she dragged a tray of needles and vials over to my chair.

“Ready as always,” I pretended to sound somewhat happy.

As the needle dug into my vein for the hundredth time, I began to think if any of this was actually worth it. The pain, the nausea, the eventual hair loss, the surgeries, the debt I’ve put my parents into, the friends I’ve lost. It really wasn’t worth it. There was no point in living when I was just prolonging the time it took until I reached my inevitable death. It wasn’t worth it at all.