Poison Arms

Pathetic. It’s a very relevant word I would use to describe myself with. Pathetic, useless, weak, etc. The list is never ending. I’ve never been very appreciative of my life; in fact, I’ve always kinda wanted it to end. I’m not suicidal or anything, but I wouldn’t exactly be bummed out if I got hit by a train or something. I don’t ever remember being stoked on life, not even as a kid. Then again, I can’t remember anything before grade 3. The doctors say that happens when people go through traumatic things at young ages.

I was only 10 when my parents died. Every since then, I’ve been in here. Forest View Psychiatric Hospital. 1055 Medical Park Drive. Grand Rapids, Michigan. I remember the ride here, almost 8 years ago; I was strapped down on a bed. I could feel a bunch of different people touching me all at the same time; some were real and others that I’m still not sure about. I remember them doping me up, and I remember waking up in this room. I was confused, lost, and hurt. I felt betrayed, almost. I felt like everyone had let me down, even God. The one I turned to when the man in my closet wouldn’t leave me alone. The one I turned to when the scratching wouldn’t stop. The one I turned to for help, for guidance, for protection. He’d let me down in the biggest way possible that night, by taking my parents. It made the papers and it was on the news. People looked down on me, like it was my fault. If they only knew what really happened that night.

Anyways, I guess I’m your typical basket case. Around these parts, I’m iconic. People still talk about me and my parents. I had 4 siblings, but I’m guessing they were sent off to homes. Poor children. I’ve been hearing things and seeing things every since I can remember. My mother used to keep me in the same room at night, because according to her I had an imaginary friend who would visit me in my sleep and make me cry for hours. What a friend that was, huh? My parents never told anyone, because they wanted to raise me like a normal child. They wanted to act like I was a normal child, but they should’ve known that wouldn’t work.

“Kellin.” I heard a voice say, faintly knocking on my door. I ignored it, because I didn’t think it was real.

“Kellin, it’s time for your medicine.” The voice spoke once again.

My door opened slowly, and I saw a silver tray rolling towards me with a beautiful young nurse behind it. It was my morning nurse, Brittany. I admired her beauty as she slowly got closer and closer till she was standing at the end of my bed.

“Here you go, sweet heart.” She said holding out a tiny cup full of pills.

I reached up to grab them from her, and that’s when I noticed her eyes flicker from blue, to solid black, back to blue. It frightened me so bad I knocked the pills out of her hand.

“You’re not Brittany. You’re not real. Get out.” I said curling into a ball in the corner of the room.

She flashed me a smile. “Kellin, it’s me. I promise.”

I watched her gather all the scattered pills and offer them to me again. I snatched them from her hands.

“Get out. Please, just leave me alone.” I said.

She sat a cup of water on my bedside table, and then quickly walked out of my room.

I ran my fingers along the underneath of my mattress, searching for the hole I bit into it. Finally, I found it and stuffed the pills inside of it one by one. Then I drank the water to make it look like I took them. There were pills for my depression, schizophrenia, multiple personalities disorder that I don’t have, and vitamins for my eating disorder.

Yeah, I should probably take those pills, but I don’t like them. They make me feel off my game. I can’t focus on anything. My sight gets blurry, and I just go careless. I feel like a vegetable when I take all those pills, so I’ve been hiding them for about 1 year and a half now, along with my food. Although I don’t hide my food in the mattress. I flush it. A couple years ago, one of the nurses came in here trying to feed me, and I remember not being hungry that day. So they didn’t make me eat. It was my own twisted way of getting back at Karma, at life. I went into the bathroom and I scanned my body, which I had always hated, and I was disgusted. I remember feeling powerful, and it was an enjoyable feeling. All my life, I was helpless to all of these bad things happening, and I finally had control over one. Every since then, I’ve had a problem with food. I don’t eat much of anything, and when I do it’s because I know I’m being watched. Sometimes they try to force me to eat, but it only gets worse then. It’s like I said when I began; I’m your typical basket case.