Blue Fingers

My mom used to tell me I could do everything I set my mind into, but doesn’t every mother say everything to their children? When is it true? When is it a faux? Is it some kind of trick to make you believe in yourself, to trigger some kind of hidden talent or desire? We’re all something special, do you believe this?

The covers felt heavy around me. I didn’t want to pull them away, it was comfortable just lying there and feeling nothing. I didn’t remember the last time I had stood from bed, my arms and legs felt stiff as I stood up. I would’ve gone straight to the floor if I hadn’t caught myself on time by placing a sweaty hand over my wall.

I heard my stomach grumble as if it was a person’s stomach grumbling beside me: I could hear it, I knew what it meant, yet I felt detached. I didn’t feel hungry, I didn’t feel anything at all. I knew there wasn’t anything left for me to do but die. I wanted to lay in a bed forever, or in the dirt or an empty field. I wanted to be left there to rot and die. I did everything in power to just be still until it all ended, but it just didn’t.

I couldn’t stop my mother when she barged into the room and pressed liquids down my throat, I couldn’t resist the shots that were given me...and I couldn’t take my life from me. My survival instinct just kicked in every time, leaving me more miserable than ever.

About the only good thing I did for my sorry self was to convince my mother to leave me stay at home rather than at some asceptic hospital, I just hate them so much. After some struggling she accepted, and I was left in my bed just shattering even more inside.

I mean, what was there to do?

When I finally find the meaning of my existence, when there’s a very possible chance of me being happy, it is taken away from me. Perhaps I’m just moronic, I left someone take it away from me. I just stood there, trying to ignore the symptoms: the blurriness, the dizzynes...they were signs that my body gave me telling me there was something wrong, that I needed to do something.

But I didn’t fucking listen.

The one time I need to step up and save myself I just end up staying there all limp and quiet while doing whatever the exterior factors wanted from me. Not only that was messed up, but everything with Ethan was just doomed now. I mean our bond had dissapeared, it was no longer there and it didn’t seem to come back anytime soon.

I stumbled out of the sheets and into the bathroom, the whiteness of it all making my eyes hurt. I let myself fall on the bath tub, underwear and oversized shirt on. I pushed myself to turn the knob and let the water fill the inmaculate bath tub. I threw my head back as the warmness seeped through my pores, creating an artificial sence of tranquility.

I stared at the spotless ceiling. White has a certain oddness about it, doesn’t it? It reminds you of clean, tidy, obsessively perfect things. It is certainly not soothing at all. I can’t get why people choose white for hospitals, I’d go insane in one of those. If I had been my older self I would’ve covered the walls with something significant, simple and beutiful. Maybe simple portraits of people who made it? Of people who survived?

The portraits would be ghosts of hope, faintly reminding you that there was a slim difference between you dying in a stretcher and being able to stare at another picture. It would certainly be better than bare walls, with nothingness surrounding you. How do they expect you to find that one thing that will make you fight to live if they surround you with nothingness?

It’s stupid.

I didn’t have any portraits surrounding me, either. I sighed, trying to push away the complicated thoughts and focusing on something much more simple to comprehend and to satisfy my need of trying to drown in the bathtub...again.
There was a splashy sound around me. A happy, constrant drip,drip,drip, splash, splash,splash. I like that sound. It’s merry and simple. It doesn’t change, its the same thing over and over....now that’s soothing.

I smiled as the sound continued, disconnecting myself from everything that wasn’t that sound...

* * *

“Alexis, you’ve got to pull yourself together! Now it’s not enough for you to destroy yourself, you want to destroy the house as well?!”

My mother yelled at me, desperation cracking the comprehension and cool mask she had been wearing for the past weeks.

I stood in front of her, my wet hair clinging to my damp skin, my knees knocking together from the lack of proper clothes. I wrapped my towel tighter around me, my knuckles turning white.

“You almost flood the whole house! Why did you leave the water running? Didn’t you notice? Are you trying to turn me insane as well?”

My mother yelled even louder, a vein popping in her neck and forehead. I frowned, staring at my pale toes.

“Just let her go change, darling. And calm down.”

I head my stepfather say. The rustling of fabric suggested he had hugged my mom. She sighed deeply, almost desperately.

“Go get dressed, Alexis...you’ll catch a cold.”

She said in a more gentle tone. I turned on my heels, walking straight back to my room.

“I need a fucking cigarette.”

I heard my mother groan from the landing I had just left.

“I need a fucking peace of mind...”

I mumbled as I returned to my room, my limbs feeling heavier than ever. I closed the door behind me. As I waked towards my bed I could feel my fingers slipping from the damp towel. My legs carried me as far as the border of my bed, in which I collapsed. The wood struck hard agains my thighs, my head fell heavily unto the pillows and tangled sheets.

Everything was so blurry, so dificult to understand. I didn’t know what was up from down, right from left, veracious from dubious. It was all a mess, my mess, and I was in no condition to fix it.