"Would you like to talk about it?" she asks.
Talk? I glance at her. She's younger than the nurse, barely out of school. She has long black hair and her dark brown eyes watch me with a reserved look. After I woke up -- again -- I was brought here. I don't know where 'here' is, but anyway. The person talking to me is supposed to be a therapist or something. I don't care. They looked at my wrists and decided that talking would somehow help.
"Getting to talk to someone about difficult things might help you, Emilia."
I scoff at her. What would talking about it do? I've been in this hospital for two days now, I think. Not one thing has helped. Because there's nothing that even can. My life is a failure, and I'm a failure. The only thing that would help is for me to ... just ... end.
"The ending of a relationship is always a crisis, Emilia. It feels like the whole world is crushing you, but I promise it'll get better."
Anger flares inside me. I promise. The fuck you do. You can't do that. I hate empty promises. I despise them with my whole being. How would it 'get better'? With magic?
"You promise?" I hiss at her through my gritted teeth. "You promise that somehow my genetics will change in the future? You promise that I can relive my childhood that I never had? You promise that whatever the fuck it was that you healthcare people did to me just ceases to exist? You promise that you can undo all the shit that happened? You have no fucking idea, and you're full of shit promising fucking things you can't even begin to understand!"
It came out angrier than I thought, but I don't regret it. She deserves every bit of that for her stupid, empty promise. She's taken aback, and she glances down at her papers. I turn my hands so my wrists are upwards and I hold them out for her to see.
"You think I did these two days ago? You think all of this because I got dumped? You think my life would somehow magically fix itself if I just talked to you about why Jenny dumped me?"
"I ... I didn't ..."
"No. No, you didn't. Because people like you never do. People like you have no idea what it is to be like ... this. To be born as a failure. For life to throw everything it can to your face, and when you try to shield yourself or try to get up, the shit just doubles. You have no idea what it feels like to be reminded that you're a genetic freak every. Fucking. Second ... Every. Fucking. Step. You. Take. You have no idea what it feels to see a normal photo of a child laughing and be reminded that your childhood was robbed from you, that you didn't get to experience anything you wanted. Just because of the way you were born. You have no idea how it feels to be like this, and everyone thinking I have somehow chosen this."
I slump back to the chair I was sitting in and drop my gaze down, trying to catch my breath. Contrary to what she said, talking about it didn't help. It made it just worse. I can feel the heat behind my eyes. I can feel my breath catching in my throat. I know it's useless to fight against it, but I try. I grit my teeth as hard as I can, and squeeze the chair with both of my hands. But, as always, I'm not strong enough. The tears escape and I bury my face in my hands. Tears fall freely from my eyes, and my body twitches as I cry.
She says something else, but I don't hear it. Everything is falling on me. Again. I was delirious when I thought Jenny would stay with someone like me. I'm a genetic failure with nothing but bad luck my whole life. I don't blame her. I hurt her; I wasn't there for her. I wasn't the girlfriend she deserves. I'm not the girlfriend anyone deserves. I wish my tears would just stop coming. I wish I was strong enough to stop them. To stop everything.
I'm only vaguely aware of being escorted somewhere and papers being handed to me. I'm sitting at a table, with the papers in front of me, but I can't figure out what to do with them. They handed me a pen, so I expected to do something with them. But I can't figure out how a paper and pen go together. It makes no sense in my head. It's somehow completely unrealistic to me that you could use one with the other, so I just stare at the paper.
Somebody sits beside me and touches my hand. I don't react in any way. I don't know how to, or why should I. They talk to me in a gentle tone, but I don't understand what they say. I see them pointing at various points on the paper and pointing at the pen. I don't understand what they're going for. Why should I point at the paper with the pen? It makes no sense to me. I hear them sigh. I'm sorry I'm such a failure and I don't even understand what I should do.
Some time afterward -- I don't know how long. Minutes? Hours? -- someone grabs my hand gently and pulls me up from the chair. They lead me through several hallways into what looks like a small room. I'm directed to sit on a bed, so I just do it. I don't know why, but I don't know why would I resist. It doesn't matter. Then, whoever it was, leaves the room. I stare at the wall, unseeing.
I think it's just a few minutes later when someone comes into the room -- I don't know if it's the same person as last time, but I don't really care. They hand me a glass of water, and a couple of white pills. Instantly, I wish it's poison so I could just end, but something inside my brain picks up things, and I just stare at the pills.
"What are these?" I manage to mumble.
"Quetiapine and Escitalopram. They should help you feel better," the voice says and continues something, but I can't hear it anymore.
Flames flare up inside my head, and anger consumes my mind. I toss the pills on the floor and get up so quickly the other person steps backwards in fear. Flashes of pills, scales, BMI charts, and declined surgeries scroll past my eyes and I can't just ignore it.
"Help my ass!" I yell at them. "You're just like the others! You're just trying to make everything even worse, if that's even possible! I fucking people have no fucking idea about anything! Do you think I'm stupid?! Do you think I don't know what these pills do to me?"
"They will help you feel--" the person says, but I interrupt them.
"They make me fat! They raise my BMI and then that's another thing to hold against me! You claim to help people, but when it's one of us, you know fucking nothing!"
I walk past them, out of the room and into the hallway. It's hard, but I manage to spot the green line on the floor a little way further, and make my way to it. I know I can just follow this and it'll take me out of here. I put one foot in front of the other and just continue walking. Somewhere back in my head, I'm surprised nobody tries to stop me, but I'm too angry and too out of it to pay attention to it, or care that much.
Once outside, I just continue walking. I take random turns at crossroads and just walk. I have no idea where I am at this point, but it's not like I would feel any different if I were somewhere else. It's not as cold as it was last time, but it's not actually warm.
I find myself walking on the beach, near the piers for the small personal boats. I know several of them are pulled on the shore and turned upside down for the winter, and that they haven't yet put them back. If I can crawl under one of them, that should keep me somewhat warm and at least shelter me from the rain, if there's any.
Momentarily, I wonder if I should just walk off the longest pier and disappear under the waves. I wish I could, but drowning is one of my biggest fears and I can't physically force myself to do it. But I'm not strong enough for that either. I'm not strong enough to do anything. Not even to end my own life.
I found an upside down boat that's slightly behind a bush. It's hard for my non-existent muscles, but I manage to lift the boat enough that I can crawl under it. There's no wind here, so it's surprisingly warm in such a few moments. I close my eyes for what I wish fervently would be the last time -- like always -- and fall asleep.
ns 15.158.61.55da2
