Home Blinds The Mind

A crash is heard, coming from their bathroom. Furniture is moving. A click. A click of a suitcase, perhaps. I know everything. I hear everything. I see everything. Sometimes I wish I didn't.1

Maybe the marks on my arms would disappear, along with the visions that come with them. I would not hide here. I would not do all that I was warned about. Maybe my food wouldn't taste bitter. Perhaps, it all wouldn't be pointless. This is hard for me. I wish I didn't know. I wish I could just assume things like others do. I would assume they don't care about me but my mom would spend hours talking to me after work. I would rebel and plead for freedom but I know better. Freedom is imprisonment. I'm afraid. I can act but I'm afraid. No one would help. It's not just an assumption. I heard them talk. I was sitting in my usual spot one day and the door opened. 2

I saw dad's brown sandals and how he seemed to shift his weight from one side to another. I saw my mom's red stiletto boots and her thin ankles. Ballerina ankles. She had those and so many other cool things about her. Of course she wouldn't want anything to do with me. I always assumed that, but the minute I saw another pair of shoes in the house, I knew it. They've come to take me. They've come to take my favorite spot from me. They've come to take Snow White from me.In that instance, I felt Snow White rubbing up against me with her tail. "sh.."I said and patted her. She's the only thing I have here. The only thing I need.3

"I'll be realistic with you two. No family wants a problem child. The juvenile detention halls are full. There's nothing we can do to help", said the unfamiliar voice upstairs.4

I sighed with relief. They would treat me like a common criminal in the system. I've done nothing wrong unless being bipolar is a crime.5

They diagnosed me about two years ago. I was 15 going on 16. They didn't know what else to do. I'd break things and scream. I'd stay out for many nights and then return for money and food. Weeks later,I'd fall into a deep depression and sit at home for a month or two, not moving from my spot in the basement. I stained the pillows and the knives with my blood. I polluted the house with my bad language. I infected the house with my hate. School was not an option. I wasn't stable. I wasn't willing. I'll never be willing. It'd be like volunteering to be eaten by sharks. My doctor wouldn't allow me anyways. It seems bipolar wasn't my only problem. They also hated the voices in my head. They were scared of them. I wonder if they'd be scared of my friends outside my head, if I had any. Like a good daughter, I tried to talk to my parents and tell them about my life. All I did was push them away. To them, I was a burden. I wonder if it'd be different if I was actually their flesh and blood. It doesn't matter. All the what ifs in the world won't change reality. 6

"You'll be fine. You don't need them. You might as well kill them. They deserve it. Look how they treated you",said the voices in my head. Different voices overlapping. The room is spinning. 7

I awake in a hospital bed. The lady next to me seems very lovely. Apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks so. I count the flower bouquets near her bed. Three. Definitely beats zero. Definitely beats what I got. I started counting, as a temporary cure for my boredom. I almost reached fifty and someone was already in the room , asking the lady how she was. I realized I forgot to check how I was. I had no clue what happened. I wanted to touch my arms and legs. Just a routine thing to make sure nothing is missing. I tried to move my hand and felt a leather strap closed in on it. I let out a heavy sigh as the lady next to me and her guest laughed at me. 8

"what the hell is so funny?", I wanted to ask but I had a feeling I'd find out soon enough. Indeed, I did. While scanning the room, I came across a sign that said 'Psych ward'. 9

Perhaps Marry and John drugged me and dragged me here. All I know is that I got here by means beyond my control.10

The door opened and a reasonably attractive doctor came in. 'Dr. Davis' said the label on his shirt. 11

"Hello, Dr. Davis", I said. 12

"Hhhow did you know my name?", mumbles the doc.13

Perhaps he should be the one in the psych ward. All the doctors are wacky, most likely from meeting people like me.14

"I have special powers", I said as I pointed to the label on his shirt.15

"oh", said he and and let out an obviously fake, nervous, laugh.16

It seems that I went out of control and stabbed myself in the arm. When I let out a scream, everyone came downstairs to see what was the matter. John saw me on the ground, grabbing my arm, and he leaned over to ask me what happened. I stuck the knife in his heart. Oh yes,I'm starting to recall the events of the previous night. I deviously smile as I remember the tears running down Mary's face. I really don't know what it is about this that made me smile. They always fought because of me. The adoption was her idea. He never wanted to adopt a kid. He said they had enough problems. She started smoking and drinking when the problems with me got bad. Now he was giving her the 'I told you so' speech everyday. If I didn't know better, I'd think she used to love me. She used to care about me but my presence in the house ruined her marriage. How can she love the ungrateful brat who did that. I completely understand. It's just that it still hurts. It still hurts like hell, which is why I couldn't get myself to ask the doc what happened to Mary. I didn't have to ask. 17

He volunteered that information. 18

Mary was in one of the other rooms in the ward. John was everything to her. She felt bad because she couldn't have kids and she wanted to make it up to him. Look where that got her. Reminder to self:never do anything for anyone. People don't appreciate favors. Did I? no! a nice family took me in. The reasons don't matter. I decided to develop disorders because of my lousy childhood. Couldn't I wait to do that until after I finish school and make them proud? Apparently, I couldn't.19

"This is not your fault. It's all them. They're all insane", said the voices.20

"shut up, shut up, shut up", I yelled as I kept turning and letting the leather dig deep into my skin. Next thing I knew, I felt a little poke and I was drifting back to sleep.21

Next morning I woke up to see a ghost in the room. It faced the window. It was a little boy. He looked all too familiar. The long blond hair looked so silky and smooth, and I somehow knew I've touched that hair before. He wore a big sweatshirt but I could see the long fingers peeking out of the shirt. In my mind, the fingers played piano. They played something by Chopin. I couldn't remember what. I could just remember the fingers playing. Every time the fingers touched a key on the piano, something inside of me jumped with joy. For the first time since I can remember, I was happy and safe. I knew I had a home. I had somewhere to go to. 22

The boy started singing. He was pleading me to rejoin him. Rejoin? I couldn't remember being with him in the first place but somehow I trusted him. Maybe it was the drugs they gave me. Maybe it was something inside of me that begged to be rescued. The boy was playing with my hair. I closed my eyes again and then I tried opening them, thinking he'd disappear. I couldn't. If felt as though my eyelids were glued shut. There was nothing more for me to see here. Nothing worth seeing. I stopped trying to open my eyes and I grabbed the boy's hand. I felt myself floating away. The boy smiled and I smiled back. I knew him. I didn't know him. Maybe I did. It didn't matter. He was home. He was me. I was him. We merged into one and disappeared into the sun.23