Manical.

I am sick and tired of these yellow walls, with the small, sandpaper bumps on them that look like snot sneezed on a bathroom mirror. This bed, this stupid futon that supposedly folds up into a comfortable couch, sucks. I hate the black tubular steel frame that bumps me on the head when I sleep on it. I wish I wouldn’t have bought it. I had no money, because I hate working, and bought this stupid futon, a lamp, 2 couches, a TV, some rugs, plates, a coffee table, a card table, curtains, dresser, and a 24 pack of mountain dew - all of which I bought 75 cents at a time from the vending machine in the pick-up area of my local furniture store. I put all that stuff on their charge account. No interest, no payments for 6 months. I just felt I needed to do it.

My light sucks, it’s not bright enough. The one I liked, and the one that worked well in my room in this boarding house, was thrown against the wall in a fit of rage. I’m getting close to that tonight.

The carpet is worn. Beaten paths, like trails in a National Forest, show my routes around this small room. This stupid, small room that I loathe. Like roadways, they lead me from my table to my TV to my couch to my bathroom to my bed. Piles of cigarette butts form pyramids on my coffee table, the table that holds dozens of bottles of my full prescription meds. I don’t need those anymore, I don’t like they way they make me feel. I can get along just fine without them. I stopped taking them 3 weeks ago. I don’t need them. I hate them, and the doctors that gave them to me. They are trying to poison me. I know, for a fact, that they are slowly poisoning my body because they want to kill me. I think it’s because the manager here wants to rent my room to someone else. I hate him too. That’s why I stopped taking those medicines.

I’ve got to get out here! This smelly room is closing in on me. I know they are watching me. I’ve covered all the clocks with masking tape and, of course, put aluminum foil on my one and only window. The window that faces west towards those ugly, impeding mountains. I know someone is watching me and I have to be careful what I say, that’s why I write a lot of my thoughts down on paper, so they can’t hear me.

I’m leaving. I’m going outside.

I think I’m pregnant. I know so. My last child was the son of Christ. Has he done it again?

I’ve been poisoned. I drank that milk and now my arm is starting to itch. Is anyone in there listening to me? Call 911! I’m dying. I knew they would kill me. I should have known not to drink that milk from 7-11. I saw them watching me. They followed me.

Good, here come some sirens. Maybe I won’t die tonight. Maybe I should stop pacing up and down the yard, screaming out loud that I’ve been poisoned. I’ll quiet down now. Here come some lights. Those lights are so pretty. They make me so happy. What a wonderful night outside. Isn’t it so nice to know that someone cares about you?

Hello paramedics. Thank you so much for coming to save my life. I am so happy now. I feel so calm. I think that poison is out of my system now. I wish I could see those mountains. They are so pretty. But, the night air feels good and the lights flashing off the houses remind me of Christmas. I wish it would snow. I love the snow. I love playing in it and making snowmen.

No, I don’ need to go to the hospital. I’m better now. No, I haven’t been taking my meds, I don’t need them. It’s been 3 weeks. Certainly not! I would never think of hurting myself or anyone else.

I miss my mother. Please, someone get my mother. I miss her. I need her here with me. PLEASE, someone get her. That’s all I needed tonight, I’m O.K., all I want is my mother. PLEASE someone get my f*cking mother.

I AM CALM. I’M NOT YELLING!

Please, please stop hurting me. I didn’t mean to run. I was just scared. I jumped out of the ambulance and pushed that cop because I was scared. Please, officer, take these cuffs off. Please, sir, I don’t like crying. You’re not going to kill me, are you? Please, don’t kill me! I don’t like needles. What’s the needle for? PLEASE. Don’t kill me! I’ll be nice. These cuffs hurt. Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m better now. Can I just go?

Why can’t I leave? I have to go to the hospital? Why? All I want is my mother. Okay, you promise? You promise they’ll let me call her? Okay, let’s go. Which hospital? I like the hospital.

Comments

Anonymous said…
I worked there until a couple years ago, and found writing to be cathartic as well. Your blog is very well written.
RMM said…
Thank you. You know what it's like and I appreciate you taking time to read my stories.

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