|
Post by William Beckett on Mar 30, 2011 1:43:15 GMT -5
I watched my Christofer collapse, I listened to his words and I curled up, trembling, sobbing silently. My hands were scratching at every bit of visible skin, the clipped back nails pressing as hard as they possibly could and tearing at the skin. I hadn't meant for this. And she was touching me, she was using my name, my "real" name and no, I didn't want to be William, I wanted Eugene back. It had to stop, they had to leave me alone. Sheer horror masking my face, I pushed past the nurse and ran, as fast as I could. I just ran. I had grounds priveledges these days, they let me go outside. I kept running, not going anywhere much, in circles almost. I ran until I threw up and curled up again, sobbing, wondering if anyone would bother to come find me here.
|
|
|
Post by Gabe Saporta on Mar 30, 2011 1:59:28 GMT -5
I woke up drooling on myself in a wheelchair. I was set at the crafts table, and looking down they'd set paper in front of me as though I could have done anything n the comatose state they'd drugged me into. I tried to stay quiet and let them think I was still out of it, it was mostly quiet, save for the occasional, Very good, that came from the instructor.
That's another thing I hated about this place, they treat you like children. Some people need that type of care here though. That's when I realized it was quiet. I tried to keep from getting angry at the thought that they'd dosed me in my sleep, I hated when that happened. I never knew what they were giving me then. I stayed staring at the piece of paper the person next to me had made, they were slowly filling in the entire page with a blue marker. It was therapeutic to watch.
|
|
|
Post by William Beckett on Mar 30, 2011 2:30:16 GMT -5
The doctors never came for me. They'd stopped doing that pretty quickly, when they realized that I understood I had nowhere to go. The only house I could direct myself to from the ward was my old Christofer's apartment, and there was no reason for me to go back there.
I sat there for three hours before a nurse so much as walked past. She caught me with a stick in my hand, scratching at my arm, seeing if I could get deep enough to bleed. Grounds rights wouldn't last.
They dragged me inside, kicking but not screaming. They dosed me up with meds, knowing that I can't deal with being put under. I threw tantrums that lasted days last time.
So I was left in the psych office, the same office I'd last spoken in, my many notebooks, ones confiscated months ago and ones the nurses had collected only today, all stacked before me. No matter how much they needed to talk to me, I couldn't help slipping into sleep. In my sleep, at least, I made a sound, and the doctors could know I wasn't completely gone yet.
|
|
|
Post by Gabe Saporta on Mar 30, 2011 2:40:49 GMT -5
|
|
|
Post by William Beckett on Mar 30, 2011 2:50:46 GMT -5
{Oh shit yeah, I needed to plan that one a bit more, ahaha. let me catch up a little.}
I woke in my room, one of the few rooms in the ward for an individual. For the first time since I got there, a nurse handed me a pen and paper. They'd finally got it. After all this time, they finally understood. They hadn't been letting me write- they didn't want me to take the "easy way out" and refuse to speak. But now they understood.
I'm scared. I wrote. Everything fucking terrifies me. Every time someone speaks to me, I'm horrified. I think everyone that speaks to me, that notices me, is out to hurt me. Worse then that, I think they're out to break my routine. I'm fucking falling apart. I need a Christofer.
The nurse glanced over it, murmured to herself, and touched me once on the shoulder as she walked away she spoke over her shoulder.
"He's in the craft room."
She left the door unlocked, so I followed her footsteps. And at the door of the rec room, I stopped, stood and stared at the mop of dark curls. And I couldn't bring myself to take another step.
|
|
|
Post by Gabe Saporta on Mar 30, 2011 3:02:31 GMT -5
[urg...changing the end of my last post and reworking it slowly...i knew id mess up somehow]
I waited until everyone cleared out and let them wheel me to the lounge before I stood and began my search for William. Knowing his name seemed wrong, being that he hadn't told me himself. I went everywhere I could looking, or last the places away from doctors or nurses or orderlies I couldn't stand. He wasn't anywhere and I wasn't allowed out of the ward yet, it took three weeks good behavior before those privileges came. I resigned myself to the nook at the long hallway, and sat in my silence on the floor, as they'd taken the chair away. Maybe I was waiting, or..of course I was, but if it was for him I wasn't sure. But it was quiet, and the sky was blue.
I felt like everywhere I looked so far, he was there...past tense. Maybe he was what I was waiting for, if I stayed in one place long enough he would show up, like a lost kid at the mall. Every few minutes I'd glance away from the window and down the hall. Waiting.
[tell me if that works okay..i didnt..just..okay...just let me know]
|
|
|
Post by William Beckett on Mar 30, 2011 3:25:37 GMT -5
{That was at very least as much me as you, stress less, we got it working again!}
He'd walked straight past me when he left the Craft room, but I'm awfully good at fading into the background these days. I'd walked from room to room while I waited for him to leave, I'd wandered up and down the halls and in the end, I ended up in a bathroom, kneeling over a toilet and gagging as silently as ever on my fingers, disgraced at myself for my inabiltity to speak out to the boy I'd so needed.
I heard the click, click of heels on a ceramic floor and they came to a halt outside the door of my stall.
"You need to stop this, William," I shuddered at the word as the nurse spoke. "If you can't speak to this boy, maybe we'll have to speak for you. You wouldn't mind awfully if he read a notebook of yours, would you?"
As she walked back down the hall, my fingers slipped the slightest bit deeper and my throat burned as I threw up. I chased after her, my fingers still red from where they rubbed against my teeth, my eyes watering and the slightest bit of vomit on the sleeves of my shirt. And that's when I spotted him, hidden the same place as the day before. For the third time in two days, all I could do was stop and stare at him.
|
|
|
Post by Gabe Saporta on Mar 30, 2011 3:43:15 GMT -5
I sighed as the cloud moved in more, covering up the sky, thinking that I should go get my medication before I didn't want to anymore. Turning to look down the hall again I saw him there, and he looked forlorn and fucked up as ever. There was a pang in my chest as I stood and walked towards him, a slight wobble in the way I was walking still. I stood there, just taking in his appearance before I managed to speak, "I'm sorry about yesterday...I-...I'm paranoid schizophrenic, " I paused and smiled slightly, trying to joke, "on my good days anyway."
I knew he probably wouldn't respond so I just tacked on, "I really like your shirt, it's blue." It sounded lame, and it worried me that I put myself down even when the voices weren't around to bother me.
|
|
|
Post by William Beckett on Mar 30, 2011 3:49:44 GMT -5
I smiled. All I wanted to do was tell him we had more in common then he thought, but there wasn't any way I could. So instead I took his hand, his whole hand this time, and began to lead him, hoping he'd follow me to my room. They wanted me to let him read, I would. But he'd read the words I chose, and they sure as hell weren't the ones they had found.
|
|
|
Post by Gabe Saporta on Mar 30, 2011 4:08:37 GMT -5
I smiled back as he did and lightly squeezed his fingers as we walked. I had no idea where he was taking me, or why, but I had been waiting for it so I might as well enjoy it. He'd taken me down a new hallway, where the single dorms were, I think I shared my room with someone, but I wasn't sure...I'd been knocked out each night so far and woken up in a new place. I wasn't entirely sure I had a room at this point.
|
|
|
Post by William Beckett on Mar 30, 2011 4:34:29 GMT -5
I sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving the door open of course, and plunged my hand beneath the pillow. I felt for the edge of the bed and slipped my hand into the tiny gap in the hem, tugging at the box that was buried within. At last it came free rom the the foam inside (they didn't allow springs in here anymore) and I laid it in my lap. I guess it was time to open up. I slipped out the book and handed it to my Christofer, hoping he'd find the right pages.
|
|
|
Post by Gabe Saporta on Mar 30, 2011 4:42:10 GMT -5
I walked in, shutting the door behind me. I hated open doorways. I was handed a notebook, I wasn't sure what to do but stand awkwardly and hold it. "I-should I read it?"
|
|
|
Post by William Beckett on Mar 30, 2011 4:55:29 GMT -5
{I know, but I had to make sure you were actually reading it first!}
The nurses would crack the shits over the closed door, but I wasn't entirely sure I cared. I just nodded sharply and watched as he read.
I was thirteen when I arrived in the first hospital. I lost track after that. They're all the same. was scribbled across the top of the page he'd chosen. Adam is the most beautiful person in my life. I call him my Christofer. He sings those songs to me and everything becomes perfect. I'd forgotten how long I'd been keeping this one. I could never even remember my old Christofer's real name anymore. I'm so easy to trick into falling in love, but so hard to trick out of it. I remember that, when I first started to think that love wasa trick, was a joke. The page was full of random scribbles like this, random comments that related to my life. There's shadows in my head and they never go away. Everyone hides their faces in the shadows, my Christofer's face is in the light. The shadows are going to kill me. I think it was there that he started to understand just how like him I was. They listen. Until they leave, I will hold my tongue. The last thing on the page, that's the most important to me. I had signed it, once crossed out, my full legal name, and once with the identity that I hide behind. Eugene.
|
|
|
Post by Gabe Saporta on Mar 30, 2011 5:11:38 GMT -5
I sat hesitantly beside him before opening the notebook and scanning down the page. I t was haphazard and scatterbrained, but for once I almost liked the disorganization. Something clicked, about the shadows, in a funny way I wanted to ask and see if he knew any of mine. They had names, or numbers, but I tended to just ignore them all these days. By these days I mean, I'm actually trying to keep taking my medications. The last piece confused me slightly.
I looked up at him, "I kind of want to ask what that means...but I hate making you feel like you have to speak. I'm a little slow on some things though, so bear with me, okay?" I barely waited to ask my question, "The nurse called you William and you crossed that out, are you William? Is Eugene one of the shadows? You shouldn't let them take over....I-" I trailed off and made myself shut up, I couldn't scare him away. If nothing else, I may have made my first friend in a few years.
|
|
|
Post by William Beckett on Mar 31, 2011 4:08:41 GMT -5
I didn't know how to let him know I was still there, still listening and watching him. So I sat beside him, I took his hand and leant on his shoulder. He understood now, at least a little. But of course, it was this moment, this perfect moment that they stepped in, knocking and calling "Checks! Why is this door closed?"
|
|