They can't hear you
The opposite
Nothing much happened the last few months. Helena got sad when she realised I wasn't getting out sometime soon. My doctor and the nurses kept hope though. I've been here for 5 fucking months. How can they keep hope if I'm just getting worse?
I still hear voices, they won't leave me alone. I try to shut them out, but it just doesn't work. They are filling my mind 24/7 now. I also still see the monsters. More of them, they can now control me. Control what I say, how I react.
Some of my cuts have turned into scars, but most of them haven't. I scratch them open every chance I get.
I've noticed all the nurses have a small group of people who they spend the most time on. Luckily, I have Ray. It looks like he really cares about me, but I don't really believe it.
Nearly everyone here gets visitors, parents, friends, family, people they know and care about them. I don't get those. Only Mikey visits me every Thursday. Like expected, my parents don't give a fuck about me.
Why should they?
You're not worth anyone's attention.
Mikey only checks on you to see if you're dead already.
And every time he sees you he's disappointed.
I continued drawing and writing. My sketchbook is getting full and I'll have to ask for a new one. And a new notebook as it is also almost full, but filled with lyrics to songs I make up, instead of drawings.
That was everything interesting that happened the last few months. Oh yeah, my hair looks horrible. All ugly pink from the washed out red. About a quarter of my hair is now the ugly dark brown from my original hair colour. But we can go to the hairdresser to cut our hair, so it's not that long.
------
It's time for one of those boring group sessions again. When I arrive at the room, I see everyone is already there. Even though we still have another ten minutes before the doctor arrives. I also see They are here as well. I don't really pay attention to them. I just let it all run over me. Their insults, the stories from the others, the advice from the doctor. Only the insults stay in my head while the others just leave as quickly as they came.
I sit down at one of the chairs and I get my pencils from my etui. I start to draw, nothing in particular. I see as it forms into a drawing of one of my characters. It's from the comic I've been working on, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. But he looks different, a little bit like me.
I keep looking at it until I notices doctor Howell had walked in and everybody was sitting down or walking to their chairs. I got up from my chair on the side and I quickly walked to my chair in the circle. I walk through the inside of the circle as my chair was on the opposite side.
Out of nowhere They charge towards me and attack. I fall down and everything goes black.
Later I heard the story from several people. Most of them asked what happened and I tell them I don't remember. I truly don't remember a thing. They attacked me and black, only a really bad feeling.
Ray told me what happened from his point of view. When he was called to the room I was laying in the floor, curled in a ball. I lied on my side so people could see my face. My eyes were wide open and I kept on mumbling. 'Shut up.' Everything I said, probably from what They said to me.
It looks like I had a first panic-attack. Great. Like I said, I only keep on getting worse, instead of better.
------
I am back in my room. I grab my sketchbook, but my head is empty. Well, empty, filled with voices that are not my own. I don't feel like drawing or writing. In fact, I don't feel anything, I feel numb. I stare at the paper on the desk I was sitting at. I place my elbows on it and my head in my hands. I shift my weight onto my left and as my right one goes to my left arm. I started scratching, to just feel anything. To shut up the voices and block out the ones that are trying to come in.
I notice several drops of blood have fallen on the paper. Suddenly an idea pops in my head. Where are my pencils? I spot them in my map with the rest of them. I grab one of the finest I have and I carefully pull it through the drop of blood. A line comes to life. I quickly pull more lines before it has dried up. I hold my arm above the paper, letting more drops fall down.
After fifteen minutes or so I'm done with the blood. An Asian women has come to life. Long and tender, gracefully flowing through a garden. I grab my finest brush and a small pot of black ink. And I trace the eyes and the waistband with it. She looks beautiful, drawn in a Asian style. Prettier then my usual style.
The door opens and Ray freezes in the doorway. He looks down at my what supposed to be scars. I look at my arm and see the damage is far worse than usually. Blood is sticking on my arm and on my white shirt as well as a part of my desk.
'Gerard, would you be so kind to come with me for a second?' He asks me, his face turning pale as he realises what I've done. We walk to a nursery post and go inside. He puts me down on one of the chairs and starts cleaning my arm. He grabs a bandage and wraps it around my arm. I think of the time Mikey found me, he did the same. No words, just taking care of my. He guides me back to my room and closes the door once we're in.
He commands me to put on another shirt and as I do so, he picks up my drawing. He looks at in and after a few minutes he puts it into his bag he is carrying. He would probably getting home since he has day shifts and not night.
'Goodbye Gerard, I'll see you tomorrow. I'll keep this drawing quiet and we'll talk about it in the morning, okay?' As I reply it's okay, he leaves. Leaving me alone again in my room.
I still hear voices, they won't leave me alone. I try to shut them out, but it just doesn't work. They are filling my mind 24/7 now. I also still see the monsters. More of them, they can now control me. Control what I say, how I react.
Some of my cuts have turned into scars, but most of them haven't. I scratch them open every chance I get.
I've noticed all the nurses have a small group of people who they spend the most time on. Luckily, I have Ray. It looks like he really cares about me, but I don't really believe it.
Nearly everyone here gets visitors, parents, friends, family, people they know and care about them. I don't get those. Only Mikey visits me every Thursday. Like expected, my parents don't give a fuck about me.
Why should they?
You're not worth anyone's attention.
Mikey only checks on you to see if you're dead already.
And every time he sees you he's disappointed.
I continued drawing and writing. My sketchbook is getting full and I'll have to ask for a new one. And a new notebook as it is also almost full, but filled with lyrics to songs I make up, instead of drawings.
That was everything interesting that happened the last few months. Oh yeah, my hair looks horrible. All ugly pink from the washed out red. About a quarter of my hair is now the ugly dark brown from my original hair colour. But we can go to the hairdresser to cut our hair, so it's not that long.
------
It's time for one of those boring group sessions again. When I arrive at the room, I see everyone is already there. Even though we still have another ten minutes before the doctor arrives. I also see They are here as well. I don't really pay attention to them. I just let it all run over me. Their insults, the stories from the others, the advice from the doctor. Only the insults stay in my head while the others just leave as quickly as they came.
I sit down at one of the chairs and I get my pencils from my etui. I start to draw, nothing in particular. I see as it forms into a drawing of one of my characters. It's from the comic I've been working on, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. But he looks different, a little bit like me.
I keep looking at it until I notices doctor Howell had walked in and everybody was sitting down or walking to their chairs. I got up from my chair on the side and I quickly walked to my chair in the circle. I walk through the inside of the circle as my chair was on the opposite side.
Out of nowhere They charge towards me and attack. I fall down and everything goes black.
Later I heard the story from several people. Most of them asked what happened and I tell them I don't remember. I truly don't remember a thing. They attacked me and black, only a really bad feeling.
Ray told me what happened from his point of view. When he was called to the room I was laying in the floor, curled in a ball. I lied on my side so people could see my face. My eyes were wide open and I kept on mumbling. 'Shut up.' Everything I said, probably from what They said to me.
It looks like I had a first panic-attack. Great. Like I said, I only keep on getting worse, instead of better.
------
I am back in my room. I grab my sketchbook, but my head is empty. Well, empty, filled with voices that are not my own. I don't feel like drawing or writing. In fact, I don't feel anything, I feel numb. I stare at the paper on the desk I was sitting at. I place my elbows on it and my head in my hands. I shift my weight onto my left and as my right one goes to my left arm. I started scratching, to just feel anything. To shut up the voices and block out the ones that are trying to come in.
I notice several drops of blood have fallen on the paper. Suddenly an idea pops in my head. Where are my pencils? I spot them in my map with the rest of them. I grab one of the finest I have and I carefully pull it through the drop of blood. A line comes to life. I quickly pull more lines before it has dried up. I hold my arm above the paper, letting more drops fall down.
After fifteen minutes or so I'm done with the blood. An Asian women has come to life. Long and tender, gracefully flowing through a garden. I grab my finest brush and a small pot of black ink. And I trace the eyes and the waistband with it. She looks beautiful, drawn in a Asian style. Prettier then my usual style.
The door opens and Ray freezes in the doorway. He looks down at my what supposed to be scars. I look at my arm and see the damage is far worse than usually. Blood is sticking on my arm and on my white shirt as well as a part of my desk.
'Gerard, would you be so kind to come with me for a second?' He asks me, his face turning pale as he realises what I've done. We walk to a nursery post and go inside. He puts me down on one of the chairs and starts cleaning my arm. He grabs a bandage and wraps it around my arm. I think of the time Mikey found me, he did the same. No words, just taking care of my. He guides me back to my room and closes the door once we're in.
He commands me to put on another shirt and as I do so, he picks up my drawing. He looks at in and after a few minutes he puts it into his bag he is carrying. He would probably getting home since he has day shifts and not night.
'Goodbye Gerard, I'll see you tomorrow. I'll keep this drawing quiet and we'll talk about it in the morning, okay?' As I reply it's okay, he leaves. Leaving me alone again in my room.
Notes
Sorry for the late update, but I have a life outside the internet. I hope you can forgive me.Well, a bit of a random chapter. Also Frank comes into the picture next chapter.
Go check out my other two stories as I try to keep them evenly updated.
Comments are very welcome and I'll reply to everyone
Necra out ^^
Has this been discontinued?
5/12/18