Like Ghosts in the Snow

"I tried to slit my wrist in my bathroom sink a few months back. I was in a really dark place then. I felt empty and utterly worthless. 'Luckily' my mom got there in time to call an ambulance and they were able to save me. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm pissed about my not-dying or anything; actually, I'm kinda glad I'm still alive. Being dead has to be insanely boring. No one can talk to you, no one can see you... Well, I guess it's not that much different than my life right now. It's just that things are different after you try to kill yourself. Everyone I know tiptoes around my feelings now. People at school avoided me more than usual. Any time some girl said she wanted to "kill herself" over math homework she would frantically look around to make sure I didn't hear. But that didn't bother me too much since I was only in school for a few more days after the incident before I ended up here. I hate being here. Mental institutions were literally prison, but without the chance of parole. I miss being able to see regular people, watch tv, listen to music, eat junk food... all the things I took for granted before. I miss the smell of grass and the sounds of cars driving on the road behind my house late at night. I wish I never tried to kill myself because I'm scared I'll never get to experience those things again. But as much as I miss all of those small miracles, the absolute worst thing about carving up my arm is not being able to play my guitar any more. Guitar is truly the only thing I care about in this world, and I not being able to play anymore kills me. See, when you try to slit your wrists, you also sever all the ligaments and tendons too. Usually the doctors can reattach them if its a clean laceration, but of course I used a broken piece of glass, and my arm was jagged and fucked up beyond repair. I'm still in physical therapy, but my hand is basically gone to shit. I can give a thumbs up, but that's about it. I can't flick on a lighter, I can't hold a cigarette, I can't even use a pencil. I can only jack off with one hand now, but at least I'm right handed. So with everything I love gone, I really don't have a reason to live. But I don't really have a reason to die either. I'm incredibly lazy, and the first attempt took a lot of effort, effort I'm not willing to conjure up again any time in the near future. I have responsibilities now. I want to get out of here. I want to prove the people that doubted me wrong. I have the rest of eternity to be dead, so there's no point in bringing it on faster. I'm not a danger to myself. I'm not a danger to others. The only things I'm a danger to are my box of tissues and my bottle of lotion on my night stand. I don't belong in here. Please let me out of this fucking place before I lose my mind for real. - Xo frank"
Dr. Dick read my letter out loud to me while I absently picked at the broken seam on his fading red couch. I've been required to write the same letter every month I've been here. This is my 13th fucking letter, and it's the same every single time I write it. I'm not fit to leave. This time isn't gonna be any different. "Do you think this is appropriate Frank? The questions were 'why are you here, and do you think you're a danger to yourself or others.' I would've said yes before but this is making me rethink-" I cut him off. Yeah the letter was sarcastic, but I really am well enough to go home.
"I know the last sentence was out of line. I'm not a danger. I'm an angsty teen and I want my freedom. I want to go home" I replied trying my best to sound interested. The last thing I wanted was him pointing out all the things I need to improve on for next time.
He pushed his dorky wire framed glasses up his nose and scratched his graying beard. "I'm just worried about how you're going to do in the real world." He tapped his pen against his clip board, not making direct eye contact with me.
"Look Dr. Dick-"
He sat up straighter in his chair, his large stomach pushing out further than before. "Frank I told you numerous times that my name is Dr. Richards. I will not tolerate any disrespect in my office. Now do you want to get out of here or not?"
Jesus Christ what kind of stupid ass question was that? "You know I do. I lived in the real world for 16 years. I've been here for one. Clearly I have more experience outside than I do in here. I'll be fine on my own." I felt my heartbeat quicken. He's never actually talked to me about my letters this in-depth before. I have to be getting out soon if we're having a conversation about it.
He sighed and looked back at my letter. "Well last time you were in the real world, you "slit your wrist in the bathroom sink." I wouldn't call you too well adjusted." He said, a thick sadness coating his voice.
Fuck. He didn't understand. Adults never do. "It's something i regret. I was in a dark place when I did that. I'm better now. We both know that and we both know I can't live in here forever."
He sighed again and said "I know. As much as I want to, I can't shelter you forever. That's why I'm signing your papers. Don't make me regret this frank." He looked at me, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. It took me a few seconds to process what he said.
I'm getting out. "I'm getting out? I can go home?" The word "home" felt strange in the situation, being that this has been my home for the last year. The people here were my family. All of a sudden my heart dropped. Family. "Dr. Richards...I...I can't leave." The realization made my eyes water and my mouth taste like metal.
"What are you talking about Frank?" Dr. Richards asked, clearly concerned.
"Mikey. I can't leave Mikey. He's the best friend I've ever had. I can't leave him alone in here Sir, he's the only family I've got." He wouldn't be able to make it without me in here, we were everything to each other.
He stared at me for a while, clicking his pen, thinking about what to say to me. "Frank, I know you care about your friend, but he's not your number one priority. Michael has doctors here that will take care of him-"
"But sir I'm his roommate. I'm the only one that can calm him down when he has night terrors. When he starts to hear voices. He needs me. I can't leave him." I felt myself start to panic. If anything ever happened to Mikey I would never forgive myself.
"He hasn't heard anything or had an episode in months. His night terrors are over. Truth is, he's not that far behind you. He should be getting out within the next few months. There's no need to worry. He's going to be fine. You need to worry about you."
Deep down knew he was right. Mikey would be fine and I probably need him more than he needs me. I'm going to miss him like hell. But I'm getting out, and I'm going home. "Home." Leaving this place was the happiest and saddest moment I've had in a long time.
"Thank you doctor. For everything." I felt my eyes start to water as my vision went blurry. This man was one of my only two friends in here, and as much as I pretended to hate him, I was really going to miss him. "I'm sorry I've been calling you dick for a year." I looked at my feet and tried to blink the moisture away.
He laughed and said "I'm sorry I've been a dick to you for a year. And don't get too emotional on me. This isn't goodbye. I'll be meeting with you twice a month to see how you're dealing with the change."
I sighed in relief. It's gonna be nice knowing I at least have one friend to count on. "That sounds fair. I'll see you in two weeks then, Dick." I stood up and hugged my friend and walked towards my room to say goodbye to another.

Notes

Hey pals. I decided I'd give fic writing a shot, and since this is my first full length piece, I'd really really appreciate any feedback you can give, positive or negative. I'm overly critical about my work so nothing you say will hurt my feelings, so don't even worry about that. If you're actually reading this then ily and i hope you have a great hair day tomorrow okay good night <3