Rainstorms and Artforms

I never wanted to consider a possible anxiety issue, but staring made me nervous. Who am I kidding, I have bad anxiety and staring just made it worse. I chuckled softly hoping someone say something crazy to move the center of attention to someone else.
Frank must have seen the look of absolute fear on my face. Face it everyone could see it, but Frank took action. “We have a new patient today!” He announced tossing the spotlight to gurney girl, Gabby.
Gabby smiled softly, looking straight over the nurse’s head. She sees something. “I came here early this morning.” She said softly, keeping her focus on the back wall.
“Would you like to introduce yourself?” The nurse stated. “We could go around in a circle?” she looked towards Gabby.
Gabby nodded, and inhaled. I wanted to escape. I looked around briefly looking for somewhere to run. Nowhere. “I am Gabby.” She introduced herself to a group of 9 or 10 oddballs.
The group went counterclockwise with names, and I honestly didn’t know half of them. It was eventually my turn. I only needed to say three words, but they felt extremely heavy on my tongue. “I am Gerard.” I said quickly. I looked down, with embarrassment. Groups and I didn’t work well. My ‘vampire’ like instincts, would often take over in times like this.
The group continued and I continued to stare at my shoes, and the reoccurring thoughts of jumping out of the window came across my mind. I thought about it a lot, but I didn’t want to be locked up in the padded room. Not again.
The group went around in circles more and more and I just shook my head when it came to me. I wasn’t paying enough attention to even know the question. It made me feel anxious, just being in public did.
“Group dismissed” a nurse announced and I could’ve ran through the wall, but I was held back. The nurse grabbed my wrist. I groaned...so close... “Gerard, you need to participate.”
I rolled my eyes and groaned louder, preparing my sassy response. I didn’t need some nurse telling me things I already know. “I don’t have to participate, just like you don’t have to tell me something I already know.”
The nurse let go of my wrist. The nurses had no idea of personal space, from room checks, to skin checks. They did not understand the term go away. I bumped into Frank in the hall on the way to the rooms.
“It’s recreation time.” He said patting my side. I couldn’t help but to smile a bit. It didn’t mean much, because it was fake, but it felt needed. We walked into the rec room, and everyone’s eyes were focused on the small TV, but mine were focused on the markers. Not being allowed markers was impossible to live with, the rec room was the only time I could be artistically free. I wasn’t even allowed pencils for the longest time. People were scared; I’d turn around and try to hurt someone. I have thought about it, I am already in a psych ward I don’t know how good murdering everyone around me would’ve been.
I sat down in the back the room alone, with the markers. I had to steer clear from anything gorey, but red was such a descriptive color. I drew a solid blank; my dark imagination grabbed me by the shoulders when I began to draw. Dark lines filled my paper; it looked meaningless to a bystander, also known as Frank. He watched over my shoulder. He was fascinated by the shitty off brand marker marks.
“What does it mean?” He asked, pointing to the red slashes to the bright colors.
“It means war to happiness.” I stated, continuing to add to the marker-y mess. Frank pulled a chair over and sat across from me.
“I like your concept.” He smiled up at me. I nodded at him. “A wise man told me art is the weapon, and that everything is art.” He started sketching. “I didn’t understand him, until I met you. I see meaning, and power within every line”
I liked the phrase. “Art is the weapon.” I repeated to myself. It felt light, like it was supposed to be on the tip of my tongue. I slid Frank a packet of drawings. “They’re comics; I put my dark thoughts into graphics rather than violence.”
“You had the look of murder laced upon your face, during group it was stitched into your eyes, sewn into your lips.” I couldn’t remember my facial expression, but the way he explained it was art. Everything that escaped his lips is art.
“How would you know what a ‘look of murder’ looks like?” I asked realizing he described the sight of rage to me. I was in rage. I was angry and confused. Always confused.
“First-hand experience with hatred, you glanced at the window a few times, I was afraid you were thinking suicide.” The word ‘suicide’ made time slow down, in a figurative sense everything stopped and that word stung like a dozen bullets hitting me in the chest. His words were so powerful.
“You watched me?” I asked questioning him, while working on my picture of pain and rebirth. I tried my best to keep eye contact, I looked down a lot, and I admit focus is definitely not a strong suit for me.
“I always watch you, as weird as that seems… You’re such a puzzling character. I love it.” He announced, making marks to a delicate drawing of what looked like a small child.
“You’re always watching me?” I tried to imagine him as some guardian angel, but pushed that thought away and started another picture, I used long strokes of a gray crayon, do make wings. It began to look like a simple bird, but it was the words that gave the picture more artistic power. “Fly away, my angel, fly.” I’ve heard the words somewhere as a kid, but I don’t quite remember. They meant a lot to me though.

Notes

TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY

XO.ash.