If You're Real

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I finally get to my damn room and slip in, closing the door quietly behind me. I fall onto my small bed and put my hands behind my head, relaxing. I gaze at my many drawings stuck on the walls. This room used to be boring and plain with not much stuff in it and basically everything was painted white, Since I've been here I've poured some of my brain into the room, cause seriously, it sucked.

My walls are black, my ceiling is black and my door is black. I have, like, one poster of the band Mayday Parade above my bed and the rest of the wall is just drawings; all of them are in pencil though, since I'm not allowed any paint, colours, markers... I have to ask to have my fucking pencils sharpened cause they won't let me anywhere near a pencil sharpener. Obviously. I'd just get the blade and cut myself with it, no question about that...

I don't even know what I draw, I just draw whatever. Sometimes things I can see, sometimes things I have seen in my dreams, sometimes hallucinations or weird things that nobody understands. So since I've been here for a while, my four walls are covered from top to bottom with overlapping, unbroken drawings. They're mostly roughly stuck on and a lot are hanging or about to fall off.

I literally just don't care. I'm not ashamed of them but I'm not proud of them. They're just... there. I've always been good at drawing and I know it but that's all it is. A hobby, something I'm good at. No-one even cares. I've been told multiple times to take the shit down and I ignored them simply as a pathetic act of defiance. To make a point.

The sad part is I don't even want to get out of here, I just want to die. It doesn't even have to be a dramatic death as long as the torture that is my life ends. I'm completely serioius.

I sigh and drift off to sleep with the sounds of the city rain in my ears.

- - -

It's morning at the hospital. I stretch and walk down the hall to the kitchen and hum under my breath as I walk. I can hear my nails make clipping sounds every time they hit the wooden floor, and it annoys me.

I punch a wall and my hand goes right through it. Fuck, I'm hallucinating a wall. A wall. That is so weird. I laugh out loud, which I realize probably makes me sound crazy.

I haven't even taken two steps outside my room this morning and I've done something stupid. "What are you laughing at?" says a voice. Who the fuck is that? I look around, wide-eyed. There's nobody there. For some reason I'm reminded of the hazel-eyed man I saw yesterday. But he's not even real. I shake my head and carry on walking.

I stop at Jacob's door. "Jacob, fucking wake up!" There's a huddle of people at his door. A boy takes a breath. "WAKE UUUUUP!!!" he shouts. I wince as the sound reverberates through his chest and deafens my ears. "How the fuck is he sleeping through this," someone mutters. I peer through the people's heads. Jacob's lying down and his long dyed hair has fanned out around his head. Artistic. I curiously bend my neck to look at his room.

It's very messy, there's food everywhere... something that looks like pills is lying on his bedside table. I can't see anything personal on the walls though. Maybe he hides that stuff somewhere else. I get bored and walk away from the group. Today I feel really good.

I walk up to the group and recognize this guy called Aaron talking to some of the patients. Yay, I like hi. "Hi, Aaron!" I say, rather confidently, and with a wide grin across my face. I look cheerfully into his eyes. "Hi!" he says back. I throw a wide smile at everyone else and go over to a sofa to sit down. I don't even know why I feel so happy today. I think it is because I had a blood test today. it was so weird but when I saw the blood, something clicked in my brain.

I haven't been able to cut myself in fucking ages and it didn't even hurt when they pricked my vein... I just watched my blood go through the tube. Seeing my blood was the only reason I believed I was even alive. I feel dead inside.

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Notes