I'd End My Days With You.
“What’s your issue?”
DISCLAIMER: I'M NOT AN EXPERT ON MENTAL DISORDERS AND THIS IS FICTION. I DID RESEARCH BUT IF ANYTHING IS WRONG, DISMISS IT AS FICTION BC I WILL NOT CHANGE ANYTHING. thank you ily enjoy
This tag around my wrist feels tight. I always find a way to rip it off, only to have it replaced by another. I gave in and let it be as I walked down the halls of different mentally disturbed people. It’s not bad here at all. The staff are nice, no one disturbs me...but it does get boring. I miss the outside world where I can get something fatty to eat or walk around peacefully without having someone supervise me wherever I go.
It’s been 5 months since I was dropped off here. My mind hasn’t passed any thought about Gerard during the day, but during the night, I re-live the memories. His touch, his pale skin, his messy colored coal hair, and that cute button nose.
Maybe I’m not meant to get better. Maybe I’m doomed.
My shoes drag along on the clean floors, mindlessly walking the halls. Soon it will be 3:30 p.m and I would have to meet with Patrick. He recently visited me and asked if he could give me one-on-one therapy each day.
It would be foolish if I declined. If I had, he would think I set back on getting better-I need him to see the effort I was putting in.
After a while of aimlessly walking the halls, I entered a room where Patrick was. When I set eyes on him, the sun shining through the open window made him look like an angel. An angel wearing a fedora.
How professional.
Patrick looked at me, “Frank, please, sit down.”
I went around the chair before sitting down. We looked one another for a bit and I could tell he looked a little uncomfortable. He asked, “How are you this thursday?”
I shrugged, “It’s a normal thursday. Same schedule, same halls...same walls...nothing new.”
“One word to describe it all?”
“Boring.”
Patrick looked at me, “And what kind of change do you want?”
“Maybe a little party,” I grinned.
He scoffed, “A party? Now, they only allow that when it’s someone’s birthday...what about a friend? You don’t think that’s some kind of change?”
“A friend?” The word made me awkward, “Why would I need one of those? I did fine without one before.”
“Before? As in before…” Patrick’s voice trailed off. He added in, “The problem?”
The problem. I knew what he meant. He was talking about Gerard. I nodded, “Yep.”
He raised a brow, “Well, I think a friend would be good for you. Have you tried talking to anyone?”
“I’ve talked to a few people. Suicidal Sally, Anorexic Annie, Delusional Dan, Bi-polar Brian-”
“Are those real people?” Patrick asked, almost annoyed at my playful tone.
“They are but I added in their disorders to help me remember their names,” I paused, “You know, you never did tell me my disorder. It’ll help me introduce myself to new people.”
“Hold on, back to the names-have you had real conversations with any of them?”
“Not really. Just short conversations here and there. Though, social anxiety Phoebe really doesn’t talk. She’s always cradled on her chair, avoiding conversation.”
Patrick rolled his eyes, “You’re always using that comical tone, it really irritates me.”
“Poor Patty.” I smiled.
He tried to hold back a smile. He sighed, “At least you’re opening up. I’m proud of you.”
“Hey, we promised to tell the truth to another...so,” I leaned in a bit, “what have you diagnosed me with, Pat?”
“I don’t feel it’s necessary to label your final disorder just yet.”
“I’m a big boy, Pat, I can handle it,”
Patrick looked down, “It’s hard to say. You have a few and I’m still working on summing it all up to one. Separation Anxiety disorder, Depersonalization disorder, Dependent Personality disorder-it goes on.” Patrick sighed, “To sum it all up, you’re a clingy, emotional, and manipulative person. Once you find someone you like, you get attached. You don’t like being separated from that person and will do anything to stay by their side which could be lying, cheating-when I say anything,” Patrick glared at me, “I mean anything,”
“Anything, as in lying to you that I want to get better?” I smiled, “You’re so cruel, Pat.”
“I hope you’re not trying to cheat your way out of this hospital by using me, Frank.” He said.
“I’m just here to get better, friend.” As a matter in fact, he was right. I am using him. Once
Patrick sees I’m getting better, he’ll sign release papers and I’ll be able to on my way.
Certainly, it won’t be anytime soon. Gerard is staying in prison for two years. So I’ll be in here for three years. It will be then when I can manipulate my way out...but according to pull off that stunt, I need to believe that I’m getting better. I need to distract myself.
Our time was up. I walked out feeling a bit nervous that Patrick was aware of my scheme. I just need to pull it off, make him see that I’m trying. The only way to do that it to get a…friend.
As I made my way down the hall, I noticed a new line up of people. I did notice during my time here, there were always newcomers entering the hospital by law or voluntarily each week.
I shoved my hands inside my pockets, inspecting the line up. My eye caught crimson matted hair. My breath escaped me when I noticed the faint colored skin, the hazel eyes, and the cute button nose. It looked like Gerard-except for the poor posture and of course the red hair.
I walked over, and he noticed me right away. He glanced at me before tucking in his lips in. I approached him, “Hi.”
Surprisingly, he grinned at me, “Hello.” His face flushed pink. He said quickly, “My name’s Arthur-Arthur Healy.”
“What’s your issue, Arthur?”
His smile faded, “I checked in because...well, I’m a Masochist.”
I grinned, “Masochist Arthur.”
He looked at me, “That usually makes everyone uncomfortable.”
“It would, but I don’t really care.”
Arthur smiled. He bit his lower lip, “What’s your issue?”
It was un-determined by Patrick, but I knew what I was. I just think Patrick doesn’t want to believe what I am.
My eyes settled on Arthur, “I’m psychotic Frank.”
This tag around my wrist feels tight. I always find a way to rip it off, only to have it replaced by another. I gave in and let it be as I walked down the halls of different mentally disturbed people. It’s not bad here at all. The staff are nice, no one disturbs me...but it does get boring. I miss the outside world where I can get something fatty to eat or walk around peacefully without having someone supervise me wherever I go.
It’s been 5 months since I was dropped off here. My mind hasn’t passed any thought about Gerard during the day, but during the night, I re-live the memories. His touch, his pale skin, his messy colored coal hair, and that cute button nose.
Maybe I’m not meant to get better. Maybe I’m doomed.
My shoes drag along on the clean floors, mindlessly walking the halls. Soon it will be 3:30 p.m and I would have to meet with Patrick. He recently visited me and asked if he could give me one-on-one therapy each day.
It would be foolish if I declined. If I had, he would think I set back on getting better-I need him to see the effort I was putting in.
After a while of aimlessly walking the halls, I entered a room where Patrick was. When I set eyes on him, the sun shining through the open window made him look like an angel. An angel wearing a fedora.
How professional.
Patrick looked at me, “Frank, please, sit down.”
I went around the chair before sitting down. We looked one another for a bit and I could tell he looked a little uncomfortable. He asked, “How are you this thursday?”
I shrugged, “It’s a normal thursday. Same schedule, same halls...same walls...nothing new.”
“One word to describe it all?”
“Boring.”
Patrick looked at me, “And what kind of change do you want?”
“Maybe a little party,” I grinned.
He scoffed, “A party? Now, they only allow that when it’s someone’s birthday...what about a friend? You don’t think that’s some kind of change?”
“A friend?” The word made me awkward, “Why would I need one of those? I did fine without one before.”
“Before? As in before…” Patrick’s voice trailed off. He added in, “The problem?”
The problem. I knew what he meant. He was talking about Gerard. I nodded, “Yep.”
He raised a brow, “Well, I think a friend would be good for you. Have you tried talking to anyone?”
“I’ve talked to a few people. Suicidal Sally, Anorexic Annie, Delusional Dan, Bi-polar Brian-”
“Are those real people?” Patrick asked, almost annoyed at my playful tone.
“They are but I added in their disorders to help me remember their names,” I paused, “You know, you never did tell me my disorder. It’ll help me introduce myself to new people.”
“Hold on, back to the names-have you had real conversations with any of them?”
“Not really. Just short conversations here and there. Though, social anxiety Phoebe really doesn’t talk. She’s always cradled on her chair, avoiding conversation.”
Patrick rolled his eyes, “You’re always using that comical tone, it really irritates me.”
“Poor Patty.” I smiled.
He tried to hold back a smile. He sighed, “At least you’re opening up. I’m proud of you.”
“Hey, we promised to tell the truth to another...so,” I leaned in a bit, “what have you diagnosed me with, Pat?”
“I don’t feel it’s necessary to label your final disorder just yet.”
“I’m a big boy, Pat, I can handle it,”
Patrick looked down, “It’s hard to say. You have a few and I’m still working on summing it all up to one. Separation Anxiety disorder, Depersonalization disorder, Dependent Personality disorder-it goes on.” Patrick sighed, “To sum it all up, you’re a clingy, emotional, and manipulative person. Once you find someone you like, you get attached. You don’t like being separated from that person and will do anything to stay by their side which could be lying, cheating-when I say anything,” Patrick glared at me, “I mean anything,”
“Anything, as in lying to you that I want to get better?” I smiled, “You’re so cruel, Pat.”
“I hope you’re not trying to cheat your way out of this hospital by using me, Frank.” He said.
“I’m just here to get better, friend.” As a matter in fact, he was right. I am using him. Once
Patrick sees I’m getting better, he’ll sign release papers and I’ll be able to on my way.
Certainly, it won’t be anytime soon. Gerard is staying in prison for two years. So I’ll be in here for three years. It will be then when I can manipulate my way out...but according to pull off that stunt, I need to believe that I’m getting better. I need to distract myself.
Our time was up. I walked out feeling a bit nervous that Patrick was aware of my scheme. I just need to pull it off, make him see that I’m trying. The only way to do that it to get a…friend.
As I made my way down the hall, I noticed a new line up of people. I did notice during my time here, there were always newcomers entering the hospital by law or voluntarily each week.
I shoved my hands inside my pockets, inspecting the line up. My eye caught crimson matted hair. My breath escaped me when I noticed the faint colored skin, the hazel eyes, and the cute button nose. It looked like Gerard-except for the poor posture and of course the red hair.
I walked over, and he noticed me right away. He glanced at me before tucking in his lips in. I approached him, “Hi.”
Surprisingly, he grinned at me, “Hello.” His face flushed pink. He said quickly, “My name’s Arthur-Arthur Healy.”
“What’s your issue, Arthur?”
His smile faded, “I checked in because...well, I’m a Masochist.”
I grinned, “Masochist Arthur.”
He looked at me, “That usually makes everyone uncomfortable.”
“It would, but I don’t really care.”
Arthur smiled. He bit his lower lip, “What’s your issue?”
It was un-determined by Patrick, but I knew what I was. I just think Patrick doesn’t want to believe what I am.
My eyes settled on Arthur, “I’m psychotic Frank.”
Yo! So far this is disturbing...and I LOVE IT! Also really appreciating the gifs after each chapter, makes me smile :))) thnx.
12/13/16