A Devastating Truth

The following short story depicts a woman's struggle between herself and reality.

What a truly beautiful sight before my eyes. The sun was cascading down on me as I slipped my feet into the blue. I had never been much for swimming but the sea called out in lulling waves. Behind me, a grey earth full of stones outlining the old beach house where I had spent many years as a child. The house had been my summers for nearly all of my early years until the darker days of my childhood took hold. Behind me was a past so dark and numbing, but before me was a descended heaven reaching to meet the mighty waves. I had longed for heaven as a little girl, and my yearning had only grown since then. I itched to swim out to where the sun met the sea but knew it was a futile desire, for surely no man could swim to the sun. The very idea made me laugh, and I inched even further into the water. “Perhaps I would be the one to do it”, I thought jokingly in my head. As I stood there and dreamed of the waves crashing on my skin, the idea became more and more enticing. “Of course I can touch the sunset”, I thought to myself. After all, I needed only the two legs and arms given to me. And so I did. I leaped into the ocean and swam with my eyes fixed on heaven.

Whether I reached the golden blanket overlooking the sea that day or not, my mind seemed very convinced I had. After my stay in the mad house, they had told me that I was better; that I wasn’t “crazy” anymore and I could go home, but I had been sick for so long I feared my mind would never be well again. There are days when my insanity is an obstacle; keeping me from the ones I love, and the rationality to do the little things in life like picking up Katie from daycare, or drying the laundry before I begin to fold it. And then there are days when the madness is simply a beautiful thing and lets me believe the impossible. I remember one day I looked at my daughter and her hair was a mess of curls one second, and a tangle of blooming apple blossoms the next. On the days when I can envision magic such as this I am grateful for that summer and the horrors that ensued. I would not wish the trials of my younger years on another, but it saddens me that there are those who will never live with such a pleasantly diseased mind.

             

Once I had reached the shore again, I headed back up to the beach house just as others had started arriving; all of them appeared sickly and withered but I paid them no mind. As I approached the walkway I saw its pine siding and bright blue roof become dark, mossy stones towering over me in turrets and columns.  Hesitantly, I entered what I had thought was my summer home and was greeted by a woman in white handing me a small plastic cup with a capsule in it. She smiled politely and asked if I’d had a nice “dip in the pool”. I nodded, a tad confused, and swallowed the pill after a little coaxing. The woman then wrapped me in a towel and led me down a long corridor. The sick ones I had seen earlier were everywhere now, but I continued to follow her into a tiny room with a small window above an old, worn cot. The lady dried me off and pulled a thin white gown over my head. She then made her way to the door and informed me dinner would be served in half an hour. The faint click of the lock behind her sent chills coursing through my body, and my present circumstance came rushing back to me. The beach house was thousands of miles away, and I was just like the dwindling sick ones I had seen only moments before. I crumpled to the floor and began to wail in a fit; hitting my hands against the cold cement floor and trembling with rage. I remembered where I was; what I was. And as I cried on the floor of my chamber I longed for Katie. She hadn’t been by to visit in so long. Would I even recognize her if I saw her? Or perhaps I had invented her as well.

           

 The truth can be devastating when your mind is on its best behavior. Sometimes I wake up and cannot recall who or where I am, and it comforts me to be so blissfully unaware. Other days, the knowledge of my illness sits like a rock in my gut, and I simply remain in my cot, unbathed and starving, waiting for the insanity to take hold. On those days, I come to realize my illness anchors me, and takes what was merely existence and makes it fantastical. After all, only the mad can believe the impossible, and imagine the beautiful; days when you could swim out to sea and touch heaven, or envision a pleasant garden emerging from your daughter’s brow.

Author's Note

I do not intend for the content to be made sense of, but rather, simply enjoy the imagery.