Chapter 1: Hollymore

Emily has been admitted to Hollymore Psychiatric Institute where she learns that things aren't exactly how she thought they would be.

September 19th, 2012

Emily.

Written,

ever so neatly on a

piece of paper somewhere,

are the secrets of mankind.

Silently tucked away,

waiting.

 

For someone to be

brave enough to open it,

repair the tattered edges.

De-code the smeared ink.

Read.

 

Slowly, yet surely,

belt out the unknown

knowledge to others,

release all burdens and dark clouds

hanging over heads.

 

Maybe then

we would all be truly

happy.

Happiness is vital.

It gives all things life.

 

It provides faith and hope,

to carry on,

 strive,

achieve and succeed.

I had happiness,

 

but I knew that it wouldn’t last long.

The thing would get

stronger,

like the first time,

I’d be fighting to keep my place,

 

and it would strike once again.

 

 Pace.

 

Body language is key.

 

I keep my chin held high,

steady my breathing,

stepping in time with

the calm figure beside me.

I make no direct eye

contact with others,

not that I need to.

No one pays me much attention.

 

I glance to the nurse’s face

several times, measuring her

 facial expression, trying to

read some emotion off of the mask.

She has painted on a smile

and it isn’t going

 to fade anytime soon.

This frustrates me,

everything seems too perfect here.

 I need to find a flaw,

A fault.

Something to complain about

Why?

It certainly won’t get me out.

I can tell there is plenty of

happiness to go around.

 Synthetic happiness,

in the shape of a little white tablet.

Chalky and bitter.

I’ll have my fair share of it soon enough.

I wish they'd make banana flavor…

 

The taste of acid is

 on my tongue,

as anxiety courses

through every part of me.

I miss home; I miss my bed,

 my old life, my friend(s)…

I wince quietly,

but not quiet enough.

The nurse watches me from

 the corner of her eye,

as my fake façade breaks down,

 I loose focus. My chin has dropped,

 my feet stop moving

and my hands are on

either side of my head.

I am in a low crouch,

my knees buckling under me.

I hyperventilate.

An air bubble is

tight in my throat.

I CAN’T BREATHE.

 

My diaphragm quickly

builds up pressure, causing

 an intense rush of air

to rip up my throat and

 clear the constricting bubble.

I realize my hands are on

the side of my ears then,

because in that split second,

I have began to scream.

 

 

I sit,

 

I literally drop myself to the floor.

In exhaustion,

in defeat.

I will surely be tossed into a padded

room and locked up now.

I stop screaming.

I cradle my head in my hands,

my knees pushed tight up against my chest.

A pair of strong arms slither

their way across my shoulders,

and another onto the small of my back.

Two more arms gently hook their way

across the back of my knees.

I feel myself lifted up and away

 from the cool, comforting tiled floor.

I am set down onto a thin, bumpy

 mattress. I naturally stretch out.

Lying still as I hear the

screeching wheels turn,

and I am driven towards my prison cell.

 

It creeps up on me.

Probing at my inner thoughts

 and memories from my most

recent idiotic performance.

It begins stalking me,

making me feel defective,

anon-short for anonymous-will never stop.

It is hell-bent, intent on getting a

loathing reaction from me.

Satisfaction.

It's words bubble inside my brain;

 I can feel the upheaval of it's

 presence,as normality

 becomes scarce.

It is my sculptor, and I am the

 masterpiece, being shaped,

 molded and changed.

Manipulated, to anon’s advantages.

 

I feel like I am wading

 waist deep in pain.

An invincible hostile gush of

 unsettling words, buzzing

 around in my head.

A cave of red, blurry red

rubies, pulsing brightly.

My vision goes hazy and the

 room becomes one giant shadow.

Anon creates a white noise, crisp

and clear, in that useless,

vacant space between my ears.

Slithering throughout every fiber

 of me, groping every inch, follicle.

Everything seems to sway

 in gray, frenzied motion.

I bite back on my tongue

and the need the scream.

 

Suddenly, the feeling of being under lockdown is lifted.

 

Something has cast a veil.

Lacy ribbons woven

 throughout my brain, like a tapestry.

Chasing down ‘bad’ thoughts,

 and startling anon.

I slowly rise out of

the blurry red cave;

 it melts around my body and skin.

Allowing me to drift upwards,

 wading now midthigh.

The luscious feeling

of being in control.

Blurriness ebbing.

The shrieking and howling of the

 white noise seems to stall to a hush.

A gentle flow of whispers,

barely audible.

Warped voices, only heard

when searched for.

Coincidently -and to my luck

despite my recent episodes-,

just as I get myself together

 and recover from the fresh

wounds of a brutal takedown,

a big, bouncing ball of white cloth

and red curls, barges through my door.

 "First level, no privacy."

Her big booming voice causes me to

 cringe, her face wrinkles up in confusion.

"Oh! I’m so sorry my dear. I am Paige

Russell; I’m going to be your nurse

 Unpack your things; Dr. Alcona wants to see you."

She flashes me a set of big, white

crooked teeth, twisted into

an eerily excited smile.

 A sense of clarity washes over me,

That act that I had performed

 for all the crazies and the nurses,

well here, that is,

normal.

 

Author's Note

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