No hope left...

A Story by Anon1

A story about what it's like to be in the mind of a person struggling with mental illness who decides to get help- primarily just hoping for some feedback on how to improve it as I know it isnt good

“Loneliness. Sadness. Despair. What else is there?” Hugo thought to himself as he sat in the councillor’s office which had become an all too familiar place. He was sure if he bothered to listen he would find an answer in the words spoken by the attractive brunette sitting across from him. Repeatedly she had requested to be called by her first name Caroline despite the “Mrs Flinn” printed in bold writing on her otherwise white badge. He appreciated this effort to increase his comfort during their scheduled encounters but he couldn’t ignore her text-book copied reassurances accompanied by her forced smile which she wore all too naturally. Nothing about talking to this kind looking lady would benefit him as she was someone who was simply paid to pretend to care and say the right things.

Every time he visited this dreaded office he loathed it more and more resulting in already impenetrable walls to strengthen further masking any vulnerability that may show weakness. The walls were an important defence mechanism to someone like Hugo who often concealed his broken inner self behind a slight grin and a series of nervous laughs. He accepted this prison which he placed himself in as while he felt alone and miserable within its boundaries, it was safe, free from the cruel and judgemental world his mind created. He hated this office and the labels he was given by the doctor who gave him the useless pills that just made him tired. “It appears that there are definite signs that you have a depressive disorder and anxiety” the doctor had said. The number of times he had replayed this line through his mind was countless which always induced a wave of self-criticism about how he could of answered the 15 simple questions he was asked differently. It still amazed him that they could base whether someone was mentally stable by asking 15 questions, was that really the best they could do?

As she spoke he scanned the edges of the room, following every corner and examining each groove in the white architraves lining the walls. He noticed and applauded the manner in which their design had improved what would have been a simple corner where the wall and ceiling met. He always attempted to look for the beauty in things, whether it was nature or architecture he could always find something if he concentrated enough. This was perhaps one of the main reasons why his mother was so surprised when he mentioned that he thought he was depressed. Later that night he had heard her talking to his grandma on the phone saying, “How is it possible for someone who sees so much beauty in the world to claim to hate their own existence?” It was quite simple though in actuality. When he saw the beauty in other things, it made it easy to notice all the imperfections that could use improvement. “Hugo?” he heard the woman say snapping him back into reality from the depths of his mind. “Hey, Hugo, are you alright?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said with his deceiving signature grin. He hated that he always did this; he would get so lost in his thoughts that it caused lapses in his perception of time and eliminated his awareness of the world around him. Instead of his surroundings, Hugo saw his mind, it was a box that only contained darkness with just enough light to see the silhouettes of a blackened river and rugged dock. The dock was where the ships carrying his emotions would visit for varying durations. The permanent residents carrying stress and despair never seemed able to venture far, it was easy to hide their unwanted cargo in the darkness; his mind. Much to Hugo’s dismay, his favourite ship representing happiness didn’t visit often or would simply disappear as soon as it came, continuing its journey down the river. It had been months since he saw its brightness light up the river and occasionally a glimmer would appear on the horizon, always just out of reach. While he was in this world it wasn’t uncommon for him to be walking somewhere and he’d get so lost in the box with his thoughts and feelings that when he finally regained his awareness he wouldn’t remember the last few minutes.

“Okay great, you just looked a bit out of it,” she said cheerfully. “Sorry” he said with a nervous laugh.

He looked down at his watch, it read 11:25 am. “Okay” he said silently to himself. “Just concentrate for the next 5 minutes and then you can go.” He couldn’t wait to get home to his dark room where he could lock himself in quickly before his mother could quiz him on his appointment. The four walls of his room were where he was protected from the world, they kept his thoughts in and he was free to allow himself to drown freely in an ocean of sorrow. It was a place where he wasn’t expected to be a normal happy teen. He didn’t have to have hold the weight of his emotional barriers up there. They’d instead expand from the small and strong walls of his mind and reshape into the plaster walls of his room. The councillor then asked a question that made his stomach drop.

“Have you heard anything from your father?”

The feeling he instantly got could only be compared to the sensation of panic that flows through your body when you almost fall from a chair whilst leaning back. Or when you’re on a ledge and a gust of wind nearly makes you lose your balance, but this feeling wasn’t going away as it did in those circumstances and it was all too familiar. Alike stress and despair, panic usually had an extended stay. He became even more aware of the time, he looked down at his watch which now read 11:26 on the digital display. He didn’t think he could last another four minutes in this useless place that was tragically giving false hope and reassurances to people that things could get better. “Four minutes…” he mumbled to himself somewhat insanely. Hugo thought about it, four minutes was really 240 seconds which was actually 24000 milliseconds in reality. That was 24000 more moments he was expected to stay in this room with the creature who was clearly just trying to hurt him. It knew he didn’t like that topic, the memories were just too much to handle as they were bound with darkness. Sometimes when he was in bed at night he swore he could still feel a dull ache over his entire body where the bruises once were. “Pardon?” the creature said trying it’s best to sound concerned but the evil was too much to disguise. He couldn’t take it. “Sorry, do you mind if we finish up early? I really need to go to the bathroom,” he said, already making his way towards the door.

His mind was a hurricane of rapidly raging thoughts making it impossible for him to pay enough attention to comprehend what she replied with. Once again there was a lapse in his memory; he was already in the bathroom, shutting the door to the toilet cubical behind him with trembling hands. The sensation was now amplified, tenfold, and his heart was racing faster than ever. Tears were now streaming down his face and he couldn’t control the tidal wave of emotion crashing down on him. He clawed desperately at his hair pulling it with all of his strength that he could muster up in his pathetic state. Not even the physical pain was helping him to control the downward spiral, he was falling helplessly into a world of painful thoughts. His pulse was pounding like a drum in his ears. “Stop, please!” He cried begging for his pulse to stop rather than just the sound. He swore the walls were closing in on him making him feel claustrophobic and trapped. The isolation in this cubicle was meant to make him feel better but it wasn’t helping. The walls just added to the crushing weight bearing down on him where the combating forces of the walls and his mind were creating an unescapable and painful trap. He was being attacked from both the inside and outside and there was nothing he could do. The walls that had offered him safety had betrayed him and there was no hope left.