Pacing

I close the car door. I wave without looking back. I do not smell the roses. I do not wait for the cat to decide if it wants to come inside. I put my bag down in my room. I sit down. I am overcome with indecision. My phone rings. I let it ring. I stare at the wall. Ring. I stare at the wall. Ring. Ring-Ring. It stops. I breathe out. I stare at the wall.

I am suddenly reaware of my thoughts, and suddenly they become more frantic.

‘Ruby, Ruby, you’re open. You’re wide open. It’s coming now. I have to do something. I have to do something now’

I stare at the wall. It starts getting a bit blurry

‘Ruby, you’re rocking back and forth. Stop it. You’re not insane. Stop it. You’re screaming too loud. They’ll come to get you. They’ll find you. They’ll find you because you’re shouting’

So my thoughts stop. Everything is wall again. My phone rings. I let it ring. I stare at the wall. Ring. I stare at the wall. Ring-Ring. I leave my room.

 

Next thing I know the sun is setting. I’m walking up and down my driveway eating a lemonade icypole. ‘This is not an icypole’ I think disgusted, ‘this is coloured ice.’ I walk. I turn. I walk. I turn. I walk. A rock sticks into the bottom of my foot. I swear. I walk. I turn.

 

‘It’s one thing to feel claustrophobic in my room’ I’m thinking now, but I’m thinking like I’m talking to my psychiatrist. ‘My rooms all dark and boxey ya know. I could climb on furniture and touch the roof’ My psychiatrist who doesn’t exist. ‘But what happens when I run outside. Run run outside.’ I’m acting out a conversation with a psychiatrist that doesn’t exist. Walk. Turn. Walk. Turn. ‘and there there. There’s the sky. You can’t escape the sky’ Walk. Turn. ‘then what? What do you do exactly?’ Walk. Turn. Balance last bit of ice on stick.

 

‘I mean. It’s not exactly the same thing… You can’t touch the sky. It’s kinda spacious ya know. Spacious. Spacious’ Walk. Turn. ‘Spacious…’ You’re waving your elbow around like a chicken trying to explain you can’t touch the sky. ‘Boy my psychiatrist must really think I’m crazy’ you think. Your imaginary psychiatrist. Walk. Turn. Stare straight forward. Never at the ground. Walk. Turn. Walk. ‘I said I’d go inside when I finished this icy pole.’ The stick is in my mouth. Walk. Turn. It tastes like cardboard. Walk. Turn. ‘Spacious…’ Walk. Turn. ‘But it’s still a big cage. A big cage. Spacious and trapping’ Walk. Turn. Pace! I’m pacing! ‘God is watching. Always always watching’

I go inside to escape God.

 

‘He’s here too. He’s coming. You’re trying to escape. But not this time. You’re thinking about escaping. He can hear that. He can hear. He hears everyting. They’re coming Ruby. Just sleep. You can sleep can’t you’

I stare at the wall.

‘He’ll find you. It’ll find you. You used to like this little game you had didn’t you’

I stare at the wall.

‘You used to love the little visits’

I fingers curl to fists. I stare at the wall.

‘Now what?… Hmm… Now what?’

My fingers unravel to curl around my head. To scratch through my hair. Across my scalp. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD” I yell inside and whisper out loud. “… I’m sick of this. Just… Just go away”

 

Author's Note

The change in first to second persons is intentional, and I'm not mad.

Reviews

are you sure you arent mad, this is a really good perspective of a mad persons thoughts.. i like the imaginary therapist..
i have imaginary conversations with oprah sometime's.. is that strange? oh well
nice write ^^
-ST