I remember the day my brain broke. It was sudden, explosive, and just like a teacup falling onto a hard, stone floor, I shattered hitting the ground. I came to, now lying on my bathroom floor, staring at the ceiling, fragments of my former self, comatose.
My mind waved its tired white flag and I decided it was time to check out of life.
January 22nd, I was admitted into a psychiatric facility. Pillow under one arm; I wheeled my little purple suitcase through the front door. I looked around; beige walls, a dead plant to my left and people slouched, shuffling past the nurse’s station. Everyone looked so sick. I caught my reflection in the window.
Oh, that’s right, so am I.
I was shown to my room. Ward 28. No TV, small windows, starch white sheets, hard hospital beds. A room full of nothingness. It was perfect; a place to swallow me whole.
I stared at my case on the bed. I would only unpack a pencil, some paper and a toothbrush. I decided not to unpack too much. Perhaps I just needed one night. Perhaps I would leave tomorrow.
Nurse ‘Perky’ sprung into the room and handed me a ‘Next steps to returning home’ brochure. I had only just made it here! I looked at her bemused, took it from her and said thanks. Then she left, with what felt like knee kicks and jazz hands, singing ‘Here if you need sunshine!’
I sat on the bed, turned my pencil, aimed it at the door and then with perfect trajectory, I threw it at life.
I am currently working on a book regarding this topic. Any comments on this piece would be greatly appreciated. I’d love to hear from you.