Life and Its Mishaps

Chapter 13

(trigger warning: depictions of psychotic-like episodes and violent imagery)

   Seeing the colors float in front of my eyes, I could also see that I was very wrong about the possibility of this day turning around. We were busy as soon as we arrived. Things were okay at first, but I got overwhelmed quickly. It was when I realized I wouldn't be able to start my shift the way I always do—stocking, stacking, filling the soda machine and cups with ice, taking out the morning trash—when it started going downhill. Feeling my heart begin to race, I held my breath and prayed to whatever was out there to let me survive this. I managed to hold myself together through the first and second waves of customers, all the way through the 7:30 rush. That is until my stupid manager got in my way and mixed up the orders, throwing me off completely. It hit me then. The dizziness, the out of place colors, everything seemed to be intensely saturated without warning, and I couldn't feel my arms anymore.
     I decided to escape to the bathroom. This night is a breaking point, I thought to myself as I leaned over the toilet. I grabbed the seat and felt the coolness of it, and as unsanitary as it was, the sensation grounded me enough to keep me from a total meltdown. I touched the cold tile floor, and all the blue in my vision transferred from behind my eyes down into it. In that moment, I knew I had the power to take control back over myself. No, this will not be strike two. I will leave this night behind before I let it become that. Finding some will power tucked away into the corners of my being, I grabbed the soap from the counter and watched all the green splotches transfer from the front of my eyes and into the bottle. While I washed my hands, I paid attention to every detail of the soap as it glided through my fingers, and I watched the bubbles turn from white to purple. My reflection scared me because I could not recognize myself. However, I found myself unable to look away. I analyzed the person in the mirror—their pale face, bagged eyes—I was entranced by their sickly image. That was when an idea came to my mind, and though I could not make it click that this person was me, somewhere in whatever logic I was clinging onto, I realized I could use this to my advantage.
     Unlocking the bathroom door, unaware of how long I was gone for and no longer being able to care, I went to find my mom.

X

     In the passenger seat of the car of my dad's newest girlfriend, I found it in me to be grateful that I was getting to go home early. Like always, Dad didn't believe me that I was sick. I'm sure he was gripping to my mom the whole time she was on the phone with him, trying to find me a ride. But as upsetting as it is that he never validates my pain or illness, and as disappointing as it was that I was now having to spend the weekend at his house, I forced myself into the present moment, trailing my fingers over the fabric of the seat and quietly counted my inhales and exhales. The girlfriend—I think this one's name is Claire—tried to make conversation, and as much as I wanted to return it to show her my gratitude, I couldn't find it in me. I managed to thank her as I calmed myself down, slowly coming out of the episode, but that was all I could give her. As I continued with my count, I realized I wasn't sure if Mom had convinced Dad to send her or if Claire had offered. Both seemed plausible, but this unanswered question of the situation gave my brain something to ponder, and before I knew it, I was lost in the comfort of  my ever multiplying thoughts. She's offered to give us rides before, but I'm not sure if she'd go against Dad's gripping to do it. Come to think of it, she's offered us a lot of things. She must be another one of the women who is going to give my dad everything she has while he takes without a thank you. I hate to turn all of these girlfriends into stereotypes or statistics, but I'm so tired of getting attached and losing them. I wonder if I can show her she's better off with someone who actually values her, or maybe even...
     It's the ideas that are full and complete sentences, the ones I can apply logic to, apply them to real situations, confirm or debunk them with facts and numbers and all of the realest most undeniable things that bring me the most peace. Even when they make my brain sad and tired, they allow me to be as real as I can be. When there's nothing I can really be sure of, I remember that inside myself, there is something that exists enough to form these thoughts. Even when my limbs are fading before my very eyes and I cannot find a reflection to be my own, even though I cannot convince myself of this in moments like the ones I had experienced an hour before, I ultimately know that I am real. It's the contemplation inside me that allows me to be sure that I exist at least somewhere.
     We pulled up to the house, and I waited for Claire to shut off the engine and head inside with me, but for a moment, we both just sat there uncomfortably. I looked over at her and slowly started to grab my bags, trying to ask with my face, 'Aren't you coming in?' She noticed this but didn't answer my questioning-look out right. Instead, she just said with a sympathetic voice and small smile, "I hope you start feeling better! Text me if you need anything."
"Thank you," I replied numbly. As bad as I am at reading between the lines, I was able to understand that this meant she would not be joining me inside. I trekked up our little front yard, barely putting one foot in front of the other, and as I took my time, I realized Claire was still waiting patiently in her running car. Is she waiting to see I make it inside? I have forgotten my key in the past, but... It was when I noticed Mark walking out the front door that I let my thoughts trail off and began to understand. Through gritted teeth, I found myself dropping my backpack to my side and confronting him with a snarl. "What do you think you're doing?"
     He looked up from his phone for just a moment to shoot me another one of his infamous dirty looks and rudely answered my question. "I'm going to a friend's house for a couple of hours. Why do you care?"
     "At 8:30 at night?" I asked him accusingly. I could feel all of the judgment in my voice as it crept up my throat, and the heat of my anger followed it. My body began to shake, and I still couldn't say for certain if it was because of the cold outside biting at my being or just a failed attempt at containing my rage. I'm sure all he could think of me at that moment was the way I resembled a chihuahua in my ninety pounds of trembling emotional instability.
     "Chill, it's just for a couple of hours," he said, oblivious to how that makes it worse. Not even caring enough to look at me, just looking down at his phone, the blue light eluminating him ominously. That was when I saw the logo on his phone case--our dad's favorite football team. It was just another reminder of who he was willingly becoming. My brother was going to be a repeat of the man who claimed to want to love me and then made the choice to neglect me; the one who never cared when it counted. I couldn't take it anymore.
     "So you're just going to have Claire drive you around everywhere you want to go? You're taking advantage of her just like Dad, you greedy fucking brat. It'd be one thing if you were spending the night, but you clearly are just using her kindness to help you pass the time." It came out of me so bitterly that I could taste my disdain for him on my tongue. This made him so angry with me, but his anger could never match the pure fury taking over me in that moment. Suddenly it felt as though everything I had been feeling throughout this god-forsaken day and even this whole horrible life had reached a build up and I was on the verge of pummeling the boy in front of me like a tsunami taking out a town.
     It wasn't until he spoke again that I finally pushed him to the ground. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" was the last thing he said before I lunged at him. There was nothing left caging the monster inside me. My cold hands yanked at the collar of his shirt and he fell easily at my sudden strength. "Hey! What do you think you're—?!" His words were cut off when he crashed down and his head thumped back hard onto the dead grass. I didn't even see the tears in his eyes as I punched him hard in the face, the blood from his nose staining my hand. I think Mark yelled out, but I couldn't actually hear in that moment or the ones that followed.
     My whole being was filled with this uncontrollable heat and irate fire that told me one thing: destroy this world and everything in it. I knew I was included in that. There was no build up, there was no rising anger or sharpness in my chest, and there was certainly no time for me to ground myself or hold onto something other than this derivative that radiated throughout me. It wasn't until I was knelt over my brother with his blood covering my hands that I realized I was gone. His face was covered with tears and blood and he tried to push me off of him but most of all it was the fear in his voice and expression that made me realize: I had absolutely no control over myself. Seeing my little brother in front of me like this made me want to reach out and hold him; protect him from this beast that was hurting him. I wanted to hold his face but couldn't seem to unfurl my fist. With every punch I threw I felt farther away from him and myself. The angry man inside of me, the voice that was always telling me the worst things under the guise of protecting myself—that is who I had become. I was somehow both the monster I tried so hard to protect everyone I loved from, but also the big brother that was desperate to protect them all. Or was I even a brother, a boy, a human?
     I don't remember Claire yanking me off of Mark, and I certainly don't remember what words she screamed at me. All I remember was the screeching of her tires and her headlights pulling away from me as I lied in the dead grass covered in blood that wasn't mine, completely drained and gone. All that was left was the darkness of the night. That was when I knew. It had consumed me.