Sick | BTS ✓

5

As soon as I feel the cool metal against my skin, I yank my hand back immediately and hold it awkwardly in the air.

My chest tightens and begins to hurt as the anxiety begins to kick in, my brain desperately screaming that I need to wash my hands.

But I take a deep breath and walk to my bed, sitting myself on the edge as I continue to hold my dirty hand in the air away from my body.

I jiggle my leg to try to calm my nerves and my panicking brain.

I look at the clock. 10:33 PM.

Five minutes. I can do this. I have to do this.

It's getting harder to breathe. My body wants to have a breakdown right now, but I can't give in. I won't. I need to prove to myself that I can overcome this. I'll never be able to live normally if I don't fight back.

The muscles in my leg are burning from me jiggling it so hard, but it's giving me something to focus on besides my hand.

I glance at the clock again. 10:35 PM.

It's been two minutes. Three more and I can wash my hands.

I keep nervously glancing at my right hand that's as far away from my body as I can get it, but my brain won't accept that.

Make sure your hand isn't touching your clothes.

I glance at it again. It's still in the air, not touching anything.

Make sure your hand isn't touching your clothes.

I sigh in exasperation and look again. Still not touching anything.

Make sure your hand isn't touching your clothes.

I shake my head vigorously, trying to get rid of the obsessive thought.

Sometimes I can't convince my brain, so I have to do the same thing over and over and over. If I don't, the thoughts just get louder and the pain in my chest worsens.

10:37 PM. One more minute.

I'm sweating at this point. The anxiety this is causing is nearly overwhelming and my brain's pleas are deafening.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

My fingernails are digging into my left palm from clenching my hand into a fist so tightly, and my right hand hasn't moved a muscle since I touched it to the door.

10:38 PM.

I whimper and stand up so fast that I almost trip over my own feet in my dash for the bathroom.

Careful to only touch the light switch and sink handle with my left hand, I turn the water on as hot as it will go and stick my right hand underneath the stream.

I bite my lip in pain as the water scalds my skin, but I have to make it clean.

Clean. Clean. Clean.

My body is screaming to move my hand out of the hot water, but my brain won't let me.

My hand is dirty. It needs to be cleaned.

Even if I have to burn the skin off to make the germs go away.

The door to my bedroom swings open and a nurse runs in.

I was screaming in pain and I didn't even realize it.

I was in a trance, lost in the voices telling me to clean my hand.

The nurse snatches my hand out of the water and turns the sink off and immediately pulls me back into the bedroom.

"I need to wash my hands. Let me go!" I scream, tears falling down my face. "You're dirty! You're making me dirty!"

I try to fight against her and as soon as I wiggle out of her grip, I feel a sharp pain in my arm, and I immediately feel light-headed.

"Don't... touch... m-me..." I whisper as I feel myself go limp, everything going dark.

**********

I slowly let my eyelids flutter open and I'm nearly blinded by the bright white room that I'm in.

"Ugh," I murmur before trying to sit up, but I realize I can't.

I'm strapped to the bed by wrist and ankle restraints.

I wince in pain as I try to move my hands and I see my right hand has been bandaged in gauze.

"Clara, you're awake."

I shift my head to look at who the voice belongs to, and my eyes meet my therapist's.

"How do you feel?" He asks, pulling up a chair to sit next to the bed.

"Tired."

"They gave you a strong sedative when you had your breakdown," he explains. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I touched the door like you asked me to. I waited five minutes and then I went to wash my hands. That's all I remember."

"You burned your hand on purpose, Clara."

I nod slowly, turning my head away from him.

"Clara, it's okay. I consider it a step in the right direction. Do you know why?"

I stay silent, staring at the wall of the infirmary.

"You did it. You touched the door and managed not to wash your hands for five minutes. That's truly incredible, Clara. It didn't end the way I'd hoped, but that's why you're here. You're here to get better. And that's what I am committed to doing. One step at a time. Okay, Clara?"

I turn my head to face him again. "You're not disappointed?"

"Of course not. Whether you believe it or not, you took a step forward. Even if it was a small step. You'll learn to control the compulsions. I'm here with you every step of the way. This is a journey and it will take time."

I nod. "Thanks."

He smiles. "You have a visitor if you're up for it."

"Who would want to visit me?" I ask, frowning.

"Did you forget about me already? I'm offended," a voice says from the doorway of the small infirmary.

I glance up and see Jin walking towards me, a small smile on his face.

"I'm going to unbuckle your restraints now. Nurses are standing nearby in case you lose control again," my therapist says before releasing my wrists and ankles.

"Thanks," I say, shifting in my bed so I'm sitting up, wincing as my hand hits against the sheets.

"I'll come talk to you later," he says, before leaving the room.

"Looks painful," Jin says, pointing to my hand as he takes the seat by my bed.

"It is."

"How are you gonna play cards with me with one hand?" He pouts.

I laugh, which is a weird feeling considering I am recovering from a mental breakdown.