MADMAN'S ARMS

52

( 🎶 Beautiful Crime - Tamer )

Thursday, September 5th

I woke up in the middle of the night by a breathtaking nightmare filled with terrors, and I almost ran out of bed from the sudden physical urge for flight.

My heart pounded in fear and the tears were already streaming down my heated cheeks without my notice.

Brandon was haunting me, even in my dreams. So was Dorothy, and the two bloodless specialist doctors in their brown attires.

The terrible situation with Brandon only two days ago couldn't seem to leave my head. Same thing with the imagination of how Brandon brutally smashed that obtuse graphite pencil into Joseph Acker's carotid artery.

I had been working at St: Nicolai for such short amount of time but still I had witnessed the most traumatic things in my life, and been through the most toxic and abnormal situations.

I almost fell in love with a patient, a murderer and a psychopath. That same patient who was being hated by the whole nation, probably the whole world. That same patient who was painted black all over the news and papers. That same patient who killed a man in front of me, in front of my colleagues and friends, and so many of the other already struggling, sick patients.

I couldn't stop hyperventilating. It felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest and I found it too hard to breathe. Feeling like someone was choking me with their bare hands, tightening my airways more with every second, slowly fading the life out of me.

The tears streamed as I screamed out of pain and fright. Shouting for help even if there was no one near. Was this like dying?

I rasped my nails over my arms to keep control over my senses and my body's normal functions but it didn't seem to work. I was just hurting myself, but I had to do something to distract the panic and chaos inside of me.

Why did this happen to me?
I had already been through enough. I couldn't handle another downfall hunting me for the rest of my life.

My life was just about to take its start and my health was finally at its best. Then I ended up in that place...

I crawled on the floor and tried to find my way to the bathroom, but it was a hard challenge with this blurry vision in the darkness.

Finally, I reached the bathroom and I managed to sit down on the toilet. I raised my arms to open the cabinet over the sink and reached for the little green first aid kit box standing peacefully placed in the corner of the cabinet.

I shouldn't do this. But all my sanity was gone already.

I had promised myself just to keep this box for true emergencies, but only if I could manage to stay away from it, which I could, for a very long time. But not just anymore...

Since the box was locked, and I couldn't remember or even care to look after where I had hidden the key, I threw it heavily to the floor in hope of breaking the weak lock.

The essentials in the box flew out on my bathroom floor and my eyes widened with pleasure as I succeeded with the desperate violent opening.

I searched aggressively through the floor and picked up the little bottle filled with clear liquid, and the tiny syringe covered by the protection cap. I looked around the dark room, now with a bit better night vision, and I snatched the band from my night robe hanging on the hook beside me.

In a swift move, I tied the band roughly around my arm and watched as my purple vein popped in the bend of my pale limb. I opened the security lid on the tiny bottle and searched for the syringe I had placed on the sink. I bit off the security cap and pleasingly looked at the small needle I was about to stick into my begging vein.

I filled the syringe with the liquid substance from the bottle and picked on it a few times to get rid of any air bubbles.

I bit my lip so hard now, longing for the moment of calmness and delight. Somewhere inside of me I knew how wrong this was, but that awareness didn't reach my brain in time. It was too late, the panic was too intense, the pain too unbearable.

Slowly I moved the syringe towards my swollen vein and allowed the needle to pierce my skin and let the morphine fill my blood canal.

A heavy pant left my lungs and I leaned my head backwards and closed my eyes as I enjoyed the immediate rush calmly spreading inside.

I had been clean for years, but here I was, as stupid and addicted as before. I just couldn't stay away from it...

How could I even allow myself to keep something like that in my home? I was so naive, thinking I could handle it, thinking I was actually healthy and forever clean.

Yet I knew it would always be there, the word addict, even if the word sober was right in front of it, it was still there. Always present somehow. It was a part of me. I would always be one, sober or not, and for that reason, I was also aware there was a risk of falling back. But I turned blind along with the pride of being able to keep clean for so long.

I hated myself for this, but it felt so good to be high again. To feel the medication pump through my blood and paralyze every nerve. To experience the fade-out from my chaotic brain. It all made me so calm, just like so many times before.

I laid down on the cold tile floor and I watched the room spin around me. The tiles came to life and created strange patterns and colours I hadn't seen before. It all was so peaceful and joyful, bringing me to safety, allowing my heart to find its natural pace again, and finally, falling asleep on the hard tiles as the soothing medication remained for the rest of the night.