Thomas couldn't sleep, he was used to only getting a little but this time he could barely even blink. He hadn't seen his parents since the first few weeks of being admitted two years ago and today he was being released into their care. The last time they saw him his wrists were sliced open and were surrounded by a pool of blood as he lay unconscious. The only thing he remembers from that night was the screaming police sirens and his mother sobbing. Within a month of getting there his list of diagnosis seemed to be never ending. For the first time in his life he had friends that understood what he was going through, yes that was because they were also in the ward but he saw them as his only true friends. "Thomas Varney please bring your things to the front office" The old speaker crackled out the announcement as he sighed while collecting his things; an old family photo which he had originally brought in an old rusty frame but they only allowed him to keep the photo, his hoodie which no longer had strings, his shoes, his art book, his copy of "Romeo and Juliet" and his old backpack.
He slung the bag on and slumped towards the front office "excited to see them?" a nurse asked as he passed her. "no." he said sharply and continued on his path. He wasn't sure how he felt about seeing his parents but excited definitely wasn't the correct word. Terrified, scared, anxious, spiteful, any of them would work, just not excited. He knew that things could never be the same with them. He wished they could be but he knew he had fucked up any chances of having even a semi-normal relationship with them.
He finally reached the front office after what felt like an eternity of walking, his mother and father were talking to the head nurse about his "progress" if you could even call it that. The truth is that on his third week of getting there he convinced a nurse to give him Xanax everyday "for my panic attacks" he said, in reality he knew he wouldn't be able to do this shit sober. Eventually he was prescribed Xanax so at least he didn't have to lie his way into getting it anymore. There was one thing he missed while he was in there, music. Music was his escape, he would put on his old headphones that were held together by duct tape and he would set the volume as loud as it would go and he would draw for hours. "hey kiddo, you look... better?" his mother never knew what to say in any situation and clearly this one was no different.
He pulled his sleeves all the way to the tips of his fingers, he wasn't ready for them to see the huge ugly scars that night had left behind yet. "hey mum.... dad." He hated his dad, he would constantly say to Thomas how it was all for attention, the events of that night could've been avoided if he had of just taken him seriously. He never fucking listened. "hey son. you look well." 'well? I look fucking well?' he thought to himself. "all right kid, you're free." the head nurse gave him a smile that was met with his cold stare. "yeah. thanks." he said as he turned and headed for the door. He stepped outside and across the street he saw himself in a reflection but not as he looked now but instead he looked how he did that night he turned around and walked up to his mother "can we hurry up and get home" she smiled and nodded, she unlocked the car and reached into the back seat and pulled out his old iPod and a pair of brand new head phones. "we thought this might help" she handed them to him and got into the front seat. All though he would never say it, he really appreciated her.
YOU ARE READING
wandering minds
Narrativa generaleA 20 year old man whose struggling with severe mental illness tries to navigate his adult life after being in a psych ward for two years while also trying not to succumb to his mental illnesses and forgive his father.
