The Misguided

Is This The End?

Chapter 19 - Is This The End ?

Dr. Marco was the one who suggested Lilian to start a journal. And today, she decided she would finally try it out. Lilian picked up a notebook from the communal locker in the halls outside her unit and sat back in her rigid, bleach-steeped bed, thinking of where to start and what to start with. Dear diary, she wrote, contemplating whether this was too trite. Goodbye, diary. This sounded much better, she thought. It shows there's no guarantee in life- so you should always give closure every chance you get.

It's been six months since Daniel's passing and two months since I last saw Camila, and I miss them both dearly. How ironic, right?

While serving a sentence at the London detention centre, Camila visited me every day. I always questioned, why? Why would she continue to interact with someone who accused her of a life of sin? Her response was simply that, whoever I was that day, and all of the other days, wasn't the real me; the honest Lilian was overtaken by nothing but the faults of everything I endured.

The day Camila decided to forgive me was also when she told me she would stop visiting- forever. I cried. I threw a fit. I feared her absence as she held a lamp through my darkest days. She told me she was moving away to Italy. She found a fantastic job opportunity there as a social worker in a local orphanage, all while conducting forestry research. She claimed she wanted to start fresh- without the bad memories, only packing the moments she cherishes. Anyways, before she left, she gave me her new phone number. I've been contemplating whether or not to contact her again. What if she found a new best friend and forgot all about me? I mean, she probably has, and she deserves to; she deserves the world.

"No distance can keep us apart."

Lilian swept her vision across the blank walls, noticing a thin, translucent layer of chalk engraved across the dented surface. The psychiatric hospital was nothing like how they displayed it in the movies. It's her second week admitted here, and she already feels a bittersweet warmth, almost homely. Perhaps, it's because this is a place filled with people like her- people who felt victimized by contemporary society.

I still can't believe they convicted me for Xavier's murder; I mean, I'm crazy, but certainly not that bad to hallucinate a gruesome murder in intricate details. Someone was trying to frame me for Xavier's murder. This is inevitable. But who could it be? I don't have many enemies, and I converse with two people daily. Unless the reception lady I yelled at three years ago is still hung up on it, haha. Although it wasn't me, I honestly can't blame the detectives. Even from a biased view, all the evidence points to me as the killer, conveniently. Or maybe, it's karma finally getting to me- I did frame someone for my crime, after all.

I haven't been able to sleep lately partially because everything feels so surreal, as if it's a nightmare I wish to wake up from and forget. I wonder, stare into blank space, and wonder how life would've been if my insecurity could not swallow me whole. Would I be the cool mom everyone wishes to befriend? Or, me and Daniel would eventually fall in love all over again? This will be lingering in my deepest fantasies. But also, I've been getting an awful feeling lately. I've never been much of an Intuit, but something tells me something isn't quite right. My senses have been suggesting there's a loophole in this movie plot of my journey. Something we possibly missed out on. Anyways, that was probably me being paranoid for no reason...

I recently started talking to this wise man, Roald. I met him in the amenity room, and I never knew I would have so much in common with a 70-year-old man. He has been admitted here a little over a year ago for murdering his wife. He found out she's been committing fraudulent activities on his account while sharing it with her mistress. He was devastated. He claimed he never intended to kill her, but she tried to kill him first, creeping up behind him with a kitchen knife. Everyone believes he's a psycho, yet to me, and he seems like a perfectly sane man, perhaps just misunderstood.

Dr. Chan walked in, greeting Lilian with a broad smile on her face. "Ready for today's session, Lilian?" She sat beside the computer and began preparing for the files, typing - the crisp keyboard clicks sounded like melody.

Lilian nodded, "I'm experimenting with journaling. My previous therapist said it would help."

"Interesting! I'll wait until you finish, and we will get started."

The conversation we had the night before was one I'll never forget. He claimed that it's not in our human tendency to give up on things we take pride in due to many factors, some influenced by societal standards and judgement: Humiliation, embarrassment, our inmate competitive nature and our drive. I felt like a haze was lifted off my chest, able to accept my longing effort as a form of self- challengement because I believed in my abilities rather than a desperation to long for love I never had.

But yeah, this is my life now after the recent tragic nosedive. But honestly, I don't mind it. It's like the saying, "You will find peace not by trying to escape your problems but by confronting them courageously. You will find peace not in denial but in victory." For the first time in my life, I wanted to get better and notice the faults within myself. I developed dreams outside of what I could see with my closed mind- I want to travel the world, open a coffee shop and learn how to be a mother again, one who's selfless.

I'm going to wrap this journal up, as Dr. Chan has been waiting for me to finish, fiddling with her zipper for the past twenty minutes to start today's cognitive therapy. I'm looking forward to it.

Goodbye, diary,

Or see you later...

Lilian threw the pen on her nightstand and closed her notebook; she couldn't help but feel a sense of melancholy. She experienced the hidden symbolism of the closing to the last chapter and the welcoming of new beginnings. She will be good in this one, maybe not good enough- but better, for sure.

"How did that feel?"

"Good, actually. I felt like I was able to give myself closure, somehow. It helped me unravel the clutter of things that happened in the past year."

" I'm glad! Journaling was my therapy when I dealt with my father's passing."

"Oh, and before I forget, of course," Dr. Chan rummaged through her back pocket and pulled out an envelope addressed to Lilian on the cover. The packaging was a glistening metallic silver, lined with floral tape along the edges.

"Nurse Jenny told me to give this to you. She said it does not indicate who it's from," She laughed, "But I think you might have a secret admirer!"

Lilian ripped open the envelope, trembling. She saw the same rigid card stock folded in quarters, searing with the whiff of whiteboard markers. She read as she slowly unravelled the stacked pages, revealing the familiar dark, bolded letters in cursive,

"This isn't over yet, Lilian. Not so fast..."