Right love, wrong time

Chapter 3: Home

Lisa

Today I'm going home. I am packed and ready to get out of here. Just waiting on the doctor to sign me out. My father offered to take me home, since I don't have my car here.

Do you believe that this hospital does not even allow you to have your car here. As if you are going to escape. Sure, imagine walking out of here with just your toothbrush. I had to hand everything in the day I got here. They locked it away. Just in case you or someone else wants to try something. I guess it made sense after the reason why I'm here. Suicide is no joke. I get it, but some of the things is just too extreme. Like your bags, you're not even allowed to keep that with you.

I'm just rambling, it's the nerves getting to me. The mere thought of home terrifies me. The memories flashing before my eyes. My last day in my apartment. I am afraid to go home, afraid of the reality that is laying out there. Afraid of the expectation and afraid of failing again. If only I could lock myself in this hospital and never see the outside world again. This became my save space. The physical walls protecting me from the outside world. Surrounded by people who understood me, without asking to many questions. I don't think I'm ready yet.

You know he never game to visit once. Not that I thought he would, but my heart hoped, hoped to see him care even if its just a little. Not so much as a text or a phone call. Not even a get well soon card. I really did mean nothing to him.

No, no. no Lisa today you can start new, trying to convince myself that this is for the best. Now it's just the wait, as if I have the patience for this. Everyone who knows me, knows I don't have patience. I hate waiting. It just works on my nerves; it makes me anxious and irritated. Why does everything have to take so long? Where is the doctor and what is taking him so long? Nothing in life must take so long. This really is not helping for my anxiety. I am picking at my nails, hoping to relieve some of the anxiousness. Shit, now one is bleeding, great.

For the hundredth time I check my watch, only five minutes have passed. I am sitting at the front desk, my bags packed. They needed the room for someone else. Talk about being replaced. I look around nervously not that there's much to see. This place is as dull as a mortuary. I bet you the cemetery has more color than this place. For the first time I notice the flowers on the table on my left, tulips. One of my favorite flowers, yet they never want to grow by me, I wonder why. Just another failure. Everyone with half an eye can see that these ones are plastic. No one uses real flowers anymore. Everything is so fake these days even people. Why can't they just put normal flowers in a vase. I mean how hard can it be. It would certainly keep the place smelling nice and give the place some warmth.

There are not even magazines for people to read and the television is not working so what are guests supposed to do count their toes? The only thing on my right is the water machine. Not that that makes any difference, its just as sterile and colorless as the whole hospital.

I anxiously get up to drink water, cause it's not like I have anything else to do. My nerves are killing me. Should this take so long? Where is the doctor? Should he not have been here yet? But no, he doesn't care. It's not him that has to wait. For the hundredth time I query at the front desk to see if maybe they have heard anything from the doctor. I can see the nurses starting to get irritated with me, but now I really dont care. I feel out of place. Everyone looks at me funny when walking by even the nurse in front desk just gives me faints smile when she catches me looking at her, as if they can see the anxiousness written on my face. I always wonder what goes on in peoples mind, and what they are thinking. But today I would rather prefer not to know. I am tired of the hospital smell. Tired of the cold and sterile atmosphere. I am ready for some color in my life again.

Just as I sat back in the cold wooden chair that looks just as dull as the flowers beside it, I see the doctor. He doesn't look that old, He got that white and black pepper hairstyle and beard, that the older men rock these days. He is well built, and you could see he exercises to stay in shape. He always wears a denim, button shirt and a black leather jacket. Looking at him today, I have noticed just how handsome he is. But no, no more men for me, or at least not in the near future that is. And I don't want to date someone in any case who knows everything about me. He always looks like his in a rush. Walking fast, barely making eye contact. He mumbled something to the nurses, signed a form and out he went. Not so much as sparing me a glance. One would think he would at least say goodbye and good luck, but I guess not.

The nurse called me to explain the medications I had to drink at home. I signed some forms, and on my way I went. I need to see the doctor in two months time just for him to check up on me and to make sure Im still alive and drinking my meds.

Stepping out I filled my lungs with fresh air. This is the same air and smell I have been smelling and breathing for the last couple of weeks, but why does it feel so different today. Is this what freedom smells like? A freedom I longed for, for 21 days. I know I was here on my own free will. I needed this. I needed the help. I needed the healing. But 21 days is a very long time having been cut off from the outside world.

Me and dad didn't do much talking. I can see he wanted to ask some questions, just to make sure Im okay but was too afraid and I did not feel like explaining. I was tired and I just wanted to get home and sleep for two weeks. I rested my head on the window, the cold against my skin causing me to shiver, goosebumps visible across my skin. I did not mind it as it was calming the anxiousness inside me. All I could do was watch the cars go by one by one. After a while they didnt seem like cars anymore, simply objects flashing before your eyes. I closed my eyes trying not to think of what lied ahead. Dad did not drive fast, so it took forever to get home, but I could not complain he meant well, I guess. And in some way, it was his way of making sure I was fine. Yet I was everything but fine.

Finally, we stopped at my place. A big building with four floors, only two apartments on each floor. It was not much, but it was what I could afford currently. I did not want to move back in with my parents. They did not need to be burdened with my problems. I needed the freedom. Time to discover myself again without someone nagging over me the whole time. And I also didn't want to explain how, what, and why certain things has happened. It feels like I haven't been here in forever. I hardly recognized the place. And of course, as fate would find it or just my paranoia, I had to choose the apartment on the last floor, not for the view, I might add. But simply because my brain argued that if a thief wanted to break in, they would start at the bottom as it is easier. So, I was simply safer at the top. Luckily dad helped me carry the bags inside. For that I was thankful, I simply did not have the energy to carry it myself. He did not speak much, but he hovered, not sure if he should leave just in case, I needed him or if I would be safe alone by myself.

Me: "Dad, I'm fine. You can go now." Just to put his mind at ease.

Dad: "You sure? can't I do something for you?"

Me: "I'm sure dad, I will be fine, I just want to rest."

And with that, still not at ease, dad gave me peck on the cheek and left.

Finally, alone, one would think that after being alone for 21 days, I would want people around me. But I was simply not ready for people yet. All the questions, all the "you should have told us", "we are sorry to hear", "blah, blah, blah All the things fake people say, just to see if they can get something juicy to gossip about. I was simply not ready. I knew I had to face reality at some point, but not today.