Family Shackles

CHAPTER 1

(WARNING! This chapter contains mentions of suicide, self harm, mental hospitals, and overdose. If you are uncomfortable with any of these topics, please step off the story. Stay safe!)

The beep at my side is loud. I can't recall anything, and in true reality, I'm not sure I want to. In the room behind me I can hear the hesitant sounds of sobs. This whole place is just an abundance of cries and loss. My mother is to my left, her brittle hands carrying both her nose and cracked lips. Her blonde hair is wispy, being held by my father who holds her delicately. He does not hold me, the girl who is dying in the center, but somebody he feels more comfortable defending. "These kinds of things do happen to people like us." Her voice is distressing, cracked and broken up. My mother has been falling apart ever since she was born.

My father, who's voice is soft, barely audible under the loud beeping of my vitals, serenades my mother silently with a nursery rhyme. How did our roles get reversed so badly? Why did I have to be so young when I behaved 25? Why was I the one to cook and feed our family? Why does mother not blame herself when she thinks about me?

The hospital is cold. The smell of freshness fills my nose. A certain hydration I can't place specifically. Suddenly the beeps beside me increase, screaming at my parents and the nurses that are scattered around the halls. Whooshing of the curtain into my room, in comes a nurse. Before I'm able to process anything with my creased open eyes, she comes to my side. "Super quick okay? Stay brave." Her body brushes against mine, there's a pinch at the side of my neck, and I'm asleep again.

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One thing people don't speak about in the hospital is those who don't make it out. The lost lives that never returned to their homes. Ages ranging from a few hours to those in their 90's. I was unlucky to not be one of those unfortunate souls.

The summer I turned 13, I was obsessed with the idea of death. The idea that an overdose of Advil, a counter top drug, water, too much food, a fall from a 12 foot building,..could end somebody, like me, was exhilarating. I wanted so badly to die. Not because I hated myself and my life, but to be free from the shackles of the stone imprisonment people call "family". For other people my age, their families are bonded together. They share blood. Secrets. Food. Water. A house. My family shared me. 

My mothers bones are made of pure porcelain. Talking to her is like talking to a bull in heat in a glassware zoo. An egg in the backseat. And how exhausting she was. At 10, being the only other woman in the house, I was told to learn to cook that Winter. My father had described it as a quick way to help mom. My mother was going through a depressive episode. One where she claimed to not be able to feed us. I was never told she went through a depressive episode, I only assume so. She smelled rancid. Like cigarettes and an overwhelming feeling of sadness, more than usual, anyway.

"Mommy needs you, Sweetie. So do Annabel and Jayce. You're the only one who I know can do it." Fathers voice had lived in my head far too long for it to be healthy. What he really meant was to be perfect. To be perfect so our mother didn't have to be. My mother was the one being coddled while she cried. My mother was the one to be fed when she was hungry. And my mother was the one being held so nicely, crying at my hospital bed.

I was left with nothing.

Warmth did not surround me like it did a normal family. I was left with the cold hands of a nurse, telling me "everything will be okay". Lies. Lies, all of it.

For the second time, my eyes crease open, and the beep of the machine to my right increases. I turn weakly to my left, hoping for the warm smile of my father, but I'm left with empty seats. I'm not surprised. I was hoping for his smile, not expecting it. My assumption is that mother must have claimed seeing me like this was too much, and she forced him home. I'm glad she isn't here anymore, even if it costed the absence of my father.

It seems that I've moved to a different room. The walls of my previous one were painted blue, little depictions of fishes and bubbles painted delicately on the blue. It was a childs room. I wonder if it was for my mother, or me. The walls in this room are white. It's bigger. Now, there is no longer the sound of sobbing and clamor outside. It's just a peaceful quiet, interrupted by the occasional beep of my vitals.

Suddenly, the door to my left opens, and in comes a kind looking nurse. She's a bit fleshy, chubby fingers holding a white plastic clipboard. Her black hair is tied up in a tight bun, and even through her mask, I can tell she's smiling. "Good morning, Eliza." Her voice is kind. Warm, just like my fathers. She makes a few swift movements and pulls a chair from the other side of the room, sitting beside me. The chair creaks a bit under her as all hospital chairs do. My gray eyes follow her movements. I'm still tired.

"Ms. Wills, how are you feeling?" She crosses her leg, covered by the light blue of her work scrubs. I open my dry lips, suddenly feeling far too sick to reply. There's a gagging feeling in my throat, but I don't feel it in my stomach. Despite my own suffering, I blink a few times before replying. "..okay." I croak. I try to squeeze the sheets underneath me, but my fingers won't move.

My eyes wander down to my arm slowly, finding an IV there, the needle taped down. My mouth is still open, but I don't feel it. "Amazing! My name is Nurse Emma, but you can call me Nurse Em." My eyes tiredly meet hers. They're brown. Something beautiful out of poetry. Hazel with gleaming hints of excitement.

"Wha..." the words trail out my mouth embarrassingly, my mouth muscles feeling far too buttery to work properly. "..what happened to my...parents?" Nurse Emma frowns a little, dropping the clipboard on her plump lap.

"They left early, Dear. I'm so sorry. They claimed it was an emergency." Even she seems upset at my parents' actions. Rage doesn't even fill my stomach up like how it usually does. I'm too exhausted to think.

"'S fine." My head rolls back forward, resting against the stiffness of the hospital bed. I want my mother dead. I don't care if it sounds selfish at this point. Nurse Emma tilts her head a little, pulling down her mask to show me her real smile. Her lips are big, plump and pretty. Nothing like mine, who are cracked and pale. I assume she did this to make me feel more comfortable, but nothing can make me feel at peace anymore. It feels like everyday all I do is walk on hot coals.

"Do you remember what happened to you last night?" She arches her brows in sympathy, her face etched with concern. The clipboard is back up at her chest, the paper she has clipped onto it rubs against her scrubs, making an unsavory sound. Unfortunately, I do remember what happened to me last night.

"Overdose." I respond simply after a few moments of silence. Nurse Emma frowns a little, dropping the clipboard immediately on her lap to show she's paying attention.

Last night, I wanted to be free so badly. I needed to work hard to get into a good college, far, far away from here. Far away from my family. Far away from my mother. 

I remember when I did it. I felt weirdly violent as the stove heated up. My mother had her depression medication on our white counter. The white and orange capsules filled me up with curiosity. A type of jumpy need I only feel before I cut myself. I watched them for minutes and minutes, ticking away at the timer.

When I took them, I willingly didn't turn the oven off. If I was to die, I wanted my family to die with me. I hate them. And I hate that I hate them. And I hate myself for even thinking that way. But in the same sense, I wanted them to be with me in my final moments, because they were there in my first. Who else would stay with me while I died? Nobody. Because all I was was my family's. I was their one and only in the worst way possible.

In a twisted turn of events, my dad found me, passed out on the floor, surrounded in a pool of my own vomit. The rest was a fever dream. Now I'm here. With Nurse Emma and her frown that feels fake.

"...we've decided that we'll transfer you to a Mental Hospital..if, at least, you did it on purpose." My heart stops beating, the machine monitoring my heart beats flat lining for a moment, causing Nurse Emma to get up her chair quickly. The thought of going to a Hospital filled with people like...like...me, makes me sick. I vomit all over myself. Emma calls another nurse over, and my mind goes completely blank once again. A victim to my own mind.