Accident (discontinued)

1. Noise.

I remember a life without the horrible noise. It started when I was 8. It wasn't a big deal at first- like all things.

But gradually it got louder. Eating me away from the inside. I didn't know what it was.

I heard screaming- desperate screaming in my ears- bouncing, trying to find a way out of my skull. It started to slowly drive me insane. Little by little- it ate away at me, driving away all my patience, all my sanity.

I started screaming that it hurt me- I started to scream along with the voices in my ears. That's when I got thrown into a padded room with a straightjacket on.

I was 9 years old. 9 years old when my life became a choir of screams. 9 years old when blood started pouring out of my ears. 9 years old when I started wishing for death to overtake me. 9 years old.

At one point I discovered how much I liked talking, it helped ease the pain in my ears. I loved the way my throat hummed as I would say each word.

I would talk until I couldn't anymore. My throat dry and cracked. But when they slid a meal under the door- I would drink and talk myself raw even more. They replaced the straightjacket monthly. 5 people restrained me- a 9 year old girl with the name of Carlie.

I wanted to smash my face into a concrete wall. I didn't want to live with only the sound of my own voice for all eternity. I didn't want to hear screaming all my life.

One day food stopped coming. I yelled to myself that they were finally killing me off. It's what I wanted. To be free of the blood, the screams, my own shredded voice.

Years had already passed by the time the food stopped coming. Years that I just told in a matter of paragraphs. Paragraphs that can never hold the words to properly describe my pain and suffering.

I was 14 when the food stopped coming. 14 in a straightjacket, blood slowly pouring out of my ears, my eyes bloodshot, my smile wide, my heart wanting to be ripped out of the chest it lived in. I was living the high life wasn't I?

I started kicking and screaming just for the heck of it. Just to scare the people I knew were in the halls. My voice was shredded and each syllable was forced and scratchy.

I wanted them to know the exact moment when I died, I wanted them to be tormented with screams just as I was. I wanted them to feel the loss of my life.

But when I kicked the door- it flew open much to my surprise. No one. The asylum looked abandoned. Papers everywhere, the walls looked burnt. It smelt like death. I pointed out all the observations in my horrible voice- screamed them all out- it helped mask my pain.

I couldn't get out of the corridor without somehow getting the door open- not an easy task with a straightjacket on. I carefully bit the handle and turned it with my teeth- I was lucky it was one of those kind that had the piece sticking out on the side and you turn that, (What the heck are those called?).

So while still having it turned in my mouth, I leaned against it. It didn't budge. I leaned harder. Crack. I pressed all of my weight against it. The door somehow came off its hinges and I came toppling down with it. I hit my left shoulder at an odd angle, it had been years since I had properly hurt myself.

I felt more alive in my pain, than I had in my cruel safety. I wanted to feel more pain, to scratch every edge of my being. I wanted to feel alive- but not in this building. Abandoned, empty, and cold. I wanted everyone to see me- Carlie, the insane 14 year old girl with blood pouring out of her ears.

I had grown used to the screaming. But it still hurt. But it's not the same kind of hurt as when I landed on my shoulder. The screaming focused in one area, constant and deafening. That's not the kind of pain I wanted to fill my being.

With some difficulty I managed to get up- and find a way out of the asylum. I wanted the straightjacket off- 5 years I had worn it. I wanted to rip it to shreds- to be rid of it forever.

It had almost become part of me. It had my arms pinned so close to me, it was almost as if I had no arms. I wanted to be hurt. To bleed out from somewhere other than my ears.

But I had to get out of the asylum first.