Behind the Scars

three...

I walk along the pavements I know so well; along the sidewalks of Manhattan that seem to have my footprints engraved in the cement.

I arrive at my destination.

The hospital. Lenox Hill Hospital.

I walk through the automatic doors of the hospital. I welcome the cool air and stale smell of the hospital. 

Even as I take in the familiarity of it all, I know I'm not part of that scene. In my 9 weeks of coming here, I never seem to go noticed. I'm invisible, as always. I realized that people are all to caught up in their own problems and business to notice you. They could stand by you, day by day, hour by hour, and never notice that you're the same person that was next to them yesterday. We're all so worried about ourselves, that we never seem to notice the others in our backgrounds. Our insecurities drown out theirs. 

But it doesn't bother me. No questions or suspicions arise. 

I walk to my usual spot in the corner of the waiting room. I sit and watch people come and go for hours. 

The criers,

The worriers,

The pacers, 

And the distracted. 

These are the four groups that I've created for the waiting room.

I watch doctors come out, one by one, delivering live changing news to each family. Every one is different. Some cry, sob, and scream as pain indulges them. Others laugh and cry a little from joy. And others, simply seem to have a worried expression engraved on their faces, despite the hope growing or fading in their eyes. 

What amazes me most, are the doctors. Each one walks out with life changing news for each family, and keep the same stoic face on. They don't cry or frown as they deliver bad news. They don't seem affected by their surroundings. They seem almost... immune; like their so used to the bad that everything just flows, motion by motion, day by day, news by news.

This is how I feel like I relate. I feel like I've become that numb; I'm so used to the bad, the punches, and the yelling, that I've stopped crying and screaming for him to stop. I've stopped feeling the pain in my body and heart as he forces me onto the bed and pulls my clothes off. I've stopped feeling at all. I'm just going with it, motion by motion, day by day, punch by punch. 

After hours of sitting in a chair that once seemed like heaven, the seat now seems to be uncomfortable. I stand and stretch for a second while I continue to go through each corridor of each floor.

I see the elderlies sleeping peacefully,

the newborns sucking their thumbs,

the crying children,

hear the screaming mothers of the maternity ward,

and watch the doctors rush past me, running to determine the life or death of another patient.

As I finally walking back on the first floor, I bump into a tall man and make him drop everything. 

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