cancer, egd

6.insane

Screams.
They pierce the quiet atmosphere with an exhilarating siren that sends my half conscious body into an upright position. My hands grasp the side of my head, pressing tight down in my ears. With my eyes wide I search the room to see where the screeches could be projecting from. My eyes land on the door.

I come to my senses knowing exactly who those screams belong to, Violet, from across the hall. I talked to her once, she has these wicked night terrors, she told me she's awaken to her own screams, not knowing where they are coming from. It must be scary. Waking up in such a terrified state. I hear other shouts, then a door slams and everything is muted. The screams slowly subside but in the buzzing silence, Violet's mumbles can be heard as if she is right beside me.

I ponder off into no mans land, where all I can really think about is my death. Will it be painful? Will it be quick? Will my mom be there? Who will hold my hand? Will I be alone? Will I have to die alone...

Thinking is minds way of building things up to be worse than what they really are. Well, says a lot of people. I don't believe that, thinking is a way of planning ahead. Preparing for the worse, but aiming for the best, we let our minds wonder into the black pit of our own imagination. It's a truly an amazing and quite beautiful thing, until you are in a situation like mine.

When you are in a hospital with a terminal illness, you are either alone or surrounded by people who don't think of you as a human being. So you are left to think about everything really. Your past, your future, your mistakes, and even your death, and that a very scary thing. Death within itself is a terrifying thing, but to have to think about it is a whole different ball game.

My thoughts come to a kink when I hear the door slowly click open, the lovely face of Dr. Dornan peeking in through the crack. "Another patient was having a slight problem, they are fine now, is everything okay in here?" He checks in, opening to the door wide.

"Yes I'm fine." I nod, looking through the dim light, at his face.

"Okay, sleep well breakfast will be in, in a few hours." Without hearing my response he ducks back through the door, closing it behind him.

"Okay." I furrow my brow and press my head into my pillow. I look up to the ceiling and do exactly what my mom used to tell me to do when I couldn't sleep, stare up into the darkness of the roof and shut down the mind.

_______

Fresh, crisp air. The air of the beautiful fields outside my house. The tall, soft, green grass tangling around my legs as I bound through. Bright, warm sunlight. Beams illuminating my face, bring life to my childish soul. My lips curl into a smile, framing my teeth that still hold a minty tingle from this morning. I fill my lungs with the wonderful air one more time before opening my eyes.

My soft cloud of a world is replaced with needles, tubes, and goddamn beeps. I gently remove the tubes from my nose and inhale the air around me, coughing immediately. I grab one of the candles and press my nose to the wax. I smile and close my eyes. This is what heaven will smell like.

Without even realizing it, my knuckles go white from my grip on the damn thing. I cough again and start to cry as if on cue. I can't even take in the smell of my candles without becoming unstable. I hook the tubes around my ears again, my lungs inflate with the fake air that I should be grateful for.

I pick up the candle again and grip the glass again. But this time my hands start to shake. I grip harder and harder. Finding that my faces is wet with tears. I feel like I need to scream, scream and throw my arms around and break things. I want to punch someone, slap someone, even kill someone.

Blood. Red, thick, runs down my arms.
Pain. Striking, cuts through my thoughts.

I look down at my hands through anger filled drops. I see I've shattered the top of the candle. I see all the blood. Shaking like a leaf, I scream out through a messy mouth. I stop screaming and hold my hands to my face. I fall to my side and cry uncontrollably.

Nurses rush in, some gasping, other to afraid to enter. Hands pull me up by my wrists. The hands try to pry my hands away from my face but I don't want to let them.

"NO!" I shriek. "DON'T TAKE THEM AWAY! I WON'T LET YOU!" I scream at the top of my lungs, pain jabbing in my side with each intake of the plastic air. I feel a needle dive into my arm. I laugh as soon as it does because I get this weird feeling everywhere.

My legs become noodles, my arms become jello, and my mind turns to slush.

Before I know it I'm dreaming again. Just running through the fields again.

______

-"So what happened to her?"

"She has been diagnosed with a Complicated Grief Disorder. It's a deep and very dark stage of depression, mourning, and grief all packed into one ball."

-"Wait, did her mom die? What is she grieving over?"

"We don't know, that a question you're gonna have to ask her."

-"Okay, that's all. I'll wait here until she wakes up."

"Got it, call up if you need anything."

-"Cool, will do."

A/N soooooooo this isn't a huge new thing but I want to know what's you guys think! should I continue with her having a bit of trouble with mental stability, or should I just stick with her having cancer (this poor lil bean doesn't deserve this I feel bad)

looooove youuuuuu🎗