Unbalanced Minds

Eradicated String

Write hard and clear about what hurts.

- e.h //

"Wilona, you said Hemingway was speaking to you? along with other voices,"

"is this true?"

I clutch the arm rest of the chair.

"Yes."

"I see," I hear pens scratching against paper. A pause, and than:

"What have these voices been telling you? Hemingway has been speaking to you as well?"

I smile broadly. "All sorts of things. They said...wonderful brilliant things. Hemingway speaks to me through his books."

"Wilona, you are a fan of Hemmingway - you know he can in no way possible contact you, yes?"

I frown and fix my eyes on the ugly purple carpet.

"You have to understand: these voices are not -"

"I know"

"You know?"

"Yes"

"Yet, you still hear and listen to them."

"Yes"

"Why?"

"As an escape."

"From what?"

"Life"

"So, you let  the mania take over, to escape life. Correct?"

"Yes"

"Wilona, you are here to get stable, yes? will you let us help you?"

I'm silent. The last time I'd sat in this chair, I had agreed. I had let them 'help' me.  And They put me on a drug that had heavy zombie inducing, weight gaining effects. I shut my eyes.

"Wilona?"

"I don't know."

There's a long pause. The doctor regards me with a steady gaze. More scribbling. Finally:

"Thank you Wilona. We'll talk talk to you again tomorrow morning. Enjoy your lunch."

I rise from my seat, offer a small smile and leave the room. I begin to walk down the long hallway; a steady flow of patients headed in the same direction. There's a large open door at the end. The smell of food wafts towards me. My stomach turns uneasily. I claim a seat at the table farthest away from the Dolley stacked with trays of food. I cross my arms on the table and rest my head on them.  The room around me becomes louder as more patients file in. I hear someone take the seat across from me. I become tense but ignore them.

"Wilona?"

The voice is masculine and familiar. I left my head, letting my arms remain on the table. I recognize him, with his alarmingly ginger hair and pale complexion. Tin-tin plops my tray in front of me. 

"It is you, eat!"

He says with an impressive amount of faux cheer. I look down at my trey, a sandwich, water, and a slice of chocolate cake. I make a face.

"C'mon Wil, you have to take at least a few bites...I don't think you want them to put you in THAT wing again and force you."

He says nudging the trey closer. I sigh heavily, lift the sandwich to my lips and take a bite. A meager bite.