Timelapse

s e v e n t e e n • d o w n f a l l

February 2009

The digital clock flashed two thirty-one in bright neon green dashes, the light glow serving as the only source of light within Millie's small room. After hours or night hours began one nine p.m struck on the large clock within the gathering room, sending each patient into their bedroom for the evening until everyone woke the next morning between seven thirty and eight for breakfast.

Millie had grew accustomed to her bed hour within the first few weeks of arriving at the center, and once she was given medication – sleeping aide after the first month, Millie had been able to fall asleep once her head hit her striped pillow and wake after a peaceful dreamless nights rest.

The last month had taken a turn for the opposite and Millie felt as if she had took seven steps backward, diverting back to her old ways. Her sleep became restless and nightmares faded in and out of her unconsciousness. She woke in the middle of the night with her clothes clinging to her moistened skin and tears in her eyes, her heart pounding as if it could thump right through her chest.

She hadn't spoken to her therapist about this during her solo sessions and lied through her teeth during her group sessions. While others in her level were clapping their improvements about being said number of days free of urges and positive thoughts, Millie was counting the days until she could go home and dig out her wooden box and voicing that she too was clear of any negativity lingering within the depths of her head.

At first, Millie would grab fists of her hair and dig her closed fists into her scalp while crying, begging the voices within her head to shut up and leave her alone. Just when she was feeling content and whole, she would tell herself she wasn't worthy, that even though she was getting better it would only be for the time being as she would fall back into this black hole of despair. As days past and she stared into the reflection of her dull brown eyes, Millie welcomed the idea that she would never live up to her own wanted potential.

She wouldn't feel beautiful as she dreamed about; she would hate the texture of her hair – how she had matted natural curls instead of straight – she would hate the size of her stomach for she believed she wasn't as thin as she should be, and she would hate her short stature. She would continue to look at other girls around her and silently verbally abuse herself for not being blessed with an attractive appearance. She wouldn't live up to her own expectations.

This night was like any other. Millie was crying for what felt like the millionth time – crying for a reason, she herself didn't even know. She didn't understand how her heart could beat and be filled with blood pumping to parts of her body when that organ felt as empty as ever. Her body felt drained and she felt hallow. Tears fell from her eyes and blurred the vision of her clock as minutes ticked by.

She didn't know how she got to this point. She could remember how she ended up in a rehabilitation center, states away from her home, and she could remember her first cut that started it all. But if it was one thing that Millie couldn't remember, was how she got to the point where she felt as if pressing a blade to her skin would solve her painful cries. She couldn't remember how she came to feeling this empty and sad, how she got so low.

Laying upon her side, Millie brought her hand to her mouth, brushing her teeth upon the knuckle of her index finger. Her tongue pressed upon the skinned bone in a massaging manner before closing the exposed skin in between the front of her teeth. She tightly closed her eyes and continued to nibble on her knuckle, pulling the skin with her teeth.

Silent tears rolled down her cheeks and her breathing deepened, soft pants releasing in between her teeth when she opened her jaw then locked it once more. Her skin began to sting feeling her teeth grind upon the fresh open layer of skin, and Millie instantly felt relief.

She continued to gnaw at her fingers, biting at her knuckles and peeling back skin until they were coated with blood, just enough pain to relieve her from the numbness consuming her whole. Her eyes were frozen upon her wounded left hand, wincing every time she flexed her stiff fingers.

Simple as that, five months down the drain.

Millie would continue to walk among others with a plastered porcelain smile upon her face, while her thoughts and feelings drained her whole from her body and soul. There was no way she could change her mindset and grow to love who she was, when she never loved herself from the start and gave up on searching for a way to make amends.