Tortured Soul Asylum

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

            Finally, after fifteen to thirty minutes, the doctor comes back in, carrying a tray of apple sauce, carrots, and some grapes.

            “Is this a low-enough calorie snack for you?” he says, skeptically.

            I keep my mouth shut. He maneuvers over to my chair, unstrapping my arms, but not my legs.

            “Eat this and I’ll let you go,” he offers. I nod. He hands me a plastic spoon and watches as I quickly shovel the apple sauce into my greedy, hungry mouth.

            Then, I force down the grapes and carrots, trying not to think about the calories, only about getting out of this room and away from the crazy man.

            But before I can finish, I am overcome by dizziness and nausea. Leaning forward, I upheave the little food I’ve eaten. A sickeningly sweet stench fills my mouth and nose.

            Doctor Bornocone grins at my disgust. “If you don’t want to eat, then I’ll poison it for you,” he menacingly explains. “Food poisoning for the ungrateful.”

            I spontaneously lean over the chair’s armrests again and puke once more. Damn, I should’ve never trusted him. How much longer must this last?

            He unstraps my legs from the chair. I stand up to leave but I become more dizzy and fall to my knees, coughing up the rest of the poison. I hate how vulnerable he’s made me.

            “She’s gotten a bit sick,” he tells a nurse that has just entered the room. “Simply help her back to her room.”

            “Okay,” she says in a fake honey-sweet voice, and walks with me back to my cell, carrying a bowl in front of me with precaution. She unbolts my door and sticks me in with the bowl.

            “Knock on your door if you need to use the bathroom,” she tells me, locking me in. Hopelessly, I stare at the camera on the ceiling, watching every move I make. Remembering the last time I had to actually use the bathroom, I recall that it was much too long ago. But I really haven’t had to go since then. Is that because of my malnourishment? I congratulate myself for being strong, and getting this far. If I could guess how much I weigh, I’d guess at least 89 pounds. I can tell my body is slightly smaller (since the last time I felt my bones), even though I was just on a feeding tube. The lowest I’ve ever achieved was 83, which was about a year ago when they stuck me in the clinic, fattening me up till I got back up much too far, to 105.

            But I won’t let that ever happen again. If they’re going to feed me poison here, then I can do nothing but lose even more weight. I can deal with the awful hunger. I have been dealing with it ever since I was ten.     

            Since the nausea has passed, now, the bowl is of no use to me. I stare at the tall, looming door possessing a tiny, screened in window above my head. I stand at a scrawny 5’5, not able to see out the window.

            Plopping my bony ass on the floor, I fling the bowl across the room where it hits the padded wall and makes no noise whatsoever.

            Who the fuck came up with this, rooms made of pillows? I don’t even know what to do, now, but usually I’m just fine staring at the wall all day. But for once I actually feel like doing something. What a shame, I’m much too tired and light-headed, stomach rippling with growls.

            “Shut up, I’m not feeding you,” I say. I do my best to crawl over to my cot, which is hard enough, since I have zero energy.