My Beautiful Mind

4.

The first sensation I feel when I come back is dampness. I blink and feel raindrops clustered on my eyelashes. To be honest, I'm quite disappointed that it's not quite cold enough for snow. There's something about it that makes everything that it covers so ethereal and majestic. Given the weather forecast for the upcoming week, it could snow any time. Right now, it looks to be early evening as the sky has darkened considerably since I first arrived at the pond. I shakily get up from my place on the grass and return hurriedly to my dorm before the rainfall becomes heavier and completely drenches me.

Once I close the door behind me, I can't help but sink to the floor. I know I should grab a bite to eat and finish my remaining coursework, but I can't concentrate on anything else except on what I'd just witnessed. I have spent seven years in The Hunt expected to be at men's beck and call and I have spent seven years in The Hunt proving them otherwise. I could string your insides through the chandelier. I could send your severed head on a silver platter to your lovely wife. I could also tear your limbs off and send your children on a scavenger hunt to find them.

A shudder runs down my spine as I recall that grisly scene. I swear I can still feel the sticky sensation of blood on her hands. What has gotten into me? I bury my head in my hands and take a few deep breaths. Something's happening to me, something that could swallow me whole. My mind escapes into reveries that become increasingly more detailed and intense. My instincts are telling me that this isn't right, that I must learn to control these visions before it's too late. But I love and cherish them so much to the point where I want them to keep coming until my cruel reality is overshadowed by blissful fantasy.

A brief knock at the door ceases my internal debate. I straighten my clothes and hair before crossing my room to answer it. Much to my surprise, I'm greeted by an empty hallway. Confused, my eyes roam down the corridor to my left and right until I hear a faint crinkly sound at my feet. It's a brochure of some kind with promotional images of smiling students and counselors emblazoned on the front. I reach down to pick it up with shaking fingers and close my door. I cross the room and sink into my gray chair. My hands are trembling so badly that I nearly get multiple paper cuts from just trying to open the damn glossy paper.

In large, flashy font, the college's student health services graces the front cover of the brochure. I couldn't bring myself to read the rest of the pamphlet's artificially inflated student testimonies, staff profiles, and general information about walk-in hours. A sinking feeling erupts in my chest and makes it way all throughout my body as I come to a conclusion. Someone made it their mission to make sure I got this. As if I didn't already begin to feel shitty about myself, as if I didn't need another reminder about my otherness.

And this is all for what? So the unknown student can get health services to help me? Fix whatever's wrong with me and then toss me aside once I'm back to normal and 'cured'? Is it really all that simple, though? Are they scared of a few daydreams? Are they afraid that I can go somewhere so far away that they can't reach me, can't control me?

Months' worth of pain from constant harassment, loneliness, and disappointment has accumulated only to be released in torrents. I remember time after time again I was ridiculed in class for accidentally slipping to another world. I remember time after time again I was treated not with understanding, compassion, and a genuine desire to hear my side of the story, but with intolerance and hatred. I've always made an effort to try see the good in the world, then the accident happened and a veil was ripped from my eyes. Tomorrow, I promise to be stronger. Tomorrow, I promise to face the day with my head held high.

No more. No more apologies, no more excuses, no more embarrassment.

At least that's what I keep telling myself every night. I welcome the moisture from my eyes and let the tears fall in time with the rain outside. I'm so tired.