The never ending kind

2- An Element

Ever have those times where you regret whatever you did before you even wake up? Like, you know the moment you open your eyes, it will  feel like they're going to bleed from the pain, and the idea of turning already sends ice picks slamming between your eyes. This happened to be one of those times for me.
In this sense, I couldn't help thinking of one of my all-time fave movies: fifth element. A must watch up there was the labyrinth and dark crystal. Off topic, now headed back on- the part where leeloo just woke up in that cylindrical dome, eyes going here and there; distant then close up? Well, same for me, friends, and I was pretty sure that if what was wrong with me was from drugs, I was having a pretty shitty trip.
My whole body seemed intent on driving me first class to the loony bin. Nothing felt right, even though I could feel everything, right down to the growth of my nails and hair, as crazy as that sounds. I felt my body, then sensitive parts of it, then specific areas of it, then straight down to the follicles below my skin. That is, when I wasn't distracted by the sounds ranging through all the pitches of Barnie's purple rainbow. Close things got far away, far things sounded close, the buzzing of a fruit fly banging like the heart beat of a humming bird in my brain.
Yeah, so I couldn't say I was surprised when I finally realized I was very, very well battened down to my industrial-styled bed. I wasn't quite sure what it was made of, along with my restraints, but it definitely was not the kind of bed that they tied crazy people to in the movies. This thing was built for someone like Hulk to rest in when he's not rampaging between evil, good and just plain dumb.
I had to admit that it did keep me from clawing at my skin and eyes, like the guy in that Firestarter movie that Drew Barrymore starred in as a child did. In the movie, not in real life, of course.
I can't really say how long I was like that, just thinking and trying to get my eyes to stop making me want to vomit from the visual rollercoaster it seemed to think I wanted to be on. I really didn't, especially when I finally realized that along with everything else, I felt like shit. No, actually, I felt worse than just shit. I felt like shit that a dog had been sniffing at for four days in hundred degree weather and finally ate before vomiting it back up on an ant hill whose residents slowly, with their fiery ant hides, tore said slushy, four day, hundred-degree, vomited shit apart, piece by piece. That just barely scratched the feels for my personal bodily situation.
When I could finally focus enough to actually see my surroundings, I thanked the high heavens that the annoying electronic buzzing was all that accompanied the wide array of technology around, on and... ew, in me... fucking large ass needles that looked almost ductaped to different areas of my body. Just imagine the grimace, cuz it was there. I had to keep reminding myself to be thankful that I couldn't hear the electronic bleeping that usually accompanied scenes like these. With everything else, hell no did I need some Chinese water torture of sound to really kick me over the edge and into Wonderland.
After a bit more time, which there was no way and nothing to give an inkling towards... No clocks, no windows, constant light, no changes in temperature- nothing other than my own heart beat to set the pace. Thankfully, by that time, the drugs had finally started dulling, or I had just gotten used to them. Either way, I was pretty sure I had narrowly escaped the blue snow, poppies, and yellow brick road to insanity, unless my thought of sanity was a delusional construct- No! Focus. Focus, Drey, focus. We already decided on this, remember, that questioning sanity is baseless without any instrument with which to compare, which meant I should just treat myself like that cat in the box, assuming both. That way, neither will be a surprise. But, it really would be nice if I actually did end up being, you know, sane, though.
I spent another insurmountable portion of my illustrious and seemingly endless amount of time trying to do several things in varying and often cycling orders, like that grief cycle that isn't really a cycle at all... My brain. I feel like this is what people with ADD must at least partially feel like, constantly getting pulled from one thing to another, never fully being able to settle on a focus for any nominal amount of time.
And yes, even though it was ridiculously cliche, I did call for help and so on. One can guess what all the yelling and twisting and yanking accomplished. Yep, nothing but the feel of my sensitive gag reflex.
I shook it off, biting my lip for some physical focus, and instantly burning through much of the fog. Okay brain, let's work back from the beginning... Uh, okay, I remember I went outside for a bit. Uh... Bridge! What else... I squeezed my eyes closed as I tried to remember what had happened after that. I know I didn't jump or anything stupid like that, because I wasn't suicidal nor stupid, though it's possible that I stupidly did it by accident somehow. Know me, it wasn't beyond consideration, sadly. I could just imagine myself tripping over nothing and ending up throwing myself over the side. But, thankfully, it didn't sound right. At this point, all I knew with any definity was that it felt like I had been hit by a truck and backed over...
A flash of a face through a windshield sent my heart racing like a male mouse during mating season. I almost felt the wind and my hair as I whipped my face from the truck to the right... A group of kids. My memories were like slow picture slides or those clay animations that require a gazillion pictures per step of the character; slow like molasses. I was just starting to understand the theme within these pictures when I instantly lost it when the thick white door within the white wall opened, revealing a gentleman in a, get this, white doctor's coat.
"Great, now I lost it. You couldn't have waited another five or so minutes?"
The guy blinked owlishly at me, as if finding out unexpectedly that his dog spoke Portuguese fluently while it shat standing up. Wow, do I seem to have a fixation on poop. Note to self: try to find something else to compare to how badly I feel aside from using the overused comparison with excrement.
"Don't just stand there, come in. I would greet you properly, but it appears you guys think me as some kind of danger to myself or others. Unfounded so far as I know." I knew I was babbling, but I blamed it on the random liquids pouring from the bags and into my veins.
He stood a moment more before suddenly dropping his clipboard and scrabbling at the door frame, eyes never leaving mine, "You're- you're awake. You're not supposed to be awake and... Talking."
"Oh-kaaaay, says you, bro."
He slammed the door shut, "Mother fucker." I couldn't help letting that quiet comment slip.