White Walls

The world is a funny place. You try to kill yourself a few times and they lock you up in a stupid white room.

The first time I was a pussy.

The second time someone stopped me.

Unless you've tried to kill yourself it doesn't make sense to try to understand why people do it.

The third time a little kid was watching me.

The fourth time someone found me.

It's hard to know that you're so worthless that you can't even kill yourself. That you were so terrible at ending your own life that you're stuck in the fucking mental ward.

The fifth time I only punctured a lung.

The sixth time someone stopped me again.

The mental ward is a crap hole. I hate it here. And everyone here hates me too. Except for one person. He is always smiling even when I tell him to stop.

The seventh time I was too weak to end it.

The eighth time the drugs didn't work.

I almost killed the man who used to tend to me once. I have no idea where he is now. Probably in another white room. He's probably traumatised. And I love that.

The ninth time the rope burst.

The tenth time I died.

I'm such a fuck up, I can't even stay dead. And that's how I found myself holding the record for most suicide attempts in the ward.

"What a beautiful man"

∞∞∞∞

I watched him from across the room. He was humming softly to himself. I couldn't help but be entranced by the eerie beauty of the man on the bed. The scars that covered his arms and legs sang a beautiful song to me. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him.

One thing they tell you in school is that you should never form a personal relationship with your patients. But I couldn't help but wonder what had made such a beautiful person become reduced to what he was.

He looked like he had seen so much it was almost scary. When he peered into your soul with his dark eyes it was almost as if you were being ripped apart from the inside out.

He was simply lovely.

Perfect.

Amazing.

I was enraptured by him. I found myself thinking of him all the time. He became my main reason for going to work. That was why I always found myself bringing him something like a cookie or small trinkets.

He never looked at me when I went into his room but I knew he liked the gifts. He kept each item lined up in order of height and he ate anything that I made or bought for him.

I had only seen him standing once. It was the first time I had walked into his room unscheduled he was banging his head against the wall, too hard for it to be safe. When he turned to me I had was left speechless.

I had never seen eyes so full of emotion ready to spill over into our world.

Hate,

Insanity,

Sadness,

Loneliness,

Fear.

A lot of fear. His eyes widened even further upon noticing my presence. His breathing became laboured as he began to claw at his chest.