To be honest, it’s been so long that I can’t remember when the last time this occurred.
Has it been months?
Years?
My veins have been filled to the brim with so many drugs on a daily basis it’s a miracle that I even remember my name.
It’s Adelaide Watson.
Right?
Right?
At least that’s what the staff tells me.
Well, I take that back, sometimes they mistake me for Adelaide Carmichael and I have to correct them.
I found a few crayons. A blue one, a green one, and a red one. I’m thinking they used to belong to Aurora. I have moments where I wish I knew where she was. I miss her. I miss her quirky behavior. I miss the way she always responded in a sing-song voice. I miss her carefree attitude. I’ve thought about asking some of the patients about her, but then ended up not doing it. I’m not friendly with very many people here and I don’t feel comfortable enough to talk about personal things with them.
I have moments though…
When I’m by myself…
In my cell, using the crayons that used to be hers.
I hide under my bed, with the red crayon and color all over the wall.
I draw hearts.
And circles.
And squares.
Stick figures.
And tear drops.
My mind runs away with me when I swear I hear the springs on the cot behind me squeaking. It’s almost as if my ex roommate is here with me, rocking back and forth and back and forth on her cot. I close my eyes and I can picture her. She’s blowing a red curl out of her face, her nose is bunched up, and she’s hugging her knees.
I continue coloring and I have another moment where I swear I can hear her singing. “Blood red walls, blood red walls, blood red walls.”
The soft sing-song words and the squeaking of mattress springs feels and sounds so real that for a minute my spine stiffens, my lungs clench, and an uneasy feeling circles my gut. I drop the red crayon I’m holding, in the midst of coloring in a heart and cast a wary glance over my shoulder.
I gawk at the cot positioned horizontally across from my own and let out a sigh of relief.
There’s no one there.
Sliding out from under my bed, I stand then plop down on my cot. The springs creak and moan from me pressing my weight on them and when the noise dies down, I tuck my legs underneath my bottom, sitting Indian Style. White walls fill my gaze and temporarily blind me until I can’t look at them anymore so I blink a few times then drop my gaze to the floor.
I feel so alone.
And lost.
And hopeless.
I feel like someone has shoved the hose of a shop vac down my throat and sucked out my soul.
I feel like I’m hoping and wishing and praying for absolution and answers that I’ll never receive and more than that, I feel like a lifeless vessel. Like I’m wandering and wandering and wandering down a never-ending road with no destination and zero purpose.