I hear Ruby's little nails tick on the vinyl floor behind me. Tick-tick, tick-tick. She wants some attention, but I have to ignore her. She's not there, anyway.
Wait in line. Whites all around. Watch out for the greens, they mean business. I am not here. I am the speck on the floor beteen my feet.
I shuffle forward, because I am also functioning. I reach for the plastic cup held out for me. My name is on the cup. It's nice to be reminded that I am the story attached to the name. That I am at least still that much.
Ruby whines. She knows what the pills mean. I don't look her in the eye when I coax them down the drainpipe that is in me. I can feel them scuttling down, clanking on the other pills that are also there. Ruby droops. I sneak a glance her way, mouth sorry.
I know she'll come back. She always comes back.
-
The greens have pretty masks on. I am surrounded by plaster smiles. Some coo at me; others talk as if I'm human. I don't always talk back. I used to, but then I realised it does not matter.
A cooing mask comes closer; it's cute time for my fuzzywuzzy appointment with the happy dappy man. I would roll my eyes, but my head is stuffed with so much cotton I can feel it coming out of my tear ducts. Unwinding. I cannot think, which is good, because the thoughts are what I'm here for.
I miss Ruby when I'm like this.
I'm guided out of my cell. Room. Bedroom. Behind me, I hear greens complain about the filth my form left behind.
The fur, they say. Where does it keep coming from?
-
You're doing great, the happy dappy man tells me. The pills seem to be working. No episodes in two months? Great! They would like to do some tests, sure you don't mind? Yeah, the pills, you'll have to keep taking them- they have some side effects that hurt you, but at least you're functioning, at least you're not hurting those around you?
I wish I was more than that. More than functioning and not-hurting. I want to tell him, but the thought is too hard to snatch with words. I nod. I am a good girl.
-
It's been twelve hours since I took the cup with my name on it. The night curls against the windows, and I am in my bedroom. My room. Cell. The box labeled looney. I feel my body drifting back to the surface.
Tick-tick, tick-tick.
My Ruby is back. She is still droopy. She thinks she was punished. It's only when I pat the space on the bed next to me that she perks up, and with one bound she is there, warm soft fur next to me. She knows what's right and wrong. But it's too hard to snatch with words.
Good girl, I whisper.
---------------------------------------
Oh my god, I haven't posted anything in ten months, I know, I know. I'm sorry. But here ya go, another teaspoon.
I felt like this one needs some extra explanation, although I'm confident it's fine without one. So it's up to you if you want to read what it's about to me. Anyway.
A few days ago I came up with this idea that there are people out there who have this super power of storytelling. Their stories are so good that what they imagine becomes true. And it would happen in stages; first whatever they imagine would be something they'd catch a glimpse of in the corner of their eye. Then they'd actually see it, and be able to interact with it. If it's a really good story other people would also catch glimpses of it, or see it.
Of course, if someone goes around seeing things that are not there, they need to be put in the system to be treated, which is what happened to this person. She needed to be cut off from her imagination to fit the norm.
So yeah... *flails arms* there you go. I hope you like it.
Bejoes x
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