Saturday, January 20, 2018

Untitled (Because I Never Thought to Think of One)

This has been sitting in my "drafts" for the longest time. Might as well do something with it, eh? I believe it was something I was experimenting with, and I'm not sure if I like it or not. For some context, I wrote this when I was very muddled with my emotions and I think it's somewhat safe to say that I'm a lot more stable, thank goodness.

This really needs a lot of work, but whatever, hahaha.

Once upon a time, there was a young maiden locked in a tall tower.

It's after her seventy-two hour watch, after the second attempt--

Why this time?
The first should have been clue enough.
Why again?
Why?

--that they suggest medication. The patients gawk at her. The nurses question. The psychiatrist questions some more.

I don't belong here.
No, it wasn't child abuse.
Not this time.
I just wanted to die.
But now I don't.
Dying is scary.
Can I sleep now?

There was an old crone who would visit to care for her by climbing up the maiden's long hair.

They leave her alone. They bring in the family. They talk. They offer to keep the doors open for her. She appreciates the offer. They suggest therapy. She agrees. They suggest medication.

I can't.
What if it changes me?
What if my mind isn't the same?
What if I'm back here because of them?

She has an imagination. She's proud of it. She dreams and daydreams and loses herself in dreamland. She adores the make-believe places she escapes to when she feels like tearing her heart out of her chest and stabbing it with a steak knife and crushing it under her foot to make sure it stops beating.

What if I stop dreaming because of them?

She tells them that she will think about the medication.
She tells herself that she won't take the medication.

For years, the maiden yearned for freedom, but knew there was no escape from the tower.

She plays nice, says that everything is fine, that how she got here was a fluke and that she's ready to go back home. She hates this place. Their concern is fake. She knows it's fake. She knows fake. After all, she's as fake as one can be.

They know I'm faking.
I can feel it.

And still they fall for it.

And the maiden had fears of falling to her death should she try to escape.

She returns home. The family doesn't know how to act. The family is trying to keep itself together. But they leave her alone. They let her be. They set up an appointment. They are hopeful that this time it will work. She knows it won't. She hates appointments.

The therapist suggests medication.

She isn't in that place anymore. She fakes fine. She can fake all the time and no one knows the difference.

I'm fine.
Medication isn't for me.
But if it comes to it, I'll think about it.

She fakes some more. She pretends that there's progress. She says she's fine. She says she doesn't need therapy anymore. She did the required time anyway.

Until one day, a young lad found her tower.

Then he comes along, and asks her the hard questions, makes her both hate and love everything all at once. Tells her that her life is precious and that there's so much more out there for her if only she were to try.

I do want to die.
Wait -- do I?
I don't want to.
But there is no point, is there?
It's worthless.

He stays with her, encourages her when he can. He tells her her worth isn't found from outside but within. For things to get better, she had to want to get better.

I do want things to get better, I swear!
I...
Maybe I don't after all?

The lad tells her of the world outside, that he would help free her if she allowed him.

She turns him away, his prodding into her heart and soul feeling intrusive and painful. She enjoyed her own misery, the darkness she surrounded herself with a constant that she sought solace in in a changing world.

I'm fine. I don't need you.
I only need myself.

The maiden says no. She's too afraid.
The old crone finds the visiting lad at the bottom of the tower and kills him.

She grows desperate. To choose the dark ended up consuming her, causing her to fall even deeper into the pit she dug for herself. She looks in the mirror.
She doesn't want this.
She couldn't do it on her own anymore.

I'm fine. I'm...
I'm not fine.
This isn't me.

1 comment:

  1. Hi Jodee... I am blown away by the merging of fairy tale and pyschological realism. I hope you are well. If you have visited my blog in the past month, you'll notice that the blog list is filled with a new batch of students. i have pointed them to your site as an example of how to make the most of the semester.

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