Why are ceilings always white? Is there some law somewhere that mandates the color of every ceiling everywhere? Needless to say, the ceiling I stare at every day of my life is white. And I would have done something about that a long time ago, only they don't let me have any pens, pencils or markers. Use of anything of that sort, they tell me, could end up with me injuring myself. So I just continue to stare at the ceiling, hoping that someday it'll change colors by magic. So far, that day has yet to come.
It's relatively quiet today. The girl across the hall hasn't begun her daily screaming and cursing. Yet, that is. Of course, it's about 5 o'clock in the morning. So says the clock that's bolted to the wall just out of my reach. Damn are they crafty. Crafty motherfuckers. I guess I can't complain that much. Even if I'm stuck in this room with a clock bolted to the wall, a bed bolted to the floor, and a window that has bars over it.
I'll tell you right off the bat, I am not fucking crazy. However, they seem to think differently. To me, this place isn't built to make me better, it's built to make me worse. Honestly, you say one little thing and everyone thinks you're off your rocker. Lucy and Phil just didn't know what to do with me, or so they said. It's sad to think that after 18 months in this place, I've lost all will to call them "Mom" and "Dad". Even when they come to visit, I just can't bring myself to say it. Is it wrong to stop loving the people that sent you away in the first place?
"Tesia!" I was awoken by the sound of my name and the clank of my door opening. I groaned as soon as I saw the person come inside.
"Hello doctor," I said unenthusiastically. He narrowed his eyes at me over his horn-rimmed glasses.
"Now, Tesia. After all this time, why won't you call me by my name?"
"I prefer not to, doctor," I answered as I stared at my ceiling.
"Very well." He sat down in a chair he had brought in with him, seemingly unmoved by my response. About damn time, seeing as how it's the same fucking response I give him every time asks that stupid question.
"So, am I crazy?" I asked, not turning my head.
"Must you ask that at the beginning of every session?"
"Until you answer it, doctor, yes."
"How are you today, Tesia?" he asked, ignoring my question.
"Bored."
"And why are you bored?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'm stuck in this white nightmare every day of my pathetic excuse for a life."
"I see." I looked over at him, he was paying little attention to me.
Instead, he was scribbling something on his clipboard. Oh, how I wanted to smash that damn thing.
"Are Phil and Lucy coming today?"
"You mean your parents?" He looked at me straight in the eye.
"Yes, Phil and Lucy. Are they or not?" I retorted as I shot my eyes back up to the ceiling. He sighed before answering.
"As today is Thursday, yes. They will be here at 2 o'clock for a visit."
"Woo-fucking-hoo."
"Tesia," he said in a warning tone.
"Sorry," I replied. Like I was actually sorry. The day I mean it when I apologize to them, I'll hang myself.
"These sessions are for your benefit, Tesia, not mine."
"I don't see any benefit."
"If you're not willing to try, then I can't help you."
"Then don't," I said as I turned on my side, away from him. He sighed exasperatedly and stood up. I heard the chair scrape against the floor as he pulled it towards the door.
"Open," he instructed to the person on the opposite side, and they did so.
"Later," I called out as he went through the door. "...Asshole," I added as the door shut. I rolled over onto my back once again, staring up at the blank ceiling. 18 months down, a lifetime to go.
Sending postcards back to home on the road.
Title credit: Sugarcult Sign Off
rate/message/c-box
