You’re locked in a room with your greatest fear. Describe
what’s in the room.
White. Cushy white all around me makes me damn angry. The bed is cushy, the ground is cushy, the freaking walls are cushy; the damn jacket I’m in is fucking cushy! It’s like being a sharp spiky wheel inside a huge ball of cotton! FUCK!
Keep calm. One more day and this is gone.
If I lose it now it will be back to square one. Back to the injections that give me the woozy half-dead existence that is somehow supposed to get me back to life; I wonder how in the world that makes sense to anyone. I mean I’m the crazy one and I find that logic stupid. You’d think they’d know better with their medical degrees and shit, but hell no! It’s better to create a zombie than have a corpse because death is the very worst thing to happen to a human!
I think when it gets this bad, they’ve probably given up but don’t want to look like they have; heaven forbid anyone should give up anything especially their own life! And what’s with being strapped in anyway? First they give you meds because you’re crazy, then strap you in because those meds will fuck you up even more? Geniuses these guys!
The visitors are the worst; and I never have any fucking say about being wheeled to the beck and call of these people who, despite all things I spoke strongly against, still put me in this shithole to become a fucking cabbage. I wrote about this before; I was so clear on how I planned to go, so it’s not like they had the right to clutch their breasts in shock! It was all so dramatic and juvenile when I came to after my last failed attempt. Gosh! They couldn’t just be mature about it and say, “Let her be; we will harvest her organs afterwards like she wishes.” Oh no! Life cannot be that easy.
Humans, it seems, have an endless supply of stupid hope even when they know the cycle of life already. Life rocks, life sucks, then it sucks some more before it rocks…on and on and on. This cycle will never change; it’s a fact.
And if you decide you’re done with all of it and willingly lose your hope, others will give you theirs forcefully. They will strap you to a chair, put you in straitjacket and they will shove their hope in spoonfuls down your throat; and if you don’t swallow, they will use the injections! The fucking nerve!
Keep calm now. They’re watching. Keep calm.
It’s been a long time coming but I convinced them enough to reduce the sedatives. I haven’t been strapped in for exactly 12 days now and tomorrow is my one final chance to get it over with.
My practiced, I’m-trying-this-shitty-life-once-again tight smile is back and if I have to do it two more days, I’m sure I will die from a split face. I asked to go out into the sun yesterday. Told them could I get a book read to me? I’m not eating much still, I know, but you can’t just go from 0 to 100 without them suspecting an act. You have to seem like you’re trying but barely looking forward to another day. Like you want to start something pathetically small and try following it to the end just to see. The book got them good I know. I almost feel sorry for them.
But tomorrow it happens for once and for all.
There are never sharp objects around- and they’ll be careful this time- but I’ve been thinking a lot about how to kill myself without any tools. And I think I’ve realized how. Just one more day of being in their claws and all this will be over.