To warn anyone reading this, this story contains sensitive topics, including Suicide. It's rated M. Don't read it if you feel it will affect you harshly.
Tired. Do you ever feel so tired, that you just don't have the will to move? Do you ever feel so tired, that it seems like the whole world is coming against you and trying to hold you back? Does your wariness grow, day after day and do you just become more and more nervous? If so, then you know exactly how I feel.
No, that's a lie. No one can relate to how I feel, the insanity that I feel.
My feet are heavy, like lead. I stand in the doorway, looking in at my room with legs that burn from just holding me up. My stomach twists and flips with turmoil and like always, I don't think that I'll be able to find the strength to drag myself back to my bed. It would be so easy to just let myself collapse, to just fall to the ground and let the nurses find me, let them carefully hoist me onto my bed.
How could I do that though? That was like another sign of my defeat.
Instead, I take a small step forward. My whole body his shaking and my stomach seems to be in my feet, but I manage to walk across the cold, slab white floor. My hospital gown swishes around my legs and the room seems to stretch before me. How could such a short distance be such a long walk? I inch forward slowly, my hands out and ready to catch me. If I fall backwards I would land with a thump though, since my hands are positioned to catch me if I fall forward.
I reach the bed, pull back the crisp white sheets that the nurses must have changed while I was bathing. They wouldn't be happy with me, they always told me to let them take care of my bathing. They think that one day I'll just give up, let myself slip beneath the warm, bubbly water and inhale it. Suicide was not the answer though. It would be a relief, but it is not the answer.
Drowning is not the answer.
I sit down slowly, lifting up my old, scrawny, weak legs and sliding them underneath the blankets. I turn over, resting on my side and I stare out the window into the hall, watching the nurses rush by my window without even a second glance at me. I had been here for so long, they had stopped worrying about me. I was just another person, another patient that only needed a small amount of care. Why take care of the old, crazy women when there were more important matters to tend to?
Ten years. Ten long years since I had arrived here.
It had been fine, absolutely dandy after the battle at first, when adrenaline was still rushing threw my veins. I had killed and I had been proud of it, because I had taken out a threat, given Harry, Hermione, Ginny and my boys more safety, taken away one danger. I had thought I would be fine with it, maybe I would have been. Adrenaline does funny things to your body, makes you consider funny things, makes you think everything's going to be fine.
It wasn't long after that that I began to feel numb, though. It was like my blood in my veins had begun to freeze, like ice had formed a tight little ball in the very pit of my stomach. I was still mentally and physically aware of the chaos that had been going on around me, but it was like I had been separate. Even then, when I had begun to change, I knew I would get over it.
Then I was pushed over the edge.
His face had been so cold, so dead, no breath had come from his lips. My dearest Fred, my lovely little prankster. He had been killed. How had I expected to bare that? George had been broken, I could see that in his eyes, but I hadn't really tried to comfort him. I had been to busy drowning, being pulled under by the currents of my emotions. Being pulled so deep that I would never return again.
A small sob bursts from my lips, but no tears come. I don't seem to be able to cry anymore. I wish I could, since crying was like a relief, it let loose my emotions. Now, it helped relief the terrible pressure in my chest. That pressure came and went, but every time it seemed a little stronger, a little more terrible.
There's a knock on my door, but I don't react. I'm drowning in my thoughts again, losing any reaction to the world. The door creaks open, revealing a pretty, young nurse that I preferred over any other. She took one look at me and seemed to realize that I wasn't in the mood to chat. Chat? I almost laughed at that thought. I never chatted, it was more like she rattled on about the nonsense that was her dramatic little life.
She would never know what dramatic was, but I wouldn't be the one to tell her that.
She carefully pushed the door open, but I barely even notice as she walks over and sets a tray on the small, rolling table by my bed. The smell of the tomato soup she had brought me this time wafts over to me, but I feel no desire to turn over and eat. They bring me six meals a day, but that was only because I barely ate. I knew that they were worried about my eating habits, but I just couldn't manage to keep my food down.
There it is again, that wave of pain, rolling towards me. I always know that I'm about to have a break down before it happens, but it couldn't have had worse timing than this. The pressures building in my chest, my lungs feel like their tightening. Each breath hurts like someones stabbing a million knifes deep into me. The nurse comes around to face me, kneeling down and looking me straight in my eyes.
"Miss, why don't you eat something?" Her voice is gentle, but it sparks something in me. A rage that is so powerful I would never be able to control it, like someone dropping a match into a lake of oil.
I launch myself into a sitting position, my words of rage loud and sharp in the voice that only I can muster. The angry tone that I adopted from my mother, "How dare you! Don't tell me what to eat and what not to eat! You don't know whats its like! I'll eat when I want to!" My voice rises in pitch and I block out the angry words from myself, because they'll only make me feel guilty later.
My hand shoots out, hitting the tray and sending it flying. It clatters into the wall before smashing into the floor. The glass bowl breaks, spraying red soup every wheres. It splatters across the white floor and looks shockingly like blood. My words falter and I barely notice the nurse retreat from the room. They know that sedating me will only make me more vengeful in the ending. It was better to just let me calm down.
The sight of the red causes me to start dry heaving and I turn away from it. I bury my head in the pillow, the crisp, clean scent of it comforting me. Slowly, slowly the pressure begins to cease. My heart slows and I stop breathing in sharp, painful gasps. I'm trembling from head to foot and I don't even look up as the nurses come in to clean up the mess. Why should I? It was the other nurses fault anyway.
I need my husband, I need his love, but he isn't here. They say he's looking down on me, but how can I believe them? Why would he watch a crazy woman like me when he has so many other things to watch, like our grandchildren, or our children themselves?
"Why did you die?" The words are soft on my lips and I tremble softly as they pass threw my body. I knew well enough why he died. The stress of the Ministry of Magic, myself and that god damn blood clot that rose up into his heart.
"Damn it, I need you!" My words are a screech and I knew that I could continue on ranting like this for hours, but instead I just bury my face once more in the pillow. Hours seem to pass with me just lying there, the blankets twisted uncomfortably around my legs. My mouth becomes uncomfortably dry and I begin to wish for water, but I just can't find the energy to call out to the nurse.
If only I had my wand, then I could just conjure some water. They had taken away my wand, though, taken it far, far away from me. They said I was to dangerous for my own good, that this was only a precaution. What type of people take away wands, though? I wasn't dangerous, I knew I wasn't!
I had killed someone, though...
There another knock on the door and this time I manage to turn over. The door is pushed open, revealing a tall man that looks so much like my husband, but he isn't him. This is Ron, holding the hand of a small, red haired girl who is looking at me with bright, brown eyes. Rose, their little daughter. I manage a small smile for her and Ron takes that as a good sign, slipping into the room. Hermione follows soon after, along with Ginny.
Ron kneels down beside my bed in the exact same position that the nurse had been in, looking at me with calm eyes, "Mom, how have you been?"
I look at him silently and when I speak, my voice is incredibly sad, "I really hate St. Mungo's, Ron,"
What does it feel like?
It feels just like drowning.