My eyes flashed open and I sat up, my blood racing. The memories flashed through me, piercing my heart and skin. I clenched my hands and let out a shaky breath, trying to calm myself before one of the nurses came out here. I hated when they did that, since I knew that there was nothing wrong—I just had another nightmare. That was normal for me, the nightmare, I mean. I have been dealing with them for a while, and I am used to having them. I don't need the nurses to freak out about them and put me under or anything like that again. I just need to calm down after a couple minutes and go back to sleep.
Okay, I'll admit, I usually don't go back to sleep after these things, but I'd rather stay awake then be put under. The needles freak me out, and I always spend the rest of the day in a day-dreaming state and unable to focus. It is really infuriating.
I know you must be thinking that I'm crazy, and you are quite correct in that assumption, because I am dealing with all of this from a mental hospital in northern England. So yes, I can identify as crazy (thus all of the nurses and stuff).
Before I elaborate on my dream (which I'm sure you're all dying to hear about), I need to explain about my wing in this mental hospital. We're in the west wing, usually called 'Section 38' for reasons I don't really know, and everyone here has some type of mental disorder paired with at least one suicide attempt. I have bipolar disorder (so if you see any of my opinions change in the course of around five minutes, fuck off and leave me alone about it), and I have a record of three attempts, only one of which I remember.
Now, here is the promised explanation on my dream. You see, from that one past attempt that I remember was born many nights of nightmares, and though they say that I had two others (neither of which I remember), that is the one that had kept me from sleep for so long.
The dream starts off completely normal. I don't even know that it is a dream until I wake up. I am walking along in my house, and everything is dull and blending with the other things around me. The only thing that I can really see and that pops out at me is the red on the carpet. Bright, bright red. I follow it, wondering what could be at the end. As I get closer the amount of red becomes larger and larger. Soon I come to a door, where the red is brightly painting the entrance. If it weren't such a serious matter than I would have smiled.
I open the door. Inside is my mother, crying. I know what happened. My father must have gotten something to drink. When she sees me she shakes her head and tells me to go to my room. Everything is fine, and when we're all at dinner things will be back together. I don't know what to do. I want to hate my father, but I also love him when he's sober. I can't handle it anymore. I run to my room. There's a bottle of pills on the headboard of my bed. My decision has been made.
Then I wake up.
"Dan are you alright?"
I roll over on the small white bed and gaze over at my roommate. She stares at me with tired eyes, the small light that's normally is perched on our bedside table is in her petite hand, trembling ever so slightly and causing shadows to dance along the walls.
"Yes, I'm fine, just another nightmare," I say, reaching for the light and returning it to it's rightful position "Go back to sleep."
"We have to get up in an hour or so, may as well stay awake," she replies, swinging her small legs onto the cold floor. "Not much point in going to sleep now."
Beatrix walks over to her set of drawers and selects and outfit for the day, then disappears into the bathroom, the lock clicking behind her.
Beatrix and I are roommates in case you're wondering, best friends (like we have a choice), or whatever. She's pretty cool for the most part, and she doesn't like talking about her apparent suicide attempt. All she would tell me about herself is her OCD and dealing with anorexia (which I kind of guessed for myself). She's got curly blonde hair and really big green and brown eyes- they kind of remind me of a frightened deer or something.
I hear water running in our shared bathroom and the obnoxious timer start. We're not allowed to be in the bathroom for long because of the whole suicide thing and how we're "still mentally unstable" so we're allowed fifteen minutes to have a shower, get dressed and get out. They don't have cameras in the bathrooms because of the whole privacy issue thing, but it's good we're trusted enough to shower on our own, just not sleep or talk with roommates for some reason.
I frown as my feet hit the cold floor and wish for carpets or something- anything to make the place feel less eerie and mental hospital like- oh wait.
I already have my selected outfit in hand as Beatrix's timer hits zero. When she doesn't come out of the bathroom for a few minutes I tap the door nervously with my index finger "Bea? Are you still in there?" I can practicably hear the camera sitting int he top corner of our room daring me to open the door. "Beatrix, please don't make me come in there."
Ugh, I don't want to call the nurse down here to collect her. She probably just fell asleep in the shower or on the toilet or something, she should of gone back to sleep like I told her earlier. Given no other option, I press the button that alerts the nurses and doctors for assistance and moments later they arrive, shots in pockets, brows furrowed in concern.
They push past me like they already know what I need, opening the bathroom door and removing me from the room. I peek past what supposedly is the "head doctor" and instantly regret my decision. I'm not so worried about the fact that I just saw my best friend's boobs or the fact that she was completely naked or anything, it's just she was hanging by her neck, her lovely eyes staring blankly at me, water dripping off of her toes and fingertips and splashing onto the floor.
I feel myself fall to my knees and a broken sob claws it's way out of my throat. I don't protest as I'm removed from the room and taken to another one, exactly the same layout as Beatrix and I's room, the wallpaper a different shade of sickly yellowish-white. I slump down on the bed and let the tears fall, fall like Bea's water droplets onto the cold bathroom floor.
