Chapter 8

It's too damn bright.

I've watched enough television shows in my day to see how this should play-- the patient wakes up from a coma miraculously after some heart-felt speech, and there's some tearful reunion between him or her and their loved ones... and of course, they have some *totally* new aspect on life similar to George Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life".

I guess I did learn one definitive answer during this whole ordeal-- TV lies.

Once I finally manage to see past the burning of my retinas I am gifted with a blurry image of television set.

Ironic huh?

I briefly study room through the small slits of my eyes-- everything covered in a wavy layer of tears and sleep. I drop my eyelids shut again willing myself to fall back under. But my body refuses.

I'm sleeping beauty-- my prince came, kissed me and awakened me-- then jumped back on his white horse and bolted like hell.

I must be stupid. On some subconscious level, I must be dumb as a rock. If I did go to "sleep" to escape and protect myself like the doctor said-- why would I wake up when things got worse? Why would I wake up, when more then ever, I would love to slip into a place where no one and nothing can reach me?

I can't have been imagining it-- you can't dream that strong.....

I can feel the tight skin on the side of my cheek where my tear fell.

For a brief second I entertain the thought of running. No one knows I'm conscious-- I could get my things and be on a bus to nowhere before anyone knew I was gone.

Of course I could do that any day at home and probably make it further before my absence would be acknowledged...

Besides-- I can't out run what's in my head.

If I close my eyes really hard, I can imagine myself cracking my head open and extracting the memories like after-dinner mints out of a candy dish. Letting the tainted love ooze out with my blood....

Oh, oh-- tainted love-- don't touch me please.......

It takes me a minute to realize my thoughts have actually become vocal-- and I'm literally singing the refrain to "Tainted Love". I stop, slightly dazed at the sound of my own voice, until I hear it again -- I'm laughing like I should be holding a bloody axe or something.

Okay-- I've lost my freakin' mind.

Upon acknowledging that fact, I hear myself promptly break into sobs. I feel even more detached from my body then I did when I was unconscious. I can't seem to stop crying-- and the fact that I can't makes me cry harder. I feel lost and confused and weak-- pathetically weak. I can hear the annoying little didactic sounding voice in my head... 'Suck it up. Stop being so damn melodramatic.' It says.

I hate that voice.

You know, if I was a schizophrenic-- which on some occasions I believe I am-- I'd probably be telling my other voices to shove it right about now. I want so badly to be able to think I have a right to this.... that in some way I've earned the right to lose my marbles--

Or at least misplace them for a while.

I know I need to consider this. Really lay here and think about it. If they know I'm awake, they'll take me home.

Home.....

Once again my voice makes its appearance, and I groan-- a sound probably similar to that of a partially dead elk in a bear trap. It definitely doesn't sound human. This piques my interest, and I try it again.

Home....

I start to groan again and this time it comes out at a slightly higher pitch, wobbling and shaking until it turns into laughter.

Home.... or padded room-- it's kinda like a S.A.T. question.... Home is to padded room as shopping is to bank.

I'm still laughing when something happens.

The door opens.

"Emily?!"