Part two. It gets a little...Well. Enjoy!
As days turned into torturous nights, I found myself jolting awake in a clammy sweat, haunted by relentless nightmares. The sleep deprivation soon began to play tricks on my mind, conjuring haunting hallucinations.
News of my deteriorating condition reached my concerned friends, who started spending entire days and nights at my place to offer support. Then, one fateful day, likely spurred by a mix of worry and exasperation, one of my friends suggested that seeking help from Eichen House might be the way to find relief. I initially resisted the idea, but the relentless nightmares showed no mercy, growing in intensity, accompanied by the emergence of new mental afflictions.
Paranoia began to consume me, rendering me fearful of venturing outdoors for even the most mundane tasks. New phobias took hold, and I felt myself teetering on the precipice of insanity.
"Is this something everyone experiences?" I had inquired, addressing my therapist, whom I had seen for just a week.
My paranoia, however, had the upper hand, leading me to abruptly discontinue my therapy sessions. Now, I found myself trapped in a confined space, akin to a caged animal, awaiting my eventual release.
I glanced at the clock, counting down from 63. It read 7:58, then the prominent hand inched forward, reaching 7:59. The eagerly anticipated moment arrived at 8:00 when the doors to our rooms would finally swing open.
As the large hand progressed, the doors started to creak open one by one. I joined the line of people emerging from their rooms, and I couldn't help but notice someone new further ahead. This individual possessed disheveled black hair, standing slightly taller than most in the line.
Descending the stairs into the main gathering area, I stood alone in a corner, merely observing. I hadn't formed any connections during my time here, so I remained on the periphery of the interactions.
One person repeatedly mumbled prayers with their hands clasped together and knees bent, a daily ritual etched into their routine as if stuck in an unending loop.
In this place, forming friendships often relied on discovering someone with similar afflictions. I had never prioritized making friends, and approaching someone to inquire about their reasons for being here, such as the loss of both parents, felt intrusive and unnecessary. Consequently, I remained practically invisible.
Turning my attention to the left, I noticed Meredith engrossed in a phone conversation. A few feet away, to my right, were the newcomer and his roommate, Oliver. The newcomer appeared remarkably composed, except for peculiar purple lines that ran from beneath his shirt to the side of his neck, resembling veins but not quite.
Oliver, on the other hand, seemed relatively normal compared to some of the others. He had a propensity for being easily triggered, though it wasn't precisely madness. He was simply eccentric.
Leaning against the wall, a wave of exhaustion washed over me, leaving me to contemplate my peculiar surroundings.