Nightmare

Dead end

Turn the corner

Dead end

Blackness

Wall

Mom

Reach Out

Thin air

There is nothing.

I can see you

Fading

Don’t go

You smile

You disappear

Awake

I wake

again in a cold sweat,

white sheets twisted in

my clammy palms. I

begin to focus my eyes

in the blackness.

Wall

Shelf

Wall

Nightstand

Wall

Mom

I shut my eyes again

Open them

Mom.

I know you are not real

I know you are not real

I whisper to thin air.

I shut my eyes

I say the words over again.

I get louder each time I say them

I begin shaking my head violently.

I want the images to go away

I know you’re not real.

GO AWAY!

I was 15

when my mother got diagnosed

with a brain tumor. The doctor

said there was nothing he could do;

the tumor was metastasizing too rapidly.

It had always been mom and I.

Mom and me we were best

friends, and did everything together,

until mom couldn’t leave the house.

Mom, do you want to go to the park? It is a nice day.

No, I’m not feeling good; maybe another day.

That was her usual response.

That was the start of it

and

then

it

went

downhill

In October, she was given six to nine months. Those months were spent it bed.

In June, I went to live with gram.

That is when the dreams started.

I was 16 when I first saw her

that is the ghost of mom.

It was the same dream

every night I was trapped in a maze. It was

dark.

Then, out of nowhere mom would

appear.

She wore the clothes from the

funeral.

A Key West sweatshirt and jeans.

She wore the outfit all the time. It seemed

appropriate.

When I first had the dreams

I liked seeing her

then the dreams became horrid.

Mom would appear

then turn into bones

right in front of my eyes.

Gram was so depressed

from losing her only child;

I didn’t dare say anything to her.

They were only dreams.

It was a lovely

Wednesday afternoon in July. The sky was

blue and the sun shining. I was sitting in the

kitchen when I first saw the image of mom

standing outside the window. I couldn’t

believe what I was seeing.

Is this really happening?

Am I crazy?

A light flickers on

Two nurses come in

one is holding a needle.

I don’t want to see her, make her go away.

The nurse injects the needle

into my forearm.

She releases a light sedative

that will hold out until morning.

I wake

feeling groggy and my memory of last night’s drama is foggy.

I don’t have time to process because it is time for breakfast.

After being here for a week, the routine for the day catches on fast.

Breakfast Lunch Dinner

Med Group Counseling

Shower Break Free Time

School School Meds

Bed

REPEAT.REPEAT.REPEAT

The clinic

has girls all around my age

just with different problems.

Suicide

Drugs

Crazy

We all get weekly evaluations,

and if we show progress we can go home.

I’m shooting to get out of here by

the end of the month.

That is 23 days.

I think I can do it.

I really don’t

like this place, but gram insists I stay

here until

I snap back to reality.

That’s what she likes to refer to my hallucinations as.

She says she can’t handle losing her only granddaughter.

After a month

of living at gram’s my dreams started

becoming reality.

I could see my mom then she would

disappear. I couldn’t handle it anymore

that is when I decided to stop them

I grabbed gram’s painkillers and

emptied them into my shaking palm.

Then I took and unfolded a paperclip

Mine as well do it right

Gram walked in to find me half-conscious.

She still has nightmares about finding me.

I had blood on my shirt

and yelling belligerently.

I wanted mom to leave me alone.

I didn’t want to see her like that.

The dining hall

was becoming scarce.

Everyone was beginning

their daily routines. I throw

my breakfast in the trash

I walk down the hall,

which has colorful

morals painted by

other patients.

Five-paces

Dead end

Fifteen-paces

Left

Right

Enter

The room is

nothing special. The classroom looks

like any other with a chalkboard and desks.

The room was painted aqua blue

because the staff says its calming.

I don’t like it.

There aren’t any posters on the wall.

Girls got into too many tantrums.

They would tear them down repeatedly,

so the staff quit putting them back up.

There is a bookshelf in the back

with a few select book. Not many.

They have been pre-approved by staff.

We check them out like a library.

The teacher brings her own things

and take it home with her every day.

School is for

those who are able to function in a

classroom setting. There are occasional

outbursts and disruptions, but the clinic tries

to keep it as normal as possible.

There are five girls, including me.

Sara sits in front of me.

Her blond hair is always

scraggily from her constantly

pulling on it

Jen sits diagonally to the left.

She smells, and I wonder if she

even takes baths? I try not to

look at her much.

Amber sits diagonally to the right.

She is always mumbling to herself.

I try not to listen. She’s crazy.

Beth sits beside me.

But she hasn’t been able

to attend because of issues.

Poor thing.

I reach

underneath my seat and grab my book from

the rack. That is when she first appeared

through the doorway

Plain as day

I try to ignore the sight, but mom begins

walking towards me saying something, but

I can’t understand

Eyes shut

Open

Still there

Shut

Open

Still there

Tears begin

welling up and my palms begin gripping

the tops of my thighs scratching the top

layer of skin. None of the other girls notice

the behavior. I try to keep it to myself. I get

up and go to the hallway.

She doesn’t follow

Miss Smith,

my teacher,

is walking

towards me

holding papers

Hello, Jessie

Hello, Miss Smith

She knows

our history

and what

to avoid.

She knows

about my

hallucinations.

She doesn’t

ask questions.

It isn’t

her place.

Deep breath Exhale

Wait Enter

I follow

Miss Smith into the room.

The rest of the afternoon,

I obnoxiously chew on my

pen cap and can’t concentrate

I wait for her to disappear

At counseling

I confess

I saw my mom – again.

The doctor

shakes his head.

He asks

me to explain.

She just appeared

Uh, huh

He nods his head

and scribbles.

Well, the only thing we can do is up your

medication.

I see here you had another episode last

night. We still aren’t able to determine

what is causing you to have these

occurrences.

Therefore, what I want you to do is

write down when you have these

hallucinations, maybe we can find

a pattern.

I have no more

to add to the session.

It is cut short today.

Pointless.

Walking back to my room

I keep thinking,

Am I ever going to get better?

Why am I like this?

Am I crazy?

Do others think I’m crazy?

At dinner

I can’t eat.

I feel nauseated.

The mixture of tomato sauce and

disinfectant smell only makes my

stomach queasier.

The cafeteria is small with five round

tables sitting eight. The food isn’t bad. That

is if you like processed food with hardly any

flavor.

You can tell the people who have been

here long. They eat the food. Every Saturday

there is a big dinner for everyone. I don’t

understand why. Nothing exciting really

happens in the cafeteria.

Just breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I twist

my spaghetti noodles around on my fork.

The meatballs are too hard, so I can’t mash

them into the saucy mess.

I think

about how life used to be when I was

younger. When I was normal. When I

wasn’t crazy.

As I sit thinking

an image beings forming in my head

the image starts faint and becomes clearer.

As I sit thinking

I am starring my mom in the face.

The mom I remember beautiful and lively.

As I sit thinking

the face starts withering.

It looks terrifying.

As I sit thinking

her skin starts to peel off

until there is nothing left but bones.

As I sit thinking

her hair starts to fall out in clumps.

Her eyes look sad.

As I sit thinking

there is nothing I can do to stop it.

I can’t push the image out of my head

A nurse comes

and grabs my hands,

which are clawing at my head

The nurse is able to help

me focus and calm down.

I look down and notice

a tiny clump of hair in my fingers.

The nurse gives me a glass

of water and leads me to my room.

My room

isn’t anything special. People think it is a

communal room, which they can walk

through whenever.

Annoying

I have a bed, nightstand, small dresser, and

shelf. The furniture is old. It has been

replaced several times.

Stupid

My bed creaks – bad. That is how the nurses

can tell if I am having a bad dream or not

because they can hear my bed.

Weird

Once I got here, I became very organized. I

keep everything in a specific place. I like it

that way.

I lay here

starring at the ceiling of my tiny room. I

spend many nights starring up at the ceiling.

A piece of it is starting to crack directly

above where I sleep. It looks like it is going

to fall. I hope that it will be a big piece, and

hopefully it will hit me while I am sleeping,

so I won’t feel anything. I secretly think of

this to myself every time I look at the crack.

Just as I am thinking of my death scenario, I hear something.

Tap. Knock. Shadow. I shut my eyes.

It’s time for your group session. However,

the doctor said if you’re not feeling up to it

you don’t have to go today.

I open my eyes

to see the bouncy headed nurse

smiling at me like I am five years old

Yeah I’ll go

Sure beats the hell out of laying here

waiting for the ceiling to crash down on me.

Group is

no different each night. We all gather

around in a circle, so we can see

everyone’s shining faces.

Blah

The chairs are hard and uncomfortable.

The counselor is a complete idiot.

He sits in his chair and stares, interrupting when he feels.

Those who talk, talk.

Those who don’t, don’t.

I usually don’t.

I don’t want these strangers judging me

as I judge them. In ways, group makes me

feel better. It makes me realize that there are

people more messed up than me.

Relieving and Therapeutic

Everyone usually

talks about their day

I sit

arms folded.

I don’t understand the point of group.

I don’t care how everyone’s day went.

The doctors say it helps to talk about your problems.

I don’t want to

I sit

arms folded

The hour drags.

Time is up.

Everyone files out.

Another successful session.

Not.

We are allowed

to have free time before bed. Free time, like

we are in jail or something. Technically, we

are prisoners. It’s not like we can leave. Our

problems will still be there.

So, I join everyone in the “free room” –

how cheesy. That’s really what it is called.

There’s a sign over the door. It was painted

a while ago by someone who went here. So,

there is hope that one day we can leave.

The free room

is a place where everyone

can hang out. There is a lot

of seating, which I don’t know

why because there aren’t that

many people in here at once.

There is a T.V. on one wall.

I make my way to it. I sit.

The couch is comfortable

just about the only thing

here that is.

To my right there are two girls

holding hands. Awkward. I

move to the chair. Not as

comfortable.

I look up at the television.

Bad idea. Mom’s favorite

movie is playing “Hope Floats.”

I don’t like it anymore. I turn

the channel. Nothing else is on.

I get up

and walk to the bookshelf.

I pull out The Secret Life of Bees.

I read the back.

Boring.

We aren’t aloud to take books out of this

room because they will never come back.

I put it back.

Some girls are playing a board game. I don’t

want to join. I don’t want to make friends.

There is a girl crying, but no one pays

attention. No one usually does.

A lot goes on here. I don’t know why.

Maybe because it is almost time for meds.

Everyone is anxious.

Most of the free time

is cut short because

of some idiot acting up.

When this happens I

sometimes write letters

to grandma.

Letters of confession.

Letters of apology. I

never send them to her.

Gram sends me letters.

They usually say the

same thing.

She asks how I am

doing. If I feel any

better. Then she tell me

about her day.

At the end she tells me

that she loves me and

she will visit. But she

never does. I hope she

misses me.

The interruption of

sleep last night begins to take affect.

I start feeling drowsy. I hear something.

Strange. Weird.

No one is talking to me. There it is again.

Am I imaging this? Please no. There it is again.

Muffled. Quiet.

I can’t understand. Wait. There it is again.

I recognize the voice.

No!

I walk out of the room and to the

nurse’s station. I want my meds.

The voice gets louder, but is still

muffled.

I ask the nurse for my meds. She hands me

two small paper cups. One has water the

other has a green pill and a blue pill.

Anxiety and Sleep.

I walk

into my room and fall into bed.

I cover my head with a pillow.

I hum a tune to drown out the voice.

I begin to feel relaxed.

22 more days.

I roll over and stare at the crack.

I hope that tonight is the night.

Sleep. Dream.