The room for bad girls

I thought it best that I start from here, as we all do, when we reach out for help in a conventional sense. And so, I found myself in a small grey room, filled with absurd instrumental music attempting to create a soothing atmosphere and a cheap supermarket humidifier pollutes the air with an artificial sweet scent that lingers obsessively everywhere. The clock on the wall opposite to me, is crooked and I fixate on that quite excessively as it has become all-consuming. It really bothered me how a tiny detail could slip by this person, whoever it was. I nervously tap my feet and drum my fingers across the edge of my seat. I can hear myself breathe and the door opens.

“I’ll be right with you,” she says, with this odd raspy weirdly conventional old voice, a white middle-aged woman of course.

Again, I find myself nodding and going along with the situation like I always do.

I have been feeling like this recently. This being, surrounded by a slim haze, obscured ever so slightly from reality where my façade is slowly wearing thin. I try my best to perpetuate this sham normalcy and to immerse myself into this stupor. I cannot feel my toes, that seems to be happening quite often, I thought to myself oddly. I suppose, what’s the worst that can happen? I give myself a self-deprecating smile.

I only remember sitting in the chair. My fingers were trembling, but I held them tightly together. I nod and smile and agree at all the right places, she was giving me sympathy and telling me things I already knew. I know of all these things, and some are temporary and some are permanent, but why should that mean that I am not fine? I continue this hoax and feel that my life right here can be made into a shot in a movie. I laugh inside my head, while my features rearrange themselves into whatever it is that fits the par of the course.

But I know what’s wrong and I am not working to change it in any way at all because I am tired.

And the most exasperating thing was that she kept glancing at the clock which drew my eyes to it too. Well, my eyes fixated on the tiny black lines that marked seconds and suddenly I’m out the door, I shut the door to her office. I shut the door to the building. I shut the door to my car and it clicks that she thought I was this perfect slight young lady, her exact words, well not the perfect bit. That remains to be proven or said, I suppose.

Perfect in the way that we think we all are, in our opinionated thoughts and indisputable irrational fears.

The rain drizzles away outside, creating tiny pitter patters on my window. I cannot hold this in, I can see flashes and hot light but before I know it, I am yet again closing the door to my garage and my bedroom. I have landed on the bed, my insides have glued themselves unto me and ravelled themselves.

I realise how life is a series of closing doors for me, I seem to be doing that quite often these days, in addition to a lot of these other pretences that I seem intent on keeping up. No one has looked past them, so I must be doing something right. That’s a lie, it is clearly unveiling ever so slightly and I cannot be trusted as a narrator in this event where I am not a mere bystander and objectivity eludes me. I cannot be trusted with restraint, my actual self-destructive tendencies quite frequently cause chaos, in case you have not noticed?

But again, why would you when you see only what you want to see?

This entire perceived persona that you see is a soft lie and it is tearing away at the seams. Before you know it, it will all crumble but again that me thinking that I am perfect, that it will all hold up into the far future and the truth will be as it is, hard to address and best tabled on a shelf for unavoidable interactions.

The sheets are soft and my nose is raw, I can feel tiny particles get absorbed into my epithelium and I smell piss.

Dank urinated surfaces latch onto my sense of smell.

My toes tingle and this is where I need to be.

Where it is both loud and quiet in my ears, where my thoughts are both all encompassing and miniscule in this very instant. And I keep going back in a loop, my mind keeps getting muddled but alas, my memories remain the regrettable very same and this is the very thing that I would like to change. My thoughts, if only they could, just blend into the soft sunshine daze and disappear completely, then that would be ideal.

Then, perhaps I would be perfect, in a truthful sense, closing yet another door.