Tinder - D.JH.

thirty-six

{sorry! it has been a HECTIC 96 hours. my mom on her vacation, my step-mom broke her foot, i went to comic-con and in like 6 days my boyfriend is moving across the country (im in ohio, he'll be in california)!!! great!!!}

     I spent one more day in that hospital. Without the knowing presence of someone who believes in me right across the hall, I had slowly started to crumble. I haven't slept or eaten since I woke up. The only thing I've provided to my body is anti-psychotic pills and a drink of water each time I've taken them.

     I don't know why, but I've felt weird ever since I woke up. It's the feeling of mentally being heavy but physically feelings lightweight. So much different than how I felt in my so-called 'dream' with Dan...

     Regardless, that last day I do everything the doctors tell me and then some. Time seems to fly by yet drag on at the same time. As if the minutes go painstakingly slow yet the hours and quick as lightning.

     That day, I didn't expect anything to happen. It was a normal day. At least for a person in a mental institute.

     I woke up, took my anti-psychotics, traded in my bleak pyjamas to bleak daywear (a sweater and joggers, for those wondering) and brushed my hair and teeth.

     I walked to the cafeteria, retrieving a cup of decaffinated coffee (the anxious patients tend to not do well with caffeine) and an apple as if everything was normal.

     But it wasn't.

     I return to my room, sitting down in the corner of the painfully bare room before flipping through a book. I sat and read, routinely forgetting about my breakfast until it was lunchtime.

     As usual, I throw the apple away and pour my coffee down the drain of my bathroom sink. Then, I sit in the lunchroom alone in a corner, picking at my food.

     As soon as I get the chance, I leave again. I stay in my room until one of Dr. Sanchez's nurses knocks on my door, asking if I'm available to have a chat with him.

     Begrudgingly, I go to the doctor's office as I do every evening. When there, he asks me how I'm feeling and whatnot. Then, after an hour passes, he excuses me to go eat dinner.

     I refuse, asking if I can go to bed early instead.

     Sanchez is understanding and allows me due to my medication probably causing severe fatigue. I bow my head slightly as a goodbye and thank you before leaving the room.

     I collapse into my bed face down, shoving my lower half under the paper-thin covers, yanking them above my head.

     Soon, I drift into sleep.