O brave new world

Untitled Part 16

The falling water blocked out any noises. I had turned it on the moment I entered the bathroom: supposedly to let the water run until it reached a less-freezing temperature, but actually I didn't want my Mom getting suspicious. I'd bet my life that she was standing on the other side of the door, listening closely, making sure I was okay.

It was a miracle I'd even managed to be alone in here. The last couple months, after I'd had another "incident", Mom wouldn't let me go anywhere alone. She'd sit in the bathroom with me when I took a shower and made me keep the door open when I had other business to attend to. She'd been completely paranoid. But she hadn't let me outside.

I didn't get it. Mom hated my "incidents"; she'd cry for weeks afterwards and tell herself what a horrible mother she was to have her daughter resort to such methods. She tried to talk to me about it – not that my voice was much use at the moment, and I really did not feel like talking to her about why I was doing it: Wasn't it obvious? I was protesting. Why was she allowed to go outside when I wasn't? How could the place where most humans lived be so horrible that I was forced to stay inside to stay innocent? It wasn't fair. Didn't I get a say in any of this? What if I didn't particularly feel like staying innocent? Wasn't self-harm about as far away from innocent as you could be? And still she kept me inside.

This wasn't the first time my Mom had left me alone after said "incident" three months ago – she had to shower too, you know – but it was probably only about the fifth. Didn't matter. I'd become an expert at sneaking around since I drank that first glass of vinegar and lemon juice five years ago.

In the beginning I'd been horribly frightened by the pain the stuff caused in my throat and the loss of my ability to speak. I promised my Mom that I didn't have any plans to ever drink something so horrible again. A year passed without another "incident". But Mom didn't change: why should I stop wanting to go outside?

After three months under close observation in which I hadn't shown any signs of a relapse Mom though it was safe to let me shower alone again. I hadn't even asked to go outside once, which gave me Brownie points in her book. Not that I hadn't wanted to go outside – but without a voice it is rather tricky to tell someone that, and I had enough time to think before I spoke when I wrote. Mom didn't suspect a thing.

I snorted, twirling the blood red fluid around in the glass. Mom didn't know anything. She though there was no chance of another incident since she had locked and hid every potentially harmful substance in the entire house. Well, hate to break it to you, Mom, but you did that two years ago. And how many "incidents" have I had since? Seven? Eight? I didn't remember.

In the beginning Mom hadn't only locked up every chemical, cleaning supply and most of our food, but she'd hid all the knives, glass and porcelain we had as well. She thought I'd cut myself. It's not quite as ridiculous as it sounds, I'd thought about it, but I was always so afraid of dying when I saw blood. I didn't want to die yet. I had promised myself that I would never ever die before I was outside, and because Mom wouldn't let me out, I didn't think I'm ever going to die. Except maybe if I cut myself. Blood was creepy.

I stared back at the fluid in the glass. Blood red. Yeah, it was blood red, but it wasn't blood. I wouldn't die. When you drink something all it does is hurt a hell lot and then before it's all down you're throwing it up again. Sure, your throat is rather useless for a few days afterwards – or longer, if you use stronger stuff and do it repeatedly, as I had discovered – and you might be sick for a few days, but you were never in danger of dying. Mom didn't know that.

I swished the fluid around, staring into it like it held all the answers of the world. Mom wouldn't let me go outside. She said it was dangerous, I should stay innocent and there wasn't anything out there I couldn't do just as well inside the house. At least nothing important. Health was important. Therefore, if I were really sick, my Mom would take me to the hospital, outside, because she loved me and didn't want me to die. Apparently she either didn't love me enough or was too scared to do the same for any less dangerous condition. So I just had to make myself sicker, drink stronger stuff, and she would take me outside. Because my Mom loved me just like all mothers love their children.

With a last twirl I opened my mouth wide and poured the glass's contents down my throat. It burned. Oh, how it burned. I fell over backwards under the spray in agony. Oh god, it burned. It hurt. I couldn't breath.

I turned my face away from the insistent pounding of the water in time to retch up a miserable amount of something. It was red. Blood read. Was I bleeding? Was it the fluid? Help, I'm going to die! It hurt! It hurt so much I couldn't think. All my innards were on fire. I couldn't breath, I was going to die.

The water pounding down on me never stopped, never cooled, just go hotter and hotter. It was burning me. It would melt my brains if I didn't suffocate first. Help! I was dying. I wasn't supposed to be dying! There was still so much to do! But it hurt. It was burning. I was burning. The water was burning. It hurt. I was dead. I was dying. I had died and gone to hell because I wasn't a good daughter and made my mother worry about me so much. She was getting grey hairs and she wasn't even thirty yet. I was dying. Help!

The water never stopped, the burning never stopped, dying never stopped. No one came to help me. My eyes were falling closed. That's when you die. When your eyes close you have no chance of ever waking up again. You will die. I will die. I'm not allowed to close my eyes. It hurts. It burns. Help! It hurts. It hurts. I am not allowed to close my eyes. I am not allowed to close my eyes. I will not die. I will live and go outside because my mother who loves me will save me. It hurts. I'm dying. I am not allowed to close my eyes. I will not go to sleep and never wake up again. It hurts. It burns. My skin is falling off. The water is boiling me, making Sang soup. It burns. I can't breath. I will not close my eyes. I will not fall asleep. It burns. I' m dead. I'm dying. I will not go to sleep. It hurts. I will NOT GO TO SLEEP! It HURTS! I am going to die. I AM NOT ALLOWED TO GO TO SLEEP.

It hurts.

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