Emily #freementalillness #literasia

t w e n t y e i g h t

Emily tried very hard to listen to the doctors. But it wasn't enough. She was so far in, and she would never change if she didn't truly want to. So she was at a standstill.

She was tired of it too. So she swiped a staple remover from the front desk when nobody was looking and slashed at her arms during her allotted bathroom time. They only found her because the blood flowed out of the shower and through the door.

Her body fell into disrepair. She'd dropped too many pounds since the school year had started, off an already unstable body weight. She was always cold, a snow angel with fingertips and lips frosted over with an icy blue.

The blood loss from her second attempt proved to be easy to replace, with bags of AB pumping into her system along with countless IV drips. It was keeping the blood there that was hard. Her wrists wouldn't seal and scar. Her skin was too thin and she was too weak to heal.

The nurses had to wrap mounds of white bandage around her arms on a daily basis, unwinding the blood stained gauze to reveal beads of blood forming on each line that crossed her forearms.

It was sickening.

Emily hated to watch and gazed out at the blank ceiling or the colorless curtains and plain walls as they handled her arms with a gentle touch, as if her bones would snap like her mother did, as if her skin would tear apart like her father did. She looked at the machines that kept her alive;she couldn't make up her mind about whether she liked it or not.

A psychiatrist used to come in and talk to her, but lately, it was too difficult to keep awake. She kept passing out.

One day, her wrists were being rewrapped, and a nurse remarked, "I think they're healing, dear," as Emily was watching the green line zip up and down, low mountains and valleys, on a display. Flatter and flatter they fell.

Then the beeping started. So she closed her eyes.

She felt a darkness and let it blanket her. She was Emily Kim.

That was supposed to be her end.

But she opened her eyes.

They'd put her on a machine to breathe for her. More needles came out of her arms.

She felt a deep pain in her chest. First dull, then spikes. Her breathing struggled to stay on pace. Her heart didn't feel like it was working. It was beating, but then it wouldn't, and when it came back, it hurt even more.

More beeping. Her heart stuttered. People dressed in scrubs rushed into the room.

Her head spun like a merry go round, and she was confronted with several memories:

Uncontrollable happiness. Running as fast as her legs could go. Deep breaths of fresh air. Perfect book endings. Recipes followed right. Sunlight on her back and in her hair. Loud music she doesn't know the words to. Walter. Ava. Unstoppable laughter. Spinning in the rain. Finishing an exam. Laying under the stars. Jumping into a pool. Sleeping in. Tears of relief. Ice cream. Snow. String lights. Coloring books. Smiles she's smiled (every one).

Inhale. Exhale.

Goodbye, Emily Kim.