HYYH 1 Notes (ENG)

The Topmost Floor in the City (PT 1)

But the world is full of people
more idiotic than me. They held
and shook the door endlessly. They were suppressed by the staff, given injections, and tied to their beds. If
they had behaved just a bit more acceptably, their lives could've been much more comfortable. Those idiots didn't know any better.

I wasn't like this in the beginning. I was also dropped senseless by the sedatives forcefully injected by the nurses and got caught trying to escape the hospital in early days. I called Mom, crying violently enough to go hoarse several times. "I'm not sick. I'm OK now. Please come and take me home." I stayed up all night for several days, but Mom didn't come.

When I was taken to the hospital after they found me unconscious at the Grass Flower Arboretum, my parents didn't ask any questions. They ignored the fact that I had blacked out there. It was the same when I developed seizures. They hospitalized me, discharged me after some time, and transferred me to another school. Family reputation was important to them. A son with mental illness was unacceptable.

I didn't become a good kid overnight. There was no dramatic event or memorable incident. I just continued
to give up on myself bit by bit, just as
a fingernail grows. I stopped crying
and longing to go outside at some
point. I stopped dashing towards the door down the hallway.

I attended school in between hospital stays, but I knew I'd be sent back eventually. It felt refreshing to look
up into the sky and enjoy the fragrance of each season. But I tried not to hold them in my memory. They'd soon be kept from me anyways. Friends, too.
A history of mental illness was not helpful in making friends.

There was one exception. I met a group who felt like true friends. It was almost two years ago. I tried not to remember them, but I couldn't help recalling those days. I had to part with them after I had a seizure at the bus stop after school. The last scene I remembered was the window of the Grass Flower Arboretum shuttle bus opening. That's when I blacked out.

When I opened my eyes, I was at a hospital. Mom was over in the corner talking on her phone. My mind whirled for a while. I didn't know where I was or how I got there. I gazed around and discovered windows with metal bars. Then, it all came back to me. The blue sky I saw on my way home, the silly games we played at the bus stop, the arboretum shuttle bus coming closer, and the glares through the bus windows.

I shut my eyes. But it was too late. The front gate of the arboretum appeared before my eyes. It was school picnic
day in first grade. I was running through heavy rain with my backpack over my head. A warehouse came into sight. The door was left open. The sticky, musty smell, the sound of my heavy breathing, and the screechy, metallic sound.

I sat up in my bed and screamed. "No!
I don't remember! I forgot!" Mom came running, calling out to someone. I shook my head violently. I swung my arms in every direction to get rid of that smell, touch, sound, and sight.
But the memories came flooding in.
The dam that had held them back the past ten years collapsed and every detail of that day surged through my mind, eyes, cells, and nails as if it was happening again. I had a seizure and was given an injection. The drug flowed through my blood vessels, and I quickly dozed off. I closed my eyes and wished that this was all a dream and that, when I awoke again, I wouldn't be able to recall anything.

That wish was just a wish. Instead,
a cycle of seizures, injections, and injection-induced sleep that felt like falling off a cliff continued. After I awoke from that sleep, my whole
body felt like it was covered with
mud. Mud that looked like blood.
No matter how hard I tried to wash
it off, that warehouse smell lingered.
I scrubbed until I bled, but it still felt dirty.

When the doctor asked me about it
in a concerned tone, I trembled and apologized at first. I repeatedly said
that I was sorry. It was all my fault. Please let me forget all about it. Then,
I tried to pretend nothing had happened. I didn't know what he
was talking about. I didn't remember anything. So I gazed at the doctor and smiled. "I don't remember anything." Did the doctor actually believe me? I wasn't sure. But what was important was that I became a good kid. My life
at the hospital was peaceful. It was
an ideal place to idle my time away. I didn't long for anything and didn't feel constrained, scared, or lonely. That was, until last night. Before I met HoSeok again.