Garden of Freedom
She steps carefully into the porcelain bathtub. She twists a rusty tap and watches scorching, painfully-comforting water spew into the tub and rise around her. The sound of her beating heart is woven into the soft, constant resonance of the running water that she is now growing familiar to. She only wants one thing--to relax. She closes her eyes and enters a soft world of darkness, the running water’s sound comforting her. The words of her therapist run through her mind:
Close your eyes. Let your soul drift away. Let your troubled mind sink into nothingness. It’s just you. No one else. No work, no parents, no one. Find peace in your mind. Surround yourself with the weightless feeling of serenity. You’re standing on the balcony of a beautiful castle. The sun is setting and the sky is a beautiful collection of colors. Find yourself on this balcony...begin to feel safe and supported.
She’s standing on the balcony, watching as the bright sky melts away into twilight. Her feet are still heavy upon the ground, but her mind begins to dissolve.
Turn around...slowly. You’ll see a whimsical, stone staircase, beckoning you to follow it’s gorgeous steps blindly. Forget about the world and its heavy afflictions. There is nothing to worry about. You are safe inside yourself, inside your mind.
Her eyes and body move slowly toward the staircase. She gracefully steps to the beginning of the stairs and looks down with longing to see a world smaller than her and her sinister fears--a world that she has wrapped around her finger.
I’m going to count to ten. Each number is a step, and you’re traveling slowly down the stairs into the beautiful world below you.
One. She steps and feels her body begin to float.
Two. She drifts down the steps and begins to cry, a river of unwanted emotions emerging from her crystal eyes.
Three. She picks up a shiny object, her only companion, and pushes it delicately into her skin.
Four. She drags it across her skin, again and again.
Five. A river of red slithers down her legs and piles at her feet.
Six. Again and again, she carves into her flesh.
Seven. Deeper...deeper.
Eight. She’s almost at the bottom and she begins to feel giddy.
Nine. Beautifully wretched fluid continues to leave her body.
Ten. She’s at the last step, flowing in and out of reality and her great daydream.
You’ve reached the bottom. The end. The end of all the pain. You’re here, you’ve made it. Look at the garden in front of you, the way it beautifully cradles life. Let it cradle you. Step into the garden. What does this represent to you?
She begins to become more aware of reality, but still her therapist’s words flow in the back of her mind, like the blood flowing endlessly from her body, filling the tub. She’s sinking into actuality and demise, but still in touch with her surreal fantasy.
How do you feel?
In her final breath, she manages to whisper in content:
“Free. I feel...free.”
-d.m.
