six feet over ground aquilo
(attached picture: Sebastian)
Sebastian
"Next," Simon called. It was finally my turn to take medication. At the beginning and the end of each day, every patient of the mental hospital stood in a line awaiting their meds for the day. I walked up and downed the pills with the small paper cup of water that tasted of iron.
"You're beginning to become a pro at that, Sebastian," Simon chuckled, "next."
I offered him a small smile and swallowed again before walking away and sitting beside the window that looked out at the city. The stars were out tonight. Stars absolutely fascinate me. Everything about them is a mystery.
"Would you like to come and play chess?" Micah asked me. Micah was a scrawny man. His skin was as white as snow and he had a shiny bald scalp. Although a great deal older than me, he seemed to be much more child-like and young. So curious about everything and always playing games. It makes sense though, being in this mental hospital, there was nothing else to do other than paint and play board games. On occasion, the hospital staff would bring out some instruments to play, but I always just sat and watched everyone. Don't get me wrong, listening to a bunch of mental patients bang tambourines and shake maracas is a hoot, it just doesn't compare to the sound of a good Bon Jovi CD.
"Thank you for the offer, Micah. But I'm watching the stars before bedtime." He smiled, seemingly disappointed, and walked away. I sighed. I usually hung out with him. He was the only real friend I had here.
Most of my time here was spent writing, thinking, and watching. Watching the ways of the other patients. I liked to play the people game. Look at a person, and imagine what their life is. Do they have kids at home? What is their favourite song? There wasn't much else to do.
When I couldn't find an escape to the pain or loneliness I feel, I write exactly how I feel, physically and mentally. It gives me an idea of my headspace. I started that back when I started therapy, my therapist told me to write my emotions because it is the only way I can understand them. It makes me feel better being able to turn my pain into a string of beautiful words. Honestly, looking back at what I had written a few years ago terrifies me to the point that I can't even look at those entries anymore. I've noticeably gotten better. I just wish my parents could see that.
I very much don't understand my parents. Mostly my father, as this was mainly his idea. I know they always told me that they put me in this place so I could get better, and it did help for a little while. It gave me space from home and the problems that haunted me there. Before I left home I was really suicidal and my depression was really bad, which I think scared them to death. I got medication and went to therapy and then I got better, but then they put me in the mental hospital because 'I'm still bad.' I still meet with my therapist a couple of days a week, and I feel fine. Most days are darker than others, or some days are more nerve-racking, but I have good days too, where the sun seems to shine brighter and makes my heart feel warm.
I'm almost eighteen and I haven't even been out of the borders of the city. I want to travel the world and see the oceans. I wanted to eat the food I wanted and make my own friends. But, I'm a teenage boy stuck in a mental institution with 30 something's or older who have no interest in me, eating gross hot meals every day. None of which compare to my mother's. Sometimes they weren't even hot.
The only person who has shown interest is Micah. He's really the only person I have that is close to a friend. The nurses show interest too, but only because I'm the patient, and it's in their job description to show interest in me.
All of these thoughts run around in my mind as I stared at the stars, as they usually do.
God, how I wish I could see the stars in person. I've only seen them from behind a window. Granted, I have probably seen them when I was younger, but I was just a child, too young and clueless to even appreciate their immaculate beauty. I would feel closer if I were actually outside. I'm still trying to find a way to make that happen.
A shutter fell down in front of my eyes. When I looked up, the nurse was smiling at me.
"Hey, Sebastian. It's time for bed." She smiled warmly at me. I nodded and followed her to my room. My bed was neatly made, not the way I left it this morning. One advantage of being in this place, my room is always organized.
Eddie, my roommate, was already sleeping when I entered. Like usual, he was as quiet and peaceful as a mouse. I was so thankful that my roommate didn't snore. I've heard horror stories from other patients of roommates talking in their sleep, screaming or snoring. Truly, I was blessed.
I couldn't even begin to imagine how haunting it would be to wake up to blood-curdling screams from the person lying beside you. It's almost chilling.
"We'll see you in the morning. Bacon is on the menu." She smiled again and my door clicked shut.
I removed my pants and climbed into the stale, blue covers. I've been here for a year and I haven't gotten a full night's sleep ever since. The pillow was so uncomfortable and the feeling that right at that moment I could be out driving, listening to the music I wanted to made me want to bust through the window.
Soon though, I accepted the fact I wasn't allowed to leave. I got a grip on reality. And now I just lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if there is anyone else in this hospital who wants to get out as much as I do.
And I didn't think that was possible.
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a/n: thank you so much for clicking on this story ❤️