FicWad

Zaydee
I should have

Walked in with my head
Held high,And a smirk on my lips.
But that would have been a lie and I try not to do that so much.
Maybe, it's a habit I should start; not avoid.
Or maybe, I should just run.

I doubt its that easy, though,
To turn back around and retreat to home turf.
To my old life.
Uneven living.
Someone escorts me down the insanely white hallways.

They're eyes keep glancing at me every few seconds.
Like I might try
it again.
Maybe I should have tried
Harder last time.

We pass so many doors and windows.
Each one looks like the last.
Each one raises another question in me.
Mysteries.
And part of me fears what I might find behind them.

I place one
Foot in front of the other.
I count tiles.
Anything to keep my mind off the circumstances
I have landed myself in.

She stops us (me and my escort)

Same white coat. Her skirt betrays her status though.
Its shorter than most professional doctors would wear.
To work anyway. I don't like her voice, its too high.
Makes my ears ring.
Stop talking.

I am Doctor Elswick. Welcome to Ridgewood Oak.
Tom here will give you the tour
(as if I didn't already know that)
I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay.
Ha.

Ridgewood Oak.

Like this is some five star hotel instead of a place
Where they lock you up.
Where they lock all the crazies up.
Where they all stare at you from behind the little windows in their doors as you pass by.
Waiting.

Its funny.
They're clothes are all identical.
White.
Pressed.
Squeaky clean.
Their faces are all the same.

Expressionless. Bored.
Tired of putting up with people like me.
My escort pulls me down another hall.
I'm getting tired of seeing so many white coats.
Maybe it's not that funny.

At least it doesn't have that horrid hospital smell.
That's one thing I could live without.
Nope, everything is spotless.
The chairs. The windows.
The toilets, no surprise.

But with the clean comes the reminder of the burning stench

Of antiseptic.
The kind they used to clean my wounds
Along my wrists and legs.
I wonder what my mom thought
when she heard that I tried to do myself in-and failed.



*


Patrick.

I can't remember

The feeling of feeling completely sane.
Like I'm here but I'm not.
Like they care but they don't.
Like I'm alive. But.
I'm not.

I feel as though I belong anywhere but here
And yet I can't picture myself out there anymore.
Just past my window I can see trees for miles and miles.
Its like they have me surrounded with silence and silence
Is the very last thing I can stand in this situation.

I would sing, but with action comes the

Familiar sensation of being on a stage.
And the very last thing I want right now,
Is too feel that feeling.
It comes with pressure.

They're out there. All of them.
Waiting for me, haunting me.
They can't get me in here, I'm safe.
(right?)
I would make a run for it; try to find a break in the system.


I think I'm smart enough.
But I'm far too tired.
So instead I will sit here, and wait for my next dose of medication.
Tripping on Prozac. Zoloft. Celexa.
Whatever they decide will 'fix' me this time.

Pain

Was never the
Worst thing.
Pain was just
An
Outlet.

At least then

You know you're more than just a shadow on a wall.
More than just meaningless mass walking around in
Vast of even more faceless people.
Thrust chaotically into their world.
Where they expect too much from you.

My automatic instinct is to hold my breath.
For how long, who knows?
Until I don't have to look at this tiny
Suffocating
Room.

Instead I force my fingers to trace the edge of the window sill one last time.
Why do we have window?
They don't even open. Not enough for a crack of air.
Is it false hope? Or 'nice scenery'?
Feels like false hope.


No televisions. No video games.
No laptops or cell phones.
Not even a desk.
Therese a vinyl chair in the corner,
And two beds.

Two beds.
Does that mean I'll get a roommate soon?
Some crazy schizo who rambles in the middle of the night
About how the world will soon come to an end?
I'll pass.

Well, hey. Maybe he'll think
He's one who's outta luck,
Having to share a room with a
Totally whacked out
Freak.

I wonder
How long it will
Take him to realize
That I'm right as fucking sin.
It's the rest of the world who's backwards.

I'm not even sure how I qualify
For Ridgewood Oak.
Does wanting to die
Equal loosing your
Mind?

It doesn't seem

So incredible insane to me.
Wanting to die.
Everyone's needs are different.
Everyone has flaws,
Makes mistakes. Especially me, evidently.

Maybe I do qualify.
What's so wrong with finally taking a stand
And going against normalcy.
Finally setting up a plan
And getting what you want?

Not that I mean to hurt anyone.
Honest to blog.
I only wanted some space.
Or maybe a lot of it.
Like I said, everyone has flaw.

Look at me.
I wound up here, after all.
In here with sixty five other defective humans.
What's crazy is that I made the
A list.

I opened the drawers and
Start showing in clothes.
Who gives a fuck if they're not folded?
Who cares if they cost more than they should?
Not me.


A/N: Mmkay, so there is your Patrick. Tell me, what do you think he did? How? And more, importantly what did you think of the chapter? Was it boring to read? Fun? I don't mind if you tell me it sucks as long as you tell me why and how to fix it.
(Yes, I know...I keep using the name 'Zaydee'...That's cause its mine! x]
XO'Keefe