Fiction: part 2

She thought about it for a while. Weighing the pros and cons heavily. It felt like hours as she sat there wondering how she would explain checking herself in to an insitution to friends and family, who have no idea what she's been facing for months. She wondered how her mother would react. A simple woman with mild interest in her daughter's affairs and irresponsible with her own. She would probably encourage the break from society in hopes she would not have to deal with her daughter's detachment from reality herself. She would idly suggest a vacation or a nap. Laughing to herself, Cyrille dismissed the thoughts and decided to make the phone call. Looking at her phone thoughtfully she began to dial the numbers that would hopefully lead her to freedom and tranquility.
"New York State Psychiatric Institute. Beatrice speaking, how may I help you?" Her voice was warm and inviting. Cyrille almost hung up immediately but there was something in Beatrice's voice that made her stay on the line. She wondered if Beatrice was hired for that particular reason.
"Hi. I'm- uh..." She struggled to find words. This was the first time she spoke aloud to anyone about her ailments, "I have a problem. I would like to check myself in and was wondering what the procedure was?"
"Now, there is no reason to be nervous. I will gladly assist you. How are you feeling right now Miss-"
"Temple. Cyrille Temple."
"Yes, Miss Temple. How are you?"
"I feel absolutely insane." She blurted.
"Well, sweetie, where are you?"
"Home."
"I can send a vehicle to pick you up."
"Please." Cyrille was near tears. After exchanging information Cyrille hung up and began packing her belongings. Shortly after putting some jeans in a duffel bag she stopped. Everything seemed so futile. She would be wearing the same thing anyway and the though of changing outfits everyday made her nauseous. Clothing was a reflection of self and she had no idea who she was. A pair of jeans became a threat. A t-shirt was a mocking gathering of fabric and jewelry was diminutive, useless clutter. So she decided to sit and wait in the dark instead. Listening to the wind blow through buildings outside, wishing she felt as free as the air penetrating the city.



to be continued....

I'm out.

CRASH!

Literally.

Last weekend had to be the most surreal experience of my 22 years on this sweet sweet earth. On my way to meet up with friends I was hit by a taxi and rushed to the emergency room. I have no recollection of the event and have no desire to remember my body coming into contact with a three ton vehicle. For some reason people thing that's odd. I think they're odd.

As a result of this near tragic event my family has become even more terrified of my independence and (ir)responsibility. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgment. I don't blame them for being anxious, but it's hard enough going through this traumatic experience without your family judging you. Eh, I'll live. I mean... I'm living. oh geez. That's another thing. I'm uncomfortably calm about what happened to me. I didn't see any flashing lights or experience euphoria. There were no strokes of genius or life-changing ideas that sprung into my head while I was in the hospital. I just had the overwhelming desire to be outside in the clean cool air and away from the sick, decrepit stench of that hospital room. I am so lucky to be alive, there is no denying that, but I don't value life any more than I did before the accident. I have been in love with life for a while now, and continue to love life.

I felt I should write about the accident, but I'm kind of embarrassed by my lack of life-changing exuberance.

I'm alive.

I am ecstatic to be alive.

I love my life and everyone in it. I really do!




I'm out.