Noct

Looking at life through shit tinted shades. Clarke suffers from pretty much everything his doctor tells him to. But then he meets Lilith Humus. Who makes him dip his foot into the deep end.

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4. If hating yourself is normal, then loving yourself is distrubing

I am build of bone, meat on bone. A fair bit of meat on big bones. I have two eyes, like most people. I have one brain like 10% of the population. I have tried to kill myself like more people than you would care to admit you know. 

 

This is how we live.

This is how we cope.

This is how we pretend.

 

Wake up in hospital and you have woken up in them all. Apparently i tried to kill myself. Death by 'skittles' how delightfully morose. I look around. I am in one of those slit back paper like hospital gowns you see on ER, House of Grey's Anatomy. Except i am not the charming misguided person they are going to save. I have no interesting story. If this was a TV show i wouldn't be one of those patients you see who makes another appearance in the episode. I have no enlightening things to say. I have no religion to make the doctors doubt their science. I am just one big personality defect. 

 

You learn to scream when you are born. It is the simplest way to articulate how you feel. Whether it be extreme pain, or mild discomfort. 

 

I never learned how to stop screaming.

 

I was that kid in class.

You take his pencil he will scream.

Pull his own hair out.

Kick the floor.

Say vile things.

Now i am that adult.

Who takes an overdose.

Without meaning to.

And resents that he still has breath in his lungs.

 

If i die i won't have my body donated to science. I Muslim would rather a pigs heart over mind. A christian would rather Judas's heart. A Jew, Hitler's heart.

 

I am sitting here looking at the ceiling. It is a rather nice ceiling. All ceilings are. You don't put posters on a ceiling. No one rehashes those shitty motivational posters on a ceiling. The only things you see on a ceiling are blood and semen. And at the end of the day. Those are the two most pivotal things to our existence.

 

I remember Lilith's face. 

 

She showed no emotion in her face. But her eyes. Her eyes told me something. Other people who have looked over my body, my body slowly losing it's life. I see fear. I see sadness. I see regret. I see morbid arousal. She is a beautiful person. But her eyes. They couldn't stop looking into mine. She said i was gonna be ok.

 

And.

 

Well.

I actually believed her.

 

This is a realization. 

This is a falling for you moment.

This is a scene in a crappy romcom where the music plays and i smile like a doofus. 

 

Did i leave the cooker on?

Did i let the stripper out my apartment?

Did Han shoot first?

 

These questions drive me crazy as i look at the ceiling. My throat feels like the ending of a porn film and my head feels like George Michael's slowly decaying career and mental state.

 

My therapist will be interested to hear this i imagine.

 

Someone comes in. A doctor i imagine.

 

'Clarke?'

 

I turn and say 'yeah?'

 

'How are you feeling?'

 

'How do you think?'

 

'Well you see that is the thing young man.' He is older than me. A long drawn out face. A broken smile. Dead eyes. he has seen more death than i have tv dinners and mediocre blow jobs. He sits on my bed. I tense at his presence. I do not like people much. 'A suicide attempt in front of people young man. That is worrying. Have you tried anything like this before? Or is this something that just happened?'

 

I almost detail my previous attempts. When i was thirteen drinking a bottle of Vodka and running through the street until i was run over. Broken leg and perpetual limp from that. Sixteen i tried to hang myself and the ceiling of my bedroom crashed in on me. Parents died a little inside everyday since that day. There was no way to explain that one. No way to fob that off as circumstance. I was trying to die. And it hurt them a lot. I am glad it did. Because if i can't feel regret or anger at my wanting to die, then they fucking should. Someone needs to feel what i am not. I guess. 

 

'Several times before.' I say. 'But this wasn't me trying to die, they were fake pills.'

 

'Tell that to the stomach pump'

 

Sometimes i want to just look at someone and eat myself in front of them because nothing i can say can properly put across how sick they make me. 

 

'Well i thought they were placebos, they didn't taste like pills.'

 

'Well, it is strange anyway. To down them all in a public place. You were looking for some kind of attention i imagine.' He doesn't sound like a cunt when he says it but that does not change the massive fucking vagina he is talking out of. 'I am going to send you for psyche tests.'

 

I thank him.

I don't know why.

I just do. I do it because it seems like the right thing to do. 

I guess.

 

I lie back and melt away. I think he gave me something to sleep.

 

Or maybe i am dying right now, one can only hope.

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