“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”
- Henry Wadsworth
"I often question my sanity. My state of mind. My mental health.
It was the summer of 2012. Springtime. Something good was bound to come soon. Only, it didn't. I am not the sad girl. I am not gonna let something kill me. This is who I am.
My vision on life changed when I 'died'. It was a cold October afternoon. Springtime. There's a deeper meaning to everything. It was not until I was buried that I finally understood this. Yet, I didn't understand.
I was walking down the hallway. Step by step. Second by second. I watched the door ahead of me, hoping I'd soon be there. It was then I felt a struck of something. I fell to the ground, 'dead'. I was in a death-like coma. The doctors thought I was dead. Only, I wasn't.
People came to visit me at the hospital. I could hear their prayers. Their comforting words. The horrible truths. What they actually thought about me. I could feel their skin prickling mine. I could remember every single word they said. Some ugly, some good, some just plain stupid. The thing that hurt the most? I couldn't do anything. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't kiss them goodbye. I could do nothing.
The day of my funeral came. The bells were ringing in my ears. The mahogany coffin wasn't comfortable. I was put in the grave. I could hear the gravel being poured down on my coffin. This was now my resting place. My premature burial. I was terrified. Would I ever get up alive? Philosophically, I thought it was karma striking me. Killing me. Eating me from the inside out. Did I deserve this? Am I that bad of a person? Am I really that bad? It was all just a matter of time before I came back to my senses. But it was too late.
When I woke up again, I was in the coffin. A cold, disgusting coffin. I screamed, but to no avail. I was trapped 9 feet under the ground. I tried banging on the lid. Nothing. It was impossible to hear. Except, the gravel was still freshly poured on the coffin. There were small passages where sound could pass through, but it was impossible for anyone to hear me. Or so I thought. Some neighbors had complained about some bonking sounds they'd heard in the night. The following morning, I heard the exact same neighbors talking on their patio. I banged on the lid again. And again. And again. And finally, someone came. I was saved. For now."
Psychiatrist Johnson stood up. "How come you know about the passages?"
"I was desperate. I was buried alive. That's what you think about it?"
Johnson nodded. "Just as I thought." he said.
"You're not ready to get out at all." he stated.
"Fuck no, I'm not," I yelled. "You're the first damn person I've talked to for months! I can get better, though."
Johnson looked skeptical. "I doubt it, your state of mind is... highly questionable."
I snicked. "Watch me!" I said. "Watch me get better."