Happy Birthday Pittie!
I need to get you caught up. First, let’s begin by where we are, and then I will tell you how we got here. Right now, I am huddled in the bushes outside of a library charging this laptop in an outdoor outlet. Yes, I am living on the streets right now. I’m hiding from my parents. Three more weeks, and I will be eighteen. I won’t have to hide anymore. I guess I’m running away. Although, some of the things I am running from are everywhere. (I’ll explain that soon.) So the running isn’t completely working for me. That’s where you come in.
Things changed a few months ago. Changed isn't a good way to put it. Life became a living hell. At least I am living. I'm not sure anymore if that is a good thing or not. I had so much crap in my head, and I couldn't talk to anyone. Seemed like everyone thought I was crazy, and I may be. I'm not sure anymore. So I started a diary. I did this a few times as a kid. I never stuck with it. I would write for a week or a month, and it would then die beneath my mattress. This time, it is helping me stay sane. I’ve filled up several notebooks in the last couple of months. Carrying them around out here seems stupid. Finally, it donned on me I took my laptop. (You ever do something the hard way, and feel stupid when you realize a solution was right there?) There's free WiFi everywhere. Just put it online.
I want to give you a name. Dear diary...seems so stupid, childish, and overdone. Plus, right now you are the only person I have to talk to. (I know you’re not a person. Don’t go there! You know what I mean.) I thought about calling you Sean, but that hurts too much. (You will understand that when I get you caught up.) What do you name a place for your personal innermost thoughts? PIT! Personal Innermost Thoughts. Pittie! Happy birthday, Pittie. Welcome to our pity party! lol
So let's get back to catching you up. Wow, now I don't know where to begin. I guess the wreck.
Sean and I had just left Ashley Swanson's party. I was driving and didn't drink. (You ever notice how annoying drunk people are when you're sober? I know, I know, shouldn't be drinking underage anyway.) It didn't help us though. We stopped at a stop sign, and Sean dropped his phone. I was helping him dig it out of the floor of the car. Suddenly, I feel a jolt, heard crashes and breaking glass sounds, and then the pain. I raised my head looking out the window just in time to see the mailbox smash into the passenger side of the car. It sent us spinning around. I remember screaming. I was trying to break, and turn the wheel, but everything was moving on its own, and every part of my body hurt. I couldn't stop it.
Finally, with a crash again somewhere in the back, the car stopped. I could see the stop sign I was just sitting at. In the middle of the road was a truck. He rear-ended us. It was on its side. I could see smoke swirling in the headlight beams. No one was moving in the truck.
"Oh God, Sean, I think he's dead!" I mumbled as best I could, but he didn't answer.
I tried to look at Sean, but everything hurt so bad. Finally, I was facing him. The headlights from the truck spotlighted a vision I never wanted to see. He was covered in blood. One side of his face was unrecognizable. His eyes and mouth were open. He looked like a scene from a horror movie. I called his name, I tried to move......then blackness.
I woke up two months later in the hospital. Broken bones, collapsed lung, crushed skull, coma...wtf. My mother was giving me the run down of my injuries, but all I could think of was the headache. I tried to tell her, but I couldn't get my mouth to move.
"Oh, honey, your mouth is wired shut," she said with a big beaming smile.
I know she was happy to have me alive, but I wasn't sure I was happy to be alive.
I began trying to ask about Sean. Although, I already knew the answer. Mother finally dug a pen and paper from her purse. Quickly, I wrote "Sean?" She looked at my father with a pleading look.
"He didn't make it, Pumpkin," my father told me quietly.
I began to cry. I hoped that I was wrong. Sean had been my best friend for years. We lived a few houses apart. Our mothers were best friends. He had been there my whole life. I screamed through my permanently clenched teeth as the tears fell from my face. Suddenly, nurses appeared with a syringe in hand. Moments after their quick injection, I was out.
I woke to the harsh sun's rays flooding my hospital room. Looking around, I saw flowers, cards, and balloons all with sayings of encouragement. I could see an arrangement nearby with a card reading "Alice and Jeffery Morton", Sean's parents. I stared numbly at the flowers. Thinking but not thinking at the same time.
Then I noticed a man beside the window. He was wearing a robe and just standing there. (Are you lost? I thought.) My concentration was shattered by a voice as a man entered the room.
"Good morning, Sam," he said. "I'm Doctor Stevens," he said with a bright smile. (I was getting so tired of that smile. It was like the creepy funhouse smile, fake and weird.) I just stared at him. What did he expect me to do? Smile back. My mouth was wired shut and I'm stoned.
I looked over his shoulder at an older lady standing in the corner. She didn't say a word or come any closer. In fact, she had a confused look on her face. (I thought she was lost.) The doctor didn't even acknowledge she was there. I glanced back to the window, but the man was gone. (I didn't see him leave. When did he leave?)
Looking back at him, I'm wondering why he was just letting these people wander around in my room. I tried to listen to what he said, but I felt so foggy. Finally, I gave up. I think I fell back asleep.
I'll tell you more of the story tomorrow. Time to go find a place to sleep for the night. Good night Pittie.
Hey Pittie, I went wireless
The next morning they cut the wires. Finally, my mouth was no longer in a permanent clinch. I rubbed my jaw and opened slowly. It felt like opening a rusty hinge. It was still so sore. I parted my lips slightly then closed again.
"How does that feel?" Dr. Stevens asked beaming from ear to ear at his good work. I just nodded and smiled a little still rubbing my jaw. "It will get better. We can start you on soft food in a day or two."
That's when I noticed the little woman. Still following quietly, looking confused, standing in the corner of the room. She looked too old to be a student of some kind. She wasn't dressed like a nurse. Who the hell was this woman? I looked at her, and she looked back. For a moment, she beamed at me, and I kind of smiled back.
"You can see me?" she asked quickly. I winced at her suddenly thrill, but nodded to the strange question. The doctor never questioned my vision. Why was this woman asking if I could see her? "Tell him to call Starla? They never told him he was my son!" she began frantically. I looked at her puzzled and confused.
"What?" I asked quietly. The doctor began explaining food again thinking I was talking to him. I looked at him just as puzzled as to the lady. Why was this jerk ignoring her? I looked back at the lady.
"I'm Carrie Stevens. I had him when I was 15. Mama and Daddy made me give him up. They spent weeks telling me I was a dirty whore and then sent me to uncle Ray's house," she began blurting out rapidly. "My uncle Ray had been married to Starla for a few years, and they were having problems having a baby. So they adopted him and raised him. I ran away and never came back. I couldn't see him calling her Mama," she continued explaining. "They never told him about me! I want him to know about me! Tell him!" she demanded. I looked at the doctor, and he never flinched. He wasn't ignoring her; he couldn't see or hear her. "Tell him!" she screamed so loudly I jumped.
"Starla isn't your mother. Call her and ask her about Carrie," I mumbled to the doctor.
The look on his face was priceless. The shock and confusion ran deep as his analytical mind computed what I said.
"He doesn't believe you. Tell him the whole story. Tell him again!" she persisted. I started to cry. I'm not sure why, but tears started swelling in my eyes. It was like a sudden sad, desperate, fearful wave washed over me.
"Please call her!" I yelled. I was as shocked when the words came out of my mouth as they were. The doctor jolted at my tone. Looking at me and my parents he had a more confused and concerned look on his face. Finally, he turned and whispered to the nurse with him that I hadn't noticed. She quickly left the room.
"Uhh...She is still a bit confused," he told my mother. "She's been through a lot," he quietly explained still looking closely at me. "I'm going to give her something to keep her calm."
The nurse came back with a syringe. Quickly she inserted it into my IV line.
"No," I exclaimed. "Carrie is right there. Ask her yourself. She wants me to tell you...." I was gone again. Whatever the nurse gave me knocked me out.
We are back again. Learned something last night, avoid homeless shelters. They ask too many questions. Plus, I saw a missing poster of myself on the wall. (I hated the picture they used.) I should call my parents, let them know I'm alright, but I'm scared. I know they will drag me back home, and then everything will pick up where it left off. Plus, I have this whole other thing I need to do. Once I get you caught up on the story, it will all make sense to you. I hope. I don't want to bounce around too much and lose you. Let's get back to the story.
I didn't see the woman anymore after that. The doctor was convinced it was a side effect of my head injuries. Mother didn't want an explanation, she just wanted her little "Baby back" and life to be pretty again. My religious preacher father just wanted to pray about it. Me, I know what I saw. It wasn't a hallucination. The woman was right there. The look on Dr. Stevens face said she was there. There was a moment that he was stunned by what I had told him, but his analytical mind wouldn't accept it.
So what was that? A vision from God? Loose brain fragments floating around? I have no idea, but I know I'm not crazy. It's too real. (But then again..do people with mental disorders know they have something wrong?) Whatever I saw was real. I'm sticking with that.
They started me on medication, but it made me so tired and strung out. I was just pushing through physical therapy each day as best I could and hoped that one day soon I could go home. I wanted desperately to go back to normal. Even though I was never sure what that was, and now I really didn't. I wanted off of those drugs. (I would make a terrible drug addict.)
A couple of days after the lady, I saw another one. In the elevator, on my way to physical therapy, the nurse rolled me onto the elevator. He just stood there in the corner staring blankly at the wall on the other side. A bandage on his temple was blood-soaked. A small trickle of blood cascaded down his cheek and dripped onto the collar of a crisp white shirt. He looked like a security guard. The belt holding his black slacks had little pouches for holding items, and on that belt was a radio. The nurse never flinched. Neither did the man. She just watched the numbers count down with each floor, and he stared at the wall. (That's when I realized he wasn't there, there. Do you know what I mean? She would have reacted. He didn't really seem to know we were there either.)
I took that moment to look at him, but without letting him know I saw him. He looked slightly out of focus. Kind of like the scenery behind someone during a conversation. The person you are talking to is perfectly clear. Behind them, you can see shapes, details, colors, but they're kind of out of focus. He was like that until I concentrated on him. Something else I noticed, I started to have a splitting headache and pain in my back. These people, ghosts, hallucinations, whatever was causing pain and emotions when they were near.
I didn't dare say a word. I focused mostly on his body and legs. No eye contact. (I discovered that with the lady the other day. Look them in the eye and you become their long lost friend.) Then he turned. The back of his shirt was soaked in blood. I could see a hole next to his shoulder blade. A wave of panic rose up inside me, and I wanted desperately to scream. I just wanted to jump up from the wheelchair and pound on the elevator doors and beg for help, but I tried to remain calm. I noticed my breathing was fast and heavy, but the nurse didn't. (Thank God!) I closed my eyes and hung my head.
Once I had settled down, I squinted through eyelashes toward the place where the man's feet had been. (Don't be there! Don't be there! I kept repeating to myself) He was still there. Suddenly, the doors opened and she wasted no time pushing me from the elevator.
To Be Sane...Ignore Your Insanity
"So how is my favorite patient today?" Dr. Stevens asked as he entered the room. (There was that creepy fake smile again.)
"Much better," I beamed fakely back as I scooped the breakfast eggs into my mouth. "I still feel a little weak sometimes, and the medicine has me really out of it. Considering everything, I'm really starting to feel more like myself."
"Anymore....visions?" he asked with caution.
"No," I said simply with a smile.
"Good, that's what I wanted to hear," he smiled as he tapped on the tablet in his hand. (I know why do you think I told you that. lol) "I believe you're mind was playing tricks on you. My aunt Carrie passed away a few weeks ago. I'm sure you heard me talking to the nurses during one of my visits. What you saw was your mind processing that information. Combine that with medication and injuries...you understand?"
"So that was just my confused brain. So it shouldn't happen anymore?" I asked all compliant and heathy like.
"It may," he continued. "but the medication will help you stay calm."
"Now that I know what's going on," I pondered out loud. "maybe I can do without the drugs. At least can we cut back or something?" I asked. "I think that's what makes me feel so weak and spacey." (That sounded like something a smart "good patient" would say.)
"I'll reduce the dosage, and we'll see how it goes once you're back home. Three months in a hospital bed is quite enough. I think it's time for you to go home. We will continue the physical therapy, and schedule a follow up in a month. I also set up some counseling for you. I think that would be helpful to your adjustment after everything. How does that sound."
"Fantastic," I said with a huge "normal person" smile.
Inside, however, I was dying. Had I seriously been here three months? Was my best friend dead? I was about to graduate. While I was here, the rest of my class went on without me. I had enrolled to take a few classes at the community college over the summer after high school. Sean and I planned a trip to Florida right after graduation. Now, I'm seeing shit that may or may not be there. Holy shit!
Next Page Of Pittie
- Pittie, Let's Get out of This Prison
The hospital seemed like a prison, but I'm starting to realize it's more than four walls. The insanity is following me home. I can't escape it. (Page 2)
Thanks for reading
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© 2019 Faron Asher