in my dream I drive myself to hospital. in the moment it makes sense and this is where I'm meant to be. the ladies at reception smile and say it's good to see me, checking in like a hotel for getting better. the nurses still know my name and though they're warm as I remember I can sense their shock at my return. they weren't expecting me and I quickly start to wonder if I'm meant to be there.
through the doors I see the ward has changed. the hall is darker now: high ceilings lowered, windows smaller than before. the noise that underscored our every meal is lesser too. what was once a battlefield of broken minds and argument reads more now as a library. a solemn cloud of silence washes over empty couches, chairs, tables and abandoned games of cards and chess. tortured ghosts and soldiers limp around the furniture, eyes fixed ahead in medicated daze. the space feels strange without the shouting, the speaker-phone calls, the worship music spilling from the rage room. all I hear is quiet muttering and the gentle scrape of sneakers on the vinyl.
a new nurse shows me to a room without a bed. she tells me I'm welcome but the psych doesn't have time to see me. I try but have no luck remembering why I've returned. no time passes and a bell rings, calling me to breakfast. passing through the dining hall the nurse leads me to a smaller, darker room, lit only by tall candles and light recycled from the passageway passing through the door. the table is longer than before, with more seats and more consumers.
I take my place between a friend from last time and a child who can't stop shaking at the site of toast. my friend places a hand on her shoulder as she starts to cry. I ask if she'd prefer corn flakes. she nods, looking up towards a nurse who shakes her head and says we're out of cereal. the stop clock watches from the head of the table. looking down at my plate I laugh at my meal. I've been served dinner for breakfast.
I carry the distance between us like an anchor on my shoulders. traversing streets we've crossed together I commit to being outside of my head with other people, making my way to the park. friends share food and drinks and cigarettes. some ask about my arms. some ask about you. there is laughter and tangible joy in different shades and sounds. a chance to forget myself for a while.
but even here I can't forget you. worry persists like a black hole in my stomach, leaving me far from fit for care and conversation. and so, on someone's pillows on the grass, I rest my head and close my eyes. the afternoon sun sulks as I pretend to sleep, cradling myself in broken wings. in the dark I listen to and distract myself with other people without being there at all. I let their conversations fight for my attention, two tides stretching me out of too familiar shores of my self doubt and loathing. they talk about their dreams and medication and my furrowed brows. somebody kisses my forehead goodbye.
when I choose to wake the sky has changed. I can see half of the moon under the clouds. the sun is being swallowed by the pretty terrace houses. a beautiful goodbye before the night. even while you let the space between extend I hope you get to see it too.
