Mare Moody - [blank]

The benadryl has begun to fill my bloodstream. As soon as I get to 10, I should be asleep.

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6.

The symphony of banging pulls me out of my sleep again. God, this hospital has the worse alarm system.

"Breakfast in 30 minutes!"

Not for me, it isn't. Joy once again takes over my thought process. I get out of bed with activated energy and grab my backpack. I pull out a pair of jeans, and rummage around for a suitable shirt for my return to the world. I don't want to actually pack my bags until I get the ok. Though I don't want to think about it, there is still a chance that Dr. Simmons could pull some legal deal and I'd be stuck here as long as Brook. I stir the pot for a few seconds until the tiny metal pieces slide by my finger gently. I hook my hand around the neckline and pull it out. The tank top I wore in the night club stares back at me. I clear my throat, throw it on the bed and zip my backpack back up. Normally my mood would slow me down but the reminder of my discharge lingers in my brain and demands that I don't stop for anything; even rough memories of a night a long time ago. I pull on the jeans and stare at the shirt for a moment. I need to get over him. I need to rid any object of his memory. Do I?

I hear the bathroom door open and I jolt. My head swings to the direction of the bathroom and my arms cover my exposed breast. It's funny how someone as loose as me is also just as modest around people who are not of the male gender.

"Dude, chill." Jamie stands in front of the bathroom with a dirty white tank top and frumpy sweatpants on. She looks exhausted, though I know she has been sleeping since I got here. I shove on the tank top without a second thought.

"Sorry," I stammer. "You weren't up normally so I assumed that you were still asleep cause I didn't lo-"

She puts her hands up and laughs under her breath.

"It's fine." She smirks and grabs her hoodie hanging up. She throws it over her tank top and heads for the door of the room. She hesitates at the threshold for a moment. She looks up and down at my house with a smudge of confusion spread across her face.

"Have fun on the outside."

With that, she walks out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Apparently when someone isn't wear a sweatsuit it's a sign that they are going home. I take a deep breath, and reach down for my zip-tie shoes. I pull them on, anticipating the feeling of my chuck taylors once again against my feet. I take one last look around the room and walk out.

The hallway has a distinct smell to it. It is a strange mix of pancake batter and medical equipment. If they made it into a candle, I would buy fifty. My journey begins to the nurses station, one step at a time. Now, I know my way. The funny thing about knowledge is that when you need it the most you don't have it but when you don't need it any longer, you have it readily available. Something in life just don't work out perfectly. I walk straight to the counter and shine my biggest smile.

"I think this is yours," the nurse says, looking back. Nurse Juay sits at a desk behind the counter. She looks up and sees my glaring smile.

"Thanks, Carrie." She stands up and walks around the the counter.

I follow her as she begins traversing through the rabbit warren. Instead of being baffled by the number of doors, I simply walk with confidence. The barrage of doors eventually stops and I am met with his office. Day by day, it becomes more and more familiar. My last appointment. 48 hours later. Not much has changed, if anything. I have met people and the growing tedium of this hospital begins to nag at my patience.

I walk through the door and sit in the closet waiting room. The room begins to look bigger through eyes which have seen it 3 times now. The peeling wallpaper resonates as loud as ever. My anxiety continues at it treacherous pace, keeping me hostage, and my leg shakes like a rumbling avalanche until the door finally creaks open. He peers out with a look of curiosity. He knows I'll be here. I am probably the only person who is excited to come to his office today. Today I am set free. After I get this appointment over with, I will set loose like a bird from a broken cage. I can't wait. His eyes rest on my figure and he nods his head.

"Ready?" He asks. He knows my answer. His question is obviously rhetorical but it seems like a rite of passage for doctors to repeat that phrase until patient's ears are bleeding.

"Of course," I reply.

I walk confidently anxious into his office. I am so scared that even after my 72 hour hold, he will suggest that I stay longer and 'get more out of the experience' or whatever bullshit he'll most likely spew. I sit on the couch and look at him, awaiting his words. Awaiting his goodbye speech. Please.

"So you have been here for all of the required time," He says, "And you seem to have benefitted."

I nod feverishly.

"How are the voices?" He asks, "Under control I presume?"

Not all.

"Yup," I say with a faux smile, "I'm feeling way better, thank you Doc!"

He groans and looks at me suspiciously. I am a terrible actor.

"Are you sure?" Dr. Simmons asks. I can hear the doubt in his voice, "Not many patients come in with acute schizophrenia and bipolar symptoms and leave feeling completely free of symptoms."

I hold my breath. Shit.

"Maybe I pulled through against all odds?" I say unsure. I know I'm not going to fool him at this point but may as well go out with a bang.

"Ana," He says, "It's ok if you don't have the voices total in your own control."

He pulls his chair closer to the couch so that he can see me a closer view. Maybe he can smell the lies on me.

"You will eventually but schizophrenia does not have an overnight cure," He says, "Neither does bipolar, especially without mood stabilizing medications."

I nod my head. My facidious smile melts and he is met with my true emotion: overwhelming anxiety.

He sees my face change and his scowl of doubt moves into an empathetic frown.

"You'll be ok," He coos.

He takes out his damned clipboard and scribbles on it. He knows I hate it.

"I'm going to refer you to a therapist." He says, "I would suggest you go once you get out."

I nod my head slowly. I don't want to go to a therapist. I want help but I don't want someone to softly babble to me like I'm a toddler which is exactly why I want to get the fuck out of here.

"The therapist will then decide if you should get medication and if so, they will refer you to psychiatrist who will decide what medications would be appropriate for you."

This is all too complicated so I zone out. I don't want to remember it and I don't have to remember it if I am never going to act on it. He pulls a piece of paper off of his clipboard and hands it to me. On it, in chicken scratch, are assorted dots and tiddles which I assume direct health care providers to what the fuck they are supposed to do with a nut case as myself.

"Thanks," I mutter.

"This is also for you," He says as he hands me yet another paper from his clipboard, "Give it to your nurse on the way out."

I grab it and inspect it thoroughly. Thankfully, this is a printed form that is all typed minus Dr. Simmons signature and date. A real smile comes across my face. It is my dismissal paper.

"You have gone through your 48 hours and you can leave," He says. He sounds mournful. He knows that I am not at all mentally stable but I am on my way. I have a future. It may still be blank but it is not always unending and perhaps I can predict some things in this tedium of existence. Maybe, just, maybe, will I then understand the reason why I exist. Maybe I am more than just a lucky sperm.

I get off of the couch and hold my ticket out gently in my hands as I walk out. I walk straight through the closet room and into the hallway. Nurse Juay looks at me with an all knowing smirk. She has seen this many times and knows exactly what I am going to do when I get out: completely ignore everything I have been told. She is wrong on one account though; my diagnosis will never leave my mind. It is something that I will carry with me to my death bed like dead weight. I hand the slip to her and she inspected it for a minute.