by Tess McInnis
KETTERING by The Antlers
Everyone is a tragedy. All is brown and tan, no colors here. Barren land. More desolate than the worst desert. Cracked open earth under my child feet. I feel my age, but know not how old I am. I see no body only these feet. They are walking with each step burning. In the distance, bores one tree...a standing dead oak with branches forever to the sides. All life was never here. No sounds, no breathes. I am moving oddly towards it in fear so unkind, I am rendered helpless. I try to scream...but no sound. As a gilded magnet my face is two inches from the tree's dead bark, yet I hear a hundred voices screaming and moaning from inside. Sheer terror throws out it's hands and pushes me on a branch. Oh God...I don't want to be here, the voice, mine I think. Suddenly, little balls spinning of fire and teeth are working their way down the dried branches to me. I am six inches tall running away from the demon fireballs, running towards the skinniest end of the farthest branch leading sideways. I cannot escape. I scream “what do you want from me?” My feet are like monkey feet wrapped all the way around the branch of the dead oak, now swerving as if to shake me into the teeth of the fireballs. I have never known terror so complete that it would answer as well to say “we are your sins, and your sins will eat you alive”. I was in hell. My sins were chasing me, and I had no where else to go. Barren soul still with sins. I know...
THE DOPE SHOW by Marilyn Manson
Two Thousand. The meth was on the counter for the taking. He said. So, I took. As if God had freed me himself from years of stomped repressions, I kept taking. My alter ego surfaced permanently for all the rides ahead. Once again, I could be someone else, someone I could live with as a perfect roommate inside of me. I was invisible to the outside world, as I only moved at night. Night was mine. Like red was mine. Like pee was mine. These things I collect throughout my life to give to myself as mine. It made perfect sense to my head to love this drug. To love him. Finally, I had come home to a beautiful union of drug and man. I was loved by both. Blind to his criminality, or even mine now, we continued into the nights of creative undoings, hallucinations, wild sex, and pondering about how to get more dope. He was bad, but I was high. He gave me more than anyone ever had. He had set me free from myself. For the grieving was gone, the pain of being gone...instead, I traded that woman for a younger more wild version, free from conformity and responsibility. He set me free sexually and I thanked him with more sacrifice from my old self. I was blind to how much of my life he controlled. Every aspect. He would leave for days upon end, I would get pissed, but forgive him. He would steal in an air of self-entitlement anything which mattered to me at some point in my life. I allowed him. As finances dwindled, he had everything needed to get more meth. Whether he stole it, sold it, or beat someone down, we always had our stuff. Even in his absences, I was on a creative roll with writing and painting. The night world was my pallet for my passion for life. The day caught me hiding if fear of the old me merging into the ugliness of the world I had come to hate. Not enough can be said as to how much I loved being high, being someone else, being happy in a parallel place on earth. I willed it, and it had happened. In a moment of clarity, I began to witness just how evil my man was. Fear. I feared him now. His own trip into meth world had elevated him from con man to dope slinger to someone to be feared. I needed him gone. I was desperate to collect what little remains of my life I had left, which wasn't much. Gradually falling away from me, he moved on to other victims. I was girl number five out of about twenty eight before his final days behind bars arrived. There is no laws for con mans.
Doctor gentle stood over me as I looked at him through slanted eyes. The sedation had been heavy. I was in a different room. Trying to adjust my eyes to look around, the blurred vision cleared to see dirty white stuffing walls, and no windows, no anything. I wasn't in restraints though, so I thought this must be a good thing.
“What happened last night?” He was touching my hand. I just turned away. I didn't want to think of things so sharp. I didn't want to play life. I was a crater. A large scooped out hole with only a head to be reminded I was a crater. I wished I was a black hole. A black hole sucks you much faster, stretching your physical self to such extremes and then burning. A black hole would be preferable. I was thinking about this room, where I had seen it before? The old familiarity of the walls minus the bible. Why couldn't I remember this? I can remember a dream, but not my reality. I followed the string of thoughts to last night's dream. For the first time, there was no fairy mare, no man, no hope of enlightenment with gross ending...instead, I was
drenched in hell. My coping fairymares were manifesting into a new series of dreams. Time was drawing nearer then, to my wormy demise. And heaven didn't even hold a chair for me. Fuckin' figures.
“I understand how you must feel right now, the nurse told me what triggered the episode, and maybe you don't want me here...I dunno, I..” Doctor gentle was leading to revelation of my new hotel room and why I was in here.
“I just think it is best...for now...if we keep you under close eye...monitor and observe your sleep patterns” he continued, “ I need to assess...” I whirled my head over to him and stared. His initial reaction was to jump back as if he had been only talking to himself the whole time. Then his semblance met close to mine and just asked “why?” He walked around the room and came back.
“Listen, I am really new to this field, and this is not my career of expertise...you are surprising me at every turn and I am not really sure I am the one to help you..”
He was rambling, rubbing his olive colored hand all over his olive colored face, “I took this case because I thought I could see what you couldn't...I could show you the way back, and now...” my doctor gentle was unraveling in his professional confidence and showing signs of a personal interest in the most perfect way. I was touched. As touched as much as loony will allow anyways. My eyes were poised on his human outline, on his movements, on his eyes, and his brown hair falling so easy off his brow. There were no windows in here for him to get lost in. He was uncomfortable in this padded room. Something ticked within him I could not yet put my finger on. I held a pin of curiosity in regards to this man, yet little regard for the doctor. He needed me to say something, I could tell. Anything to remove him from where he was. I toyed with delusions so far as to put myself in a fantasy of desires for him. Typical delicious delusions many patients harbor for the hero they pluck from doctor-world. He left the room and returned with an ant. They were buzzing amongst themselves with assessment and observation mumble jumble. My eyes never left him. Somehow, I felt safe with that. The ant left the room acknowledging his orders and taking a pity glance at me.
“Would you like to sit up? Perhaps walk around?” His kindness connected me. I sat up. He smiled. I fought with my gown to iron it out with my hands, thinking where have I seen this color of gown before? Like this room, both oddly foes of mine from a time's past. Shivering of nerves or drafts, I closed my arms. Doctor gentle took the flimsy institutional blanket from the chair. Instead of handing it to me, he shook it open and fatherly put it around my shoulders, crossing it tight in front. My eyes never left him.
“Is that better?” he asked, following it up with “oh, you don't really have to answer, I guess I don't expect you to, given all you have been through..this room, my incompetence...” he sighed.
He continued in fast one sentence speaking, “actually, no less incompetence, my bad, more like...my need to either conclude I should assign someone tenured in this area to you, or heaven forbid, I carry on and do such a great dishonor to you in achieving wellness...”he was rambling again, conflicted soul before me. I was listening, but haunted by memories of this room and gown, begging myself not to be consumed by ills of my mind and force my sane self to emerge instead. His pacing was fading me. I laid back down in a fetal position facing him so I could still watch and listen. Some words I caught. Some slid underneath me to wherever lost words go. After awhile, I missed all the words, except for the ones which said “I wil
l get you a new doctor”. And to those came the only words I would speak that day.
“I want you...” my eyes never left him.
Earthly things bleed alright, by dreams come then, a quarry of selves divine in night. I am inside here amongst painters and poets, I laugh and have grace in colors, in words. Skipping as child should, I lean to pick a flower and I am happy. There is a giggle, lest my own...as I touch an artist's face with all five fingers to know he is real, creating beautiful landscapes for new words I can call mine. I follow a stream brilliant of blues, greens and orange. Many bridges cross over to light, pastures blowing whispers at my heart beckoning me to feel the freedom of a gray horse once mine. Once mine,a peace in small pieces, a little at a time, somewhere in a year or two
from past...I had bits of joy and happiness granted me. I walked slow to each bridge one at a time to peer over to remember what I ought. I cannot cross over. These bridges are fragile, created from strings silver of time, of the past. From the edge of reason, pockets in my white dress are flowing wide, nudging me to fill fast those short lived memories. The minutes I felt alive. The newborns I held in my arms while I cried to angels “thank you”. The beginnings of love here. Where were they now? I couldn't remember. In my pocket safe? A strong wind pushed me to the ground of another bridge. I stood up, raising my hand to squinted eyes as if I were so blind I would never see so far. Beyond this path I could not take, existed tales of momentary soul feedings dry to my senses because of me. These things I see should have been within me for all ties to light and everything good. I was always pale in the paintings, my moods and words sharp as unholy swords in the fight of the day. Why didn't I stand and breathe when life was busy creating treasures only mine. They were suppose to be memorized by the heart for reference later. I never stopped time. I sold it. Grief is the color
brown. Misery is the color red. And I am both. All the rainbows I have missed. All the life dances I chose to sit out. Indifferent to the gift or the giver. I turned to count just how many silver bridges there were...endless. Weeping. From my insides, from the trees, the waters...like the saddest song...everything here added it's own instrument of sorrow. I did not see tears. I heard them. I heard them as they crashed and fell into me. Weeping. The melting of me, and the worst song of longing came from my pocket for I knew what lived there.
HATE ME by Blue October
Two Thousand Two. “Mommy, wake up...mommy please” my oldest daughter cried. Not a day over fourteen, and now holding me in her lap, tears falling from the panic marrying with her pleas.
“Mommy, what do I do? Help me...mommy” she continued looking up at God himself, showing her plight in hopes it would all go away. This was the first time her and I shared the bathroom floor together, but it would not be the last. The pill bottle joined us as it rolled to indefinite locations by the kick of her foot. I heard her scream “GET OUT...GO TO THE OTHER ROOM NOW!...” to a brother younger by four years and a sister by seven. My oldest daughter...her soul so bent like a willow to please me, to save me. In this moment, she wrapped all her fears in loss. Crying to her child heart, begging for me to open my eyes and see her.
I could only hear the pressure on her heart as my head leaned into her body. “How could you do this to us mommy...” Her arms lovingly shaking as they enveloped my soul and begged for my breathe. My will. Just live. She dropped her head to kiss my hair saying “Please don't die” as she heard sirens close in on our house. “Oh beautiful baby,” I thought, but could not say. “I am so sorry” I wanted to scream. I hurt everything I touch. These were the days of my darkest sights. Witness to the inevitable falling of a woman broken. And down with me, the three true loves I brought in my life.
SPEEDING CARS by Imogene Heep
The ants had been parading in and out all day in my room. Writing down things, checking my stats, whatever stuff ants are supposed to do to get paid. I remained in my fetal position facing the wall. I was too weak in thought to concern myself beyond myself. Doctor gentle seemed elusive and I concluded he probably wasn't coming back. They never do. These are the messages I feed myself to the yellowish decaying padding on the wall I am staring intricately into. I ache. My eyes are dry and salty. I have saddened the hate. Still, self-pity, but more intense focus on my gut. Bewildered by notions it could fill with pus from the pain of crying. I stole the dream from seconds ago and held it in my grip like the sharp knife from childhood. Ripping at every detail I thought I could remember. The flashes of colors too confusing for me. However, them. Little hearts beating pavement in my head to recognize their eyes, their arms, their laughs...everything. I didn't want to fold to this. I slapped my hands over my face and bared down into it. My body jerking from the silent wails. The wails so far developed there is no noise except by movement. The black from my mind closing in, getting smaller and smaller, willing the door to close. For good. I am a tortured head on the bed in a padded room going nowhere. Alone with my mental objects. The most frightening and terrifying place for me to exist, not in this room but alone in my paralyzed psyche. I talked to myself in whispers of repetitions of questions unanswered. Child voice yearns for acceptance. Adult voice begs for forgiveness. Giving each a tiny trial and imposing sentence. Repeat. Begin whispers of uncertainty over again. I traced the outline of the dingy leather wall with my finger, around and around again, leaving the snot and tears to find my mouth not caring. Suffering of love and hate. Ambivalent to roads of either. Extreme decay from extreme attempts to feel what is good and what is holy in a brown and red world. My children were gold...no...more than gold. An iridescent color not of this earth. I was not used to a heavenly shade. Each brought a new laugh in life, a concert if I was to really say. Music written each time I birthed. A song in a child called mine. What music did I bring to their concert? And what was my song to them? What was my color... I was beaten up in front of them. I was arrested in front of them. I was doped up in front of them. I was evil in front of them. I was near death in front of them. And I was taken away from them. I remembered this padded room now and began to scream. And it was none other than Doctor gentle who appeared like Jesus himself before me. No needles poking my arms, no ants holding me down. It was him who crossed over to my grief world and with two warrior arms and held me. He gave me words to light to hear. He gave me a safe place against his chest. He gave me a hiding niche from me in his selfless moments. My screaming calmed. My gut didn't. But I felt safe here. Now. The illusive hug of human connection granted me by none other than Doctor gentle. His patting on my back with his shushes, all wrapped up in a fatherly package. An ant peeked in and with his hand he willed them back out the door. How long had it been since I received such generosity of human spirit? A hug to feel protected. A hug to receive compassion. A hug to hear another's heart of empathy beating so hard to reach you. I was soothed to a child like state. Not alone now. The care was real and so was he. He leaned over to seek tissues and pulled two from the box. He methodically wiped and cleaned my face until I would gradually look up to meet his eyes. Nothing was said for what seemed like the longest minute of my life. I would remember this, I promised myself. Not sure if it was a promise I could keep, but I would try. Doctor gentle than quietly asked me, “Do you wish to talk to me about this?” And I did. I nodded with agreement. The tissues had no where to go in this room, with only the padded walls and a bed, I stuffed the tissues under my pillow. I tried to speak, but could not collect the right words to begin.