IlieLesnick

10 A.M. Sunday. I was finally sleeping in my own bed again. As much as I hated my house, I couldn’t think of anything worse than sleeping in my bed at the institution; I woke up almost every morning with an aching back. At least now I’d be able to leave my room whenever I wanted to. It was nice to feel like I was free again. I woke up to a notification on my phone. I unlocked my phone and went to my messages to see who it was from. “Hi, Simi! It’s me, Cindy. They say we’re not allowed to give our personal information to patients, but, as you know, I’m one to bend the rules a little bit. How is everything go

“How have you been, Simi?” mom asked, turning around to look at me. I looked up at her. “Fine.” I saw Monica shake her head in my peripheral view. My dad still hadn’t said anything; I didn’t expect him to have anything to say. He didn’t want me home, and I already knew that. There was always such a horrible tension between my family and I; so much wasn’t said about how we felt, and it stressed everyone out. “So, Simi, there’s something we need to talk about,” my mom said. “Something about your housing arrangement.” My ears perked up. “Yeah?” “We ar

The third interview was today. I didn’t feel like I had to prepare myself for anything more than more whining from Heather. Usually they accuse the mentally unstable of being that way; Heather was as vanilla as anyone and she fit the accusation perfectly. I sat in the window seat and brought my knees to my chest, shivering. The cold was ceaseless, no matter how many layers of clothing I wore. It’s as if the windows were there for decoration. “Simi?” I heard several knocks on the door. It must have been Cindy and Heather. “Yes?” I yelled through the door. “Can we come in?” “Yes.” T

On the car right home from the institution, I was distracted. I missed several turns to get to my apartment, adding about ten extra minutes to my trip. I thought about what Simi said to me and how he said it. If you want to be a psych major, and if you are so fucking fascinated with the human mind that you want that to be your future, lower your expectations of the people you’re going to be treating a little bit. But how was I going to lower my expectations? These kinds of people had always fascinated me. The human mind had always been my wonderland. For hours, I would explore the Internet, searching mental illnesses and symptoms, writ

Every so often, I have flashbacks. What made you like this? I can’t say it out loud. Not now. Not yet. It’s all easier on paper, or tucked safely inside the shadows of my mind. Never out loud. I know a lot about what happened that made me the way I am; one of the main things is that I am still purging the poison he left in me. My mind still repeats to me in a screaming voice the things he said to me while he raped my body, my mind, and my spirit. What made you like this? I still remember the way it felt as he held me down and shattered every bit of trust I felt, every bit of trust I would ever feel for the rest of my life. I reme

Monday rolled around; it started snowing lightly. I was up early. I couldn’t sleep the night before; for once, I wasn’t really tired. Just bored. The morning drill went the same. Go to the infirmary for my meds, choke down breakfast, try to keep breakfast down, fail at keeping breakfast down, stare out the window for a million hours, waiting for the second interview with Heather. Finally, the knock on the door I was expecting. I got up and opened it. It was Heather. “Hello, Simion,” she said with a smile. “Can I come in?” “Sure,” I said. We walked back into my room; I closed the door behind me

I sat at my desk and shivered. The weather was getting colder. I always noticed the windows didn’t serve a purpose here; there was always a draft anyway. I heard distant footsteps outside my door every so often. The psych nurses always buzzed around like wasps, always bothering anyone who was trying to have time to themselves. Then, the footsteps stopped outside my door, and I heard a knock. “Simi, can I come in? It’s Cindy,” the voice said. Cindy was the psych nurse who “dealt” with me the most. She was always nice to me and treated me like a human, so I appreciated her. She wasn’t condescending and

How do I start a narrative about my life? There is too much to say. There is so much that I wish I could tell so many. There are many stories, thoughts, and so many regrets. In a moment of clarity, I could inspire someone. I could explain mysteries about the world; I could tell you about literature you have never explored. In a simple moment of clarity, I could tell you what makes people tick and show you parts of myself that I rarely uncover. No one realizes how badly and how frequently I pray for moments of clarity. What everyone sees are my moments of sickness, moments of insanity. The truth is that I am ashamed. I’m ashamed of every