April, 20th 2017 — Speaking to myself

This article is part of the series “What is like to attempt suicide and fail”. Start there, if you have not read it yet.

Thursday, D Day + 13

I missed coffee time. Again. I missed the morning activities. Again. Apparently when this happens, someone writes your name down and takes it to someone else who makes some cruel decision based on the noted facts. Kind of like fifth grade justice. And you lose some privileges.

I was awakened twice. First, the responsible for the task, an intern. The second time it was by the cleaning lady. “Do you want me to clean the room?” She asked to that pack that was my body, visibly out of this plane of existence. “Yes, I do”. I answered, not really knowing what I was answering to. “Then you need to get up and leave,” she says with that huge satisfaction in his eyes. I got up, took a long shower, and went to live outside. Of my room. Which is more airy, I must say.

By the way, I’m in a new room, alone for now. I do not know if it is the result of the discussion the other day, but if it was, awesome. My mattress is softer and I have two blankets instead of one. My bathroom is adorned with beautiful dead butterflies all over.

I started responding to my emails from the day before. When I’m offline, I can only deal with them. Facebook messages I can barely see, because of the terrible internet connection. Not even the ones that arrived the day before would show up. That’s why anyone who follows the manual of instruction and has reached me via email receives faster and longer answers.

Emotionally, I feel better than every other day. I have not cried yet. The day has barely begun. There’s still time for that.

Speaking of crying, one of the younger boys here at the clinic is, more or less like me — more isolated. He stays in his corner, without bothering anyone. He is always reading and, not infrequently, crying copiously over words. I have no idea what he reads (a Mr. Cury thing). But he cries in pain. And he does the same face that I imagine doing when I cry. Several times I follow him in tears. I wish I could do something. Today, I could only cry along.

Something strange happened to me. I caught myself speaking to myself. I know everyone does this every once in a while. But talking alone here in Arkham, in the middle of the courtyard, doesn’t bring the best of impressions. As soon as I realized what I did I took that 360-degree look to see if anyone had noticed. if anything I would start humming a song.

Oh, the guy I think is going to kill me has not killed me yet. This is good. But I still have to get out of here. This place hurts me in a way I’ve never experienced before.

I will post more tomorrow. I’ve created a list of songs I’m listening to while inside the psychiatric clinic. To listen, subscribe to the “After Death” playlist on Spotify.

If you want to talk to me, write to rodrigo@bressane.com.

Be kind,
Rodrigo Bressane