#s:development

In her heart, she knew she had no business being locked up there. Not really, at least. The "incident" felt like it had occurred a lifetime ago, yet she could feel the familiar sensation of insanity creeping back into her system like an invisible virus. The misery of the other girls… she felt it tenfold. 

Every morning was a living nightmare; nighttime was worse. She was in a room alone, temporarily, but the girl in the room next to hers had become a constant companion. Some nights, Suzy could hear her crying through the thin wall and she'd try to block it out, but it wasn't the sound that was maddening; other nights she helped dawn come much more quickly, trading knocks every so often as if it were morse code. It wasn't much, but some relief was better than none.

At least that's what Suzy kept telling herself that night. What devastation could be wrought when it only took a few thuds on the wall to bring comfort? It could only help. And so she was there, remembering how reassuring it was to hear their tap-tap-thud-pause-tap when she couldn't sleep. She mimicked it, but she couldn't stop her crying. It was louder tonight, louder than she'd heard it in a while. Suzy didn't even know what she looked like, or why she was in there in the first place. Had she ever left that room? The door was always closed during the day time.

She kept crying. Suzy couldn't take it anymore -- she moved to the other side of the room, covering her ears as she curled up in the corner. Her voice sounded miles away, but she could still feel the weight of her sadness -- it pressed against her heart as if it were her own. Suzy choked out a sob and wiped her eyes; she wasn't aware she'd been crying too. She finally snapped.

"Please, stop it!" she yelled through the wall. Her head was splitting in two, her breathing coming in sharp, labored puffs. Everything felt so useless. Even the banging on the wall felt too painful and she sank to the floor, begging uselessly for the girl to stop. She couldn't take it.

And then, it was silent.

She’d nearly fallen into a trance with the methodical movement of her pencil, her eyes never leaving the page in front of her. What had once been a crisp, blank sheet now resembled something entirely different; every spare space was filled with a doodle or half-completed sketching. For the most part the piece lacked any sort of consistency or connectivity, but Suzy’s main focus was now at the center of the page — the part she’d been working on for nearly an hour straight. 

What’re you drawing, sweetheart?

Her mother’s voice hardly pulled her from her reverie. Suzy mumbled an absent response, which transformed into a yell of surprise when her mother took the page from her grasp to examine it. The spell was broken, and Suzy stood there dazed for several moments, unaware of the sudden lack of color in her mother’s face.

Suzy, what is this?

"It’s just a drawing, umma."

No, Suzy, what IS this? This is — did you have a nightmare?

She shook her head in confusion. Just then, her father came in from work, and her mother instantly strode away from her to accost her father in the doorway, speaking in hushed tones. Suzy took a few steps closer and pressed her ear to the wall out of curiosity.

What eight-year-old draws something like this? Do you see what this is? It looks like a great serpent coming out of the little girl’s chest! Did you let her watch a horror movie?

No, god no, I’d never do that — ah, that’s really… detailed.

Should we take her to the doctor? She was just sitting there, drawing it like it was nothing. And she was so focused… ugh, I can’t bear to look at it, it’s so frightening.

"Umma?"

Her parents fell silent, as though if they were to face their daughter, the image she’d drawn would be a reality on her. 

"I didn’t dream it… It’s just… a feeling. Not mine! It’s just a feeling. Someone felt sick—"

That’s enough, sweetheart. Go play outside.

"But — "

She couldn't remember the last time she had slept. The days had begun to blur together, yet each night was more excruciating than the last. It wasn't that the asylum was particularly unpleasant; the rooms were well-kept, and the staff were much kinder than Hollywood tended to display. Hell, even a lone orderly had offered to snag Suzy an extra piece of dessert from the cafeteria -- but none of it mattered. It wasn't the environment itself that was torturous.

It was the patients.

Night after night, she could hear their shouting, even if they were on the other side of the corridor she could feel their pain as if it were her own -- at times even she didn't know if it was her own agony or theirs. She knew she wouldn't last much longer. The sole purpose of her even being there was because she couldn't handle the pain, she couldn't shoulder the burden of carrying everyone's hurt, and she couldn't block it out.

The anti-psychotics had stopped working by now. She wondered, bitterly, if they'd ever worked to begin with -- one night of restless sleep should hardly count as "effective." Yet the doctors claimed to know what was wrong with the seventeen year old girl, and they hardly noticed she was fading away. It was after a particularly unsettling night that it all changed.

"I'll trade you."

"Suzy, it's time to wake up."

When she sleepily opened her eyes, Suzy was immediately blinded by the bright sunlight. How long had they even been in the car? Without fail, she always fell asleep within the first half-hour of a car ride, no matter how long it was; today was no exception, despite the palpable excitement she felt when they had left that morning.

The family trip to the beach was easily the highlight of their annual trip to California. As her father put their rented car in park, she saw her uncle in the distance setting up their glaringly yellow umbrella, while her aunt stood and waved them over, her free hand holding onto her broad sun hat as if the ocean breeze would whip it right off her head.

Suzy stepped out of the car and immediately tugged off her shorts to reveal the rest of her swimsuit, ignoring the slightly appalled look from her father; it had taken a great deal of coaxing on her aunt and mother's part to convince him that he should allow his 14-year-old daughter out in something less concealing than a one-piece suit. Suzy was thrilled -- the brilliant shade of azure suited her fair complexion flawlessly, and she raced off toward the lapping surf before he could protest.

Outpatient therapy had to be one of Suzy's least favorite responsibilities. She could handle the vending machine of medications she had to fill every month; hell, she could even handle the palpable discomfort from her parents, but therapy -- god, she saw it as nothing but a giant waste of time. It didn't help that her assigned therapist always started each session the same way: So, how has your week been?

"Fine."

Just fine?

"Yes."

Six weeks of her curtness seemed to finally take its toll on her therapist, and he slipped off his thick-rimmed glasses and leaned back in his chair, heaving a great sigh. She knew what he was going to say even before he said it.

Suzy, these sessions are meant to help you adjust back to your life. You should really try to take advantage of it. 

A long silence, punctuated by another sigh.

Your parents are worried about you.

"My parents are worried about themselves."

To her young eyes, the great silver bird was as threatening as a monster. Though it had no great teeth nor did it seem to threaten her at all, Suzy felt a wave of fear ripple down her spine, and she clutched her mother’s hand even tighter. Every step they took down the darkened corridor brought them closer to boarding — and to the seven year old Suzy, it was a living nightmare.

"Darling, why are you shaking?"

"I don’t want to go, umma! Why can’t we stay on the ground? I don’t want to go on the plane!”

"Suzy, we can’t exactly drive or take a train to California. We will be fine."

"What if we fall out of the sky? I don’t want to fall!"

"Oh, my dear," her mother laughed good-naturedly and knelt to be eye-level with her daughter. "Airplanes are very safe. They’re safer than cars, you know. So we’ll be fine, and we’ll get to our destination even quicker."

This answer seemed to placate Suzy for a moment, but there was still hesitance in her eyes as she looked toward the door once again. "Do you promise?"

44: Superstitions or views on the occult?