Page 1 of Fractured

One

I think I hate myself a little. - August 14th

“Lilith, how nice to see you.”Sophia pushed her hair out of her face as she stood up from the floor where she was filing a stack of folders. “I didn’t expect to see you for a few weeks.” As the lady at the front desk, she was everything you’d want to see. Approachable, attractive, well put together. And most importantly, bubbly.

Everything I was not.

Well, I might have been decent in the looks department, but I was not approachable. I preferred mom jeans and old, sometimes too tight shirts to the classy blouses and matching pencil skirts someone like Sophia wore. Then given the fact I grew up with a crazy ass mother and no father after the age of thirteen, it was safe to assume I was not bubbly in any way.

“Yeah, well, you know how it goes.” I tried to smile like I were a normal person living a regular life. But here I was, visiting my mother at Bright Path Psychiatric Hospital. No matter how hard I pretended I was visiting her at a luxury resort or even something so tame as the public library, as soon as the bland gray walls and the front desk surrounded by heavy duty bullet-proof glass came into sight, all pretenses flew out the window.

“It’s not a good day today. Just prepare yourself, hun.” She smiled apologetically, and with the way it reached her eyes, she actually meant it. How did she do that? Feel such real emotion that she could smile at anyone like it was nothing.

All I seemed to feel was fear. Fear and paranoia.

“That’s fine.” I signed myself in and took the visitor’s badge from her fingers. Then moving over to the waiting area, I waited patiently for an orderly to come escort me back to my mother’s room. I would have tried to at least attempt to hold a normal conversation with Sophia, but she knew me by now. Sometimes, the way pity slid into her gaze when she looked at me, I thought she was afraid of me. Maybe not me now, but who I could become. Would become.

“Lilith.” Rhett pushed open one of the heavy double doors.

“Rhett.” I nodded and sidestepped to the next hall. He took the lead as soon as the door shut and quietly escorted me to the private rooms. This time of day, she should’ve been in the common area with the other patients, but we didn’t turn down that hall.

We didn’t speak at all on the way, which suited me just fine. My hands were already damp, and little beads of sweat were gathering at the base of my neck. These days were hard enough on their own, and I appreciated him so much in this moment for allowing me to gather my thoughts with as much privacy as I could.

I had been on my way home from work this evening when my heart started to pound and my brain was so crowded, I couldn’t think in a linear fashion. It was the worst feeling in the world. Logically, I knew it was some kind of anxiety and nothing related to my family history, but emotionally, there were too many doubts prowling around me, looking for the weakest link to pull me under. Whenever this particular feeling arose, I knew it was time for another visit.

Disoriented moans and intense ramblings filled the hallway as we passed doors that were half open and some that were cracked. Hand drawn pictures lined the walls, more reminiscent of my grade school years than anything one might produce in their adulthood. I had zero artistic talent when it came to drawing, but I’d like to think I could finger paint a better sun than the one that glared at me as I passed. That ridiculous sun with fingerprint splotches for eyes seemed to follow me, watch me.

Some would think this was the last place I needed to go when feeling this way. But that wasn’t the way my brain worked.

Rhett stopped at a closed door I knew well. Lauren Durand had been a patient here for the last three years, and this had been her only room.

Turning to face me, he placed a hand on the doorknob and paused. “She’s strapped down today. We just found out she’s been tossing her medication when we weren’t looking, and she tried to self-harm today when she realized ‘no’ wasn’t an option. Ring the bell when you’re ready to leave, and someone will come escort you out.”

For my own safety, went unsaid.

He twisted the knob and pushed it open. It creaked like a door in an old horror movie. Too loud to sneak in—or out—with just enough of a creepy noise to make your fear of whatever lay on the other side rachet up. Assuming you didn’t know the monster waiting for you.

In this case, I did. And she was my mother.

Lauren lay in the bed, a straitjacket hugging her torso as her arms were crossed and strapped down to the sides of the bed. Her ankles had similar straps. I was restless just staring at the way her movements were almost one hundred percent restrained. At least she could move her head.

There was one window in the small room, overlooking the small courtyard in the center of this circular building. Even the space where they were given some freedom wasn’t exactly free. No way out, just as there was no way in without an orderly’s assistance or handy key card.

Her head faced that window, and even though I didn’t try to mute my steps, she didn’t make a move as I approached. How many times had I tried to dissect what she was thinking, how her mind worked, or how to fix it? But I learned early on, there were some things too fractured to piece back together. No matter how strong the glue, it wasn’t durable enough to hold up against the crazy that was Lauren.

Outside of the bed, there was a square nightstand, tall dresser, and metal chair in the corner. All very plain and unassuming, like it would be calming to the voices in her head. I pulled the chair over to the bedside and sat down, watching her as she stared at nothing.

“Are you here to get me out?” she whispered, as if someone would overhear.

“No, Mom. I’m not.” I sighed.

“You don’t understand, Lilith. The things they do, the vile things they whisper in our ears when they think no one’s looking. I can’t stay here any longer, I can’t.” Her voice quickened and rose with each word. Now she did turn to look at me.

“None of that is real. Youknowit’s not real.” I wasn’t actually sure she knew what was real and what wasn’t. So many times over my childhood, the things she did, said, could be explained by her mental illness. But I swore, there was a calculated ruthlessness in her gaze that said she knew exactly what she had been doing.

Or was I making it up? God, I hoped not.

“If you aren’t here to help me, then why did you come?” she spat, irrational anger twisting her features. Her mop of gray hair floated in matted tangles around her face to show just how out of control she was today.

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