Write it again, Sam
I wake up crying a few hours after going to bed crying. The first foot on the ground, after a while lying with my eyes open and undecided, is totally numb. What does it matter that the floor is cold, is it? How long before I get back into bed? Would I have to get out of it?
Verticality. A strange entity that already belongs to me presses from my throat to my stomach, squatting my entire chest. It knows where the button is that activates tears and screams, not the one for sobs or soft words. This trembling is a good enough excuse to go to the ER again.
Tile floor that ends where a chipped white wall begins. A small window with bars separates this room from a courtyard full of machines and a fall from the fourth floor. I sit, alone, with my head full, on a plastic seat in front of a screen that launches alphanumeric codes after a strident sound. I am, in the waiting room and until the psychiatrist on duty authorizes benzodiazepines, EHK7. Looking towards the corner where two right-angled walls meet the ceiling, I start talking:
– Hey! – I say to the nothingness – Hey! – I insist, standing up, facing me with aggressiveness.
– Nobody answers but I know he must be close; I notice his trace, the time he takes to change my space, the literature about what others call depression.
– Hey – I say again, shouting in all directions from which, I suppose, he is watching me – answer me or I’ll stop posing!
– Who are you talking to?
– And how do you know I’m here?
– Because you’re me too.
– Not exactly, I’m just writing this story.
– Which is ours.
The psychiatrist comes out of his office and asks us for five minutes before entering the consultation.
– Do you mind if I get a coffee? – asks the doctor, who is surprised at our refusal.
He slams the door and returns to his office.
– If you can write that the doctor is not going to get his coffee… – I say, looking around the corner again – Why don’t we just skip all this? The anxiety? The uncertainty? – the screen beeps and the EHK7 lights up – the disease.
– Without them there would be no story, you wouldn’t exist as you are. Without them I would not be writing you.
– Let’s create another one from scratch! Without all this…
– I can’t, the most important things don’t depend on me, those were already inscribed – I said, he said, we said.
Do you have any comment about this section?
Go to the Forum section to share your reactions, opinions, comments or questions about the texts written by Luis in the section “Chronicle of a Fortune Foretold”.