The October Amaryllis: Everything Has a Cost

Chapter 24 - ????

The first question that I had was how I even got to the hospital, as I had absolutely no memory of getting there. It was as if I had teleported there from 1931.

Why am I here? Did I have another seizure or what?

I heard muffled talking, which I quickly realized was a doctor talking to my mother. I leaned towards the closest wall to hear what they were saying better. I could make out about half of what they spoke.

“Perhaps he’s an (?) bipolar,” a doctor said in a muffled tone to my mom somewhere in the corner.

What is he talking about…? I’m not bipolar, you moron!

I know this is off-topic, but I once drew my mental illness. I don’t know what it is, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I have BPD. Here is my rendition of it.

https://photos.app.goo.gl/mH8SGk9gWa3RUSQQ6

“He seemed fine until today,” my mother said, crying in response. When she cries, you can hear it from a thousand miles away. I know this isn’t nice to say, but it drives me insane when she cries; a part of me just wants to tell her to shut up. I’m the polar opposite of her because when I cry, I do it quietly. Most of the time, people don’t even notice that I’m crying. But then again, what do people notice in this world? All they care about is s*x, drugs, status, and money. Personally, none of the four ever interested me very much. I mean, like for the first one, I’d much rather cuddle with a girl and talk to her about philosophy. I’d brew her a pot of Earl Grey and discuss Nietzsche and the ethics of stem cell research. Society doesn’t know what love is anymore…

I really need to know what happened!

I stood up at that moment and walked to where I heard their voices until a nurse stopped me and told me that it was safer for me to lay down.

“Why the hell am I here?” I asked, confused out of my mind. It was officially at that point that I realized the effect of what I had done; what initially was fun had quickly become destructive. I became a slave to the dopamine rush.

“Please don’t swear, there are child-”

“That’s not an answer,” I replied irritatedly.

“You had a manic episode and then had a seizure in the kitchen. Your mother says you grabbed black paint from the garage and started painting your teeth with it while laughing,” she said, reading some cheesy romance novel. I can’t stand those sorts of books; they always have some whiny simp as a protagonist. I may be whiny, but I sure as hell don’t dedicate my whole life to one girl. I mainly commit it (albeit unintentionally) to disappointing my friends and loved ones.

“Why don’t I remember any of this?” I asked, tempted to cry. I’m incredibly emotional; I’m either crying and wishing that I was dead or laughing my ass off at things that aren’t even that funny. I’d call myself a ticking time bomb, but that wouldn’t be fair. Bombs serve a purpose; I don’t.

“Manic episodes often result in severe memory loss. Would you like for me to get you something to eat? Perhaps a sandwich?”

“Sure, I’d like a ham sandwich, if that’s fine.”

“I got a turkey one if that’s okay. Would you like any juice, Clive?” she asked, standing up from her chair.

I had a stupid moment right there and then where I wondered how she knew my name until I looked at the wristband they put on me, which read Clive Spencer Andrews Age 16. They gave the Spencer part to me in honor of Hollywood actor Spencer Tracy. I can’t stand Hollywood; that’s where all the freaks reside. If I were president, I’d make Twitter illegal so I wouldn’t have to see their brain-dead tweets constantly. Hollywood is proof that you don’t need to be smart to be successful.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said, nodding my head.

“Alrighty, try to go back to your bed ’cause if you pass out, you’ll hurt your head which I don’t think you’d want very much.”

“No, I most certainly wouldn’t,” I replied with a small smile.

I went back to my bed and laid down, staring at the ceiling. There were what looked like tiny poppy seeds on it, like the ceilings in schools, that were the most boring things imaginable. The only difference was that it wasn’t cold enough to freeze nitrogen in school.

Could this place possibly be any colder…? If it gets any colder, a mammoth might just show up.

Time moved absurdly slowly in the hospital as if someone was slowing it down just to torture me. While thinking about how much I regretted time traveling, I noticed that I would occasionally see historical events on the walls that were never actually there out of the corner of my eye. I had abused time travel so much that I had actually started hallucinating. However, the strangest part is that when I looked directly at the hallucinations, they disappeared into thin air as if they were terrified of me. They also had an eerie vibe that I couldn’t exactly explain; it’s like something about them just felt entirely off. If you want to know the truth, I probably had ruined at least a couple of timelines by then.

Could this get any stranger?

Eventually, the nurse arrived with my food on a tray before leaving to read more of the book.

Must be an excellent book. I sure wish I had one with me right now… I want to read There There again. Rule of the Bone was pretty good too. I haven’t read Before I Fall in a bit.

After what felt like years, the doctor walked over to me and told me what would happen to me next. Even before he opened his mouth, I knew that it wasn’t going to be any good.

“Please, just don’t send me to the psych ward. I’ll give you all of my money and then some. Hell, I’ll give you a kidney if you just let me go,” I replied, shaking like a leaf.

Unsurprisingly, my bribe didn’t work. It got a chuckle out of him, though.

“That’s now how the system works, Clive… We’re putting you on a seventy-two-hour hold because you are a danger to yourself. Don’t think that you did anything wrong because you can’t control these things. Inside the psychiatric hospital, they’ll monitor your mental health to check how you’re doing before releasing you once they see your condition has improved. Do you have any questions?” he asked, straightening his glasses.

“Aren’t psychiatric hospitals full of crazies…? I’m scared to go there,” I said, nearly shaking from fear. I didn’t feel like being in a madhouse with a bunch of other freaks. My dad had scared me enough by showing me One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest; I wasn’t too keen on experiencing the madness myself. I didn’t want to meet a real-life Nurse Ratched in the hospital.

“That’s a common mistake that people make about psychiatric hospitals; most patients there are good people who just have struggles in their lives. I promise you that you’ll be okay. I must warn you, though, that phones are not allowed in them.”

“Why?” I asked, confused.

“Phones are not considered therapeutic, and they don’t want you to record other patients. But you’ll have many other things to do there, I promise. Now get some sleep; I think you need it,” he said, patting me on the shoulder.

Don’t mind if I do.