The Glass Is Half Empty

The Glass Is Half Empty

By Victoria Munro

 Chapter One

The mind is a funny thing. Then again - so is the heart. People often say “I don’t know whether to listen to my heart or my mind”, but I have decided to listen to neither, as usually neither is right.

 

Karrie stared at me, waiting for the answer.
I couldn’t give her it. I didn’t know the answer. 
I’d tried, I’d really fucking tried, but this was the last straw. This was why I was going to remove myself from this world. She couldn’t stop me. No one could.
“Karrie, I don’t know. Maybe some people just lose it?”
She looked at me, a frown written on her face. Her short black hair was tucked behind her pointy ears, she was wearing a strong perfume, and I could smell its fruity scent. It pierced my nostrils.

“Freya, people don’t just lose it. Things cause them to lose it. Surely something must have sparked you to go over the edge and start living like you did?”
She continued to wind her finger round her shiny hair; it was putting me on edge. I studied her facial expression. She gave nothing away, her expression was emotionless. But I guess it had to be, she was trying to remain professional, but my swearing and non-existent reaction to her chatter didn’t help. I was being a complete and utter dick and I knew it. I could sit here and say yes; yes I do know why I went round the bend. It was my parents. The way they pestered and pestered me to do everything right. To be something I am not, to succeed in every bloody aspect of my bloody damned life. And it tore me apart; I could not be who they wanted me to be. Freya North. Failure.
I stared into her shocking blue eyes and said, “You don’t know me. Stop trying to pretend you do”.
Her face crumpled and she slowly smoothed down her skirt, signalling defeat. She’d lost. She was never going to get the answer she was looking for because there was none.

She gave into her defeat and let me leave. I opened the wooden door and it creaked loudly, signalling her departure. As I meandered back to my room I tried to block out the screams and wails from around me. Old nutty Tisha was being dragged to the Electric Shock Therapy room. I felt sorry for her. It’s not her fault she was born a few crumbs short of a biscuit. I guess it wasn’t my fault either. It just happened, as things do, and I found myself here.

I’m not going to do the whole explanation thing. If you want to know you’ll find out. Slowly and surely. What I will disclose is a piece of advice taken from my wise experience: don’t end up like me. Get out before you can.

Freya raked her hand through her sandy hair. It was greasy and needed a good wash. She’d run out of her usual apple shampoo a week ago and nothing had sparked her any motivation to go out and get some more. It was foul anyway. It smelled nice but it was cheap and it stripped your hair of its natural chemicals. That’s what you for buying Tesco value, she thought. But she didn’t own the money to invest in posh shampoo. She barely scraped through as it was. Living on her own in a council flat in the heart of a city had its costs. Gas, electricity, water, not to mention the dreaded food shopping. So she had to cut down and only buy the essentials. Food. Bread, milk and a few packets of pasta with tins of tomato sauce to boil up for herself on a lonely Tuesday evening.

She needed to sort her life out. Her A-levels hadn’t gone as well as planned and she had opted to do gap year, so she was meant to be saving up for university next year but all the money was being spent on just keeping her alive now. Her parents had completely blocked her out of their lives for various reasons and their once stable income was now gone and all that was left was her own miniscule salary.

Tisha wasn’t going to get out of here for a while. I however was. If I carried on acting the nut I really was I’d never leave so it was time to act a bit more normal. I suppose I would have to start talking to Karrie, but there was something about her that pushed me away and stopped me from gushing my heart out like she expected.
Actually, scrap that, what did she expect? A bloody life story. I had made it clear from session one that I did NOT want to disclose personal information, but she had kept on, wearing me down and grinding at me.

When I got back to my room I flopped onto my bed, feeling the hard mattress dig at my stomach. They could at least give us comfy beds so we slept better. The poor insomniacs didn’t have a chance.

Jodi was lying on her bed crying. I felt sorry for her. She’d had it rough. Abusive parents which lead to an eating disorder. No wonder she was a little bit fucked up now. Poor poor girl.

Jodi’s short fluffy brunette hair was stuck up in tufts around her head.
“Jodi” I whispered “you can talk to me”. A wail escaped from her small mouth and she raised her head so that I could see her face. God, she looked awful. Her tiny face was red and blotchy, the way it is when tears get the better of you, and her eyes looked so very sad. She wiped a salty tear away with the back of her pale hand and muttered “Thanks Freya, but I can’t really talk to you. You don’t know what its like”. 
I shrugged my shoulders at her and said “Well I’m here anyway” and with that she threw herself down onto the duvet and started wailing again.

The window was letting in too much light. Usually it was far too dark and I fought with the cleaners to let me keep my window open to let in light and to wash away the foul smell that clings to the walls of a psychiatric unit. They never let me, so it stayed dark and smelly. No wonder people felt depressed.
I’d tried, countless times, to escape from the small window above my bed. But it was useless. The cold metal bars that were the barrier from here to the outside world stopped me. I’d used my own fist to smash at them, back in the days where I believed I was stronger than God. But it was no use; I remained in here, surrounded by the smell of onions and the taste of craziness.