William.

Glued to my bed that's not really mine. Hateful. Being stuck here is hateful. All I can think about is you. I get to see you today. You're probably there already, busy working, busy helping people. Are you aware that I'm coming? Probably not, I'm probably just another person to help. And you do. You help me. Do you have any idea how important you have become to me? Probably not.

I'm able to find the energy to get out of bed because of you. I'll see you for five minutes, maybe ten. But it's enough. You're the only real person in a world full of ghosts. You're the only one I trust with my secret mind. It's all I have now. It's my life. I drag myself up and listlessy pull on clothes. Layers and layers, doesn't matter. I'm so skinny I'm cold all the time anyways. I look outside, wanting rain but not wanting it. Whatever the weather is it stirs up anxiety in me. No rain. I sigh. I grab my pouch of tobacco and roll a smoke, joint style. I don't give a s**t that you're not supposed to smoke it this way. I'm doing it for the smell and for the feelings it creates in me. I miss my dad. I miss 4-year old me. And maybe you'll ask about it if I come in smelling like tobacco. I hope so. Your regard keeps me going, however thin it may be.

I walk down the stairs, out the door, past mailboxes. There are people around, I stare through them. Ghosts. Not real. And I don't believe in ghosts. If someone said hi, I'd have to really try to respond, really concentrate on the right thing to say. It's so hard! I'd rather be blank. Just let me get to my destination and my glimmer of hope. I do my mixture of averting my eyes and staring straight ahead, hoping I give off a don't-talk-to-me vibe. I stop by a tree and light my smoke. I relax a bit. This is good. I have a good smell around me now and I'm about to see you. This is enough. I can get through the next little bit of my life because of these things. F**k, I'm so precarious. I laugh at myself. A guy glances at me as he gets out of his car. Guess I laughed out loud. I shoot him with my mental 'keep your distance' gun and look down at my feet which are crushing the grass. I'm losing my grip, but it's funny sometimes. Oh well. Too tired to care. Tears come (poor grass...), but I'm too tired to cry. I close my eyes and inhale a happy childhood.

I have no idea what time it is. I thought I knew when I left, but so much has happened since then! Walking, smoking, hiding...time is slippery. I drift a lot these days. Whatever time it is it's time to get to you. It must be. Even if it's not, it's too late now. I'm coming. I need to see you. I need the break you give me. When I'm with you I don't have to worry about being me. It's f*****g glorious. I walk past cars, pavement, grass, more pavement, I open a door. Nice ladies say hi. I fake a smile and I'm surprised by my own timid voice saying hi back. I feel sorry for them, how can I not say hi back? I sit and wait for my turn. I never read magazines in waiting rooms. It reeks of complacency and I hate it. As if a f*****g magazine will make me relax. F**k you Home & Garden. I just wait. Doing nothing. I glance at others when they come and go but only because I'm a human still and it's natural. I don't care. Caring is tiring. I may not be here next time. I'm almost done.

A nice lady ghost says my name and I drag myself out of the chair. It's so taxing my legs turn to spaghetti on the ten second walk to the next room. F**k I hate my body. But I hide it and keep walking. You're there already and you give me a big kind smile when I enter. Some lovely greeting leaves your lips as I sit down, at last at my destination. I greet you back sincerely, my smile is the first honest one since the last time I saw you. The relief is palpable, just to be here, I'm so grateful. I lean my head back against the wall and relax my muscles and close my eyes and let myself feel ok. It's so nice that tears come again. My face doesn't change though, I don't actually cry. I don't work that way anymore. My eyes are dry, my eyes are wet, tears swing on by anytime they feel like it but my face just stays the same. I'm too tired for the drama of outright crying.

You sit there and let me have my moment, not saying anything. When I open my eyes you're looking concerned, but still smiling. You look like the kindest soul that ever walked the earth. I feel I have to explain my tears, so I say that I haven't slept much and I'm really tired. I see things when I close my eyes. Yes, you understand. Your simple understanding is like a balm. You ask me what you need to - am I eating, taking my pills, going to class...but you ask like you really care. You ask like a friend. It's not just for the file.

You ask about my sex life, because that's what kids do in university, though not I. I'm so disgusted and scared that I curl up into a ball right there on the chair, pulling my legs up and wrapping my arms around them and putting my chin on my knees. I feel repulsive and insectile, there's no way I'd suffer someone to touch me. To me, no one in their right mind would ever want to. You concede the point and leave it alone. We start talking about kids. I dare to ask if you have any. And you do, a little boy. I immediately create a rich tapestry in my mind of the life you might lead outside of this room. I'm wistful. I unfold myself and relax again. We talk about feeling lost, about being lost. And you tell me about the caves you used to explore in Kentucky. It's so alien to me! It makes you even more real. I feel honored that you told me. I feel humbled.

I drop my eyes, suddenly I'm ashamed of myself, of the reason I'm here. At this very moment my hand is clutching my credo, which never leaves me. It's filthy dirty and my wrists are not fit for anyone's eyes. I feel so bad, you deserve better. You make me want to be better. So on the spur of the moment I decide that I could maybe give it up, or at least try, for you. The only thing I can think to say is "Do you want to see it?" 

You see the opportunity to help me in a bigger way and you take it. Your look of compassion and pity when I open my fist is heartbreaking. My hand's a mess. I'm so sorry. And I'm so nervous! All of a sudden I'm bursting with nervous energy, wanting to explain a mile a minute. All of a sudden it's very important that you don't touch it. This dirty, violent thing cannot touch your skin. No way. I won't allow it. So you hold out your clipboard and I drop it there. 

So now I'm naked. Completely naked and alone and scared. I have nothing, I start to shiver. I'm ok right now because I'm still in the room. But that's quickly coming to an end. How will I walk home without my credo? How will I get through the night?? F**k, this was a mistake. I'm panicking. A million troublesome thoughts go through my head as you talk about my next medications and how much you're going to give me and when you want to see me again. I'm staring at the credo and I'm calculating the chances of snatching it back when you stop mid-sentence and chuckle and say "Leave it theeere." Still so kind! I slouch back in my chair, ashamed all over again.

I look away at the patient table against the wall. To distract myself I imagine me asleep there. I imagine how wonderful it would be to curl up there and just sleep, knowing you're in the room or at least in the building. I know I'd be able to sleep if you were near. Sigh. I'm wistful again. More sadness. More things that can't happen because it's 'just not done'. I'm doomed. I'm crashing. I probably look forlorn or something because you look at me with such care and ask if I feel like I'm going to hurt myself today, or tonight. If I went home would I be ok? I know what I'm supposed to say but I remain silent. I don't want to lie. The truth is I have no f*****g clue what I'm going to do, because without my credo I feel completely unhinged and volatile. You assure me that if I don't feel like I'll be safe I could go to a hospital right now, you would even drive me. I'd be safe there.

There's no way in hell I want to go to a hospital. And the question becomes not about safety, but about preference. I'm sure I would be safer in a hospital, but I don't want to go. I'm scared. You see me considering. I should've answered ages ago it seems but an idea pops into my head and I ask "Would you visit me?" It sounds ridiculous and pathetic the moment it's out of my mouth. But you say yes right away. You'd visit every day. I'm touched. It's probably just part of your rounds, but I'm still touched. I consult my insides and decide that I still don't want to go. It's too scary. I respectfully decline. I'll go home and I'll promise not to hurt myself. It pisses me off a little because I know I won't break it because it's him. I'm gonna have to be good for real. F**k.

And now our time is up. There's no reason to draw it out any longer. I'm aware of all those lucky people out there who still get to see him. I bet they don't appreciate it. Unfair. I would hang out here all day if I could. But it's time to start acting the way I'm supposed to. I hide my bitterness and envy and sadness, and I put on a smile and make my body get up. I make myself be ok with leaving. I feel like I'm heading back into a bleak wasteland where I'll have to just exist until I can get a little light again. It's hard to do. The best actor in the world is not better than me.

I will tell you about the rest of that day some other time. I made it to some other time, you see. And I credit him with much of it. He made me keep going until I started being ok for real. Later, when I was happy and married and pregnant, I wanted to name my son after him. And I would have, if not for my husband. It was a tiny bit heartbreaking that he never understood how much he meant to me. But I'll always remember William, even if I'm not saying his name every day. I'm thinking it.