Locked

This is a short story about a woman suffering from mental illness.

The visiting room was still cold and dark from the night. It wasn’t even open yet as no one ever visited this early in the morning. A woman’s voice rose from there. She was fighting with someone. She was complaining about how "they never visit". She was sobbing. The Room wasn’t even open yet. But she was there, sitting in the right corner, like she did every day, animatedly talking to the cool air. No one ever visited. She insisted on going to the Room anyways. She was convinced her family was waiting for her. Over time, she had earned a key to the Room. Before that, she would just silently wait at the door, expecting to miraculously open. She wouldn’t even bother asking one of the staff members to open it for her. In fact, she refused to acknowledge the existence of anyone outside of her imaginary world. Slowly, the outside world had stopped acknowledging hers.

She was in no way a model patient, and the staff was even glad to cast her out. She disturbed group activities on a daily basis, always starting a fight with an imaginary friend of hers, getting incredibly mad and trying to physically hurt the air around her. It made people wonder why she would even make up an imaginary friend she couldn’t get along with. It was the same story with her family. She always went to the Room, but soon, her scream and sobs would be echoing through the whole hospital. They had become one of the noises now, like the sound of traffic or the noise of a crowd. They had become unnoticeable.

She realized that. It gave her a sense of satisfaction and power. She was glad that no one cared anymore. She had no one to disappoint now. Before, when she was still part of the outside world, when she talked to people and smiled, people liked her. They cared for her. It was incredibly hard to handle. She had to make sure she did everything right. Make sure she wouldn’t disappoint anyone. Now she was free. She could cry, scream, or not do anything all day. No one cared. But that wasn't why no one visited. No one visited because she had no family. Deep inside, she knew that. She pretended that she didn’t. If they were there, in her head, how could they not be real? If she went to the Room often enough, maybe she could convince them to come. She just wanted to see them, talk to them, like they used to.

She still had the pictures. They were the only things decorating her bedroom. Everyone was smiling in the pictures. There was her mom, her dad, and her little brother. There were pictures from her 8th birthday, from that trip to the zoo, where they fed the penguins and from that time they went to the beach that had sharks. Sometimes, she would take the pictures to the Room with her and explain them to her parents, one by one, reminding them of the great time they've had. But no one ever visited.

Author's Note

Hi!
This is a short story I am currently working on. I would very appreciate your input. Comments and criticism ae welcome!

Reviews

[TLK]

This is written so that the narrator is telling us about somebody, without the reader having any actual experience of the person. As the narrator is a disembodied voice, this feels very removed. Overall, the effect is (for me) a disconnection to the emotional reality of the patient.

I can't help but compare it to my own story 'Anticipation'. I found it very helpful to use a not-at-all impassionate doctor to narrate the extremely odd story of my character's eating disorder. The involvement of the reader came through them trying to comprehend the breakdown in logic of the doctor as he showed his absolute devotion to his subject.

[niki627]

I read your story ( great story by the way) and I see what you mean.I felt that way too. I actually wrote it from a few perspectives before choosing this one. I will try to rewrite it.
Thanks for taking the time to tell me :)