All in my Mind

XXVIII.

TW mentions of self harm
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Most of us are born crying.

That's a really important detail about life that I think we all forget. I say most of us, because a few of us don't. Instances of that smaller group of people normally involved a panic though. Doctors rush around trying to make you cry. They want you to cry. It's important. Your crying is supposed to be a sign of your strength.

If you're crying, you're considered strong enough to live. It's the first sign of your ability to survive after your grande entrance on earth.

And then one day when you cry, you're told to stop. You're told to grow up. You're told you're too old to be acting like this.

When did crying go from a sign of your strength to a sign of your weakness? When did it become a bad thing? Isn't caring about something to the point of tears supposed to be positive? Isn't that a sign of passion? Isn't that still strength somehow?

Anyways, something really bad happened and all I could hear was crying. We're not at that part in the story yet, but I thought I'd give you a warning. That way you know what to expect.

I ended up in the medical center sometime in the early evening. It isn't my fault, before you go and blame me. I took the Tylenol when they offered it. I didn't argue at all because I'd promised Lily. The girl had even told me not to do it, but the boy reminded me of my promise. I couldn't break the pinky swear.

The problem was that I threw up the Tylenol. I was dehydrated and the juice they gave me just made it worse. I couldn't keep anything down. I mean it when I said I was trying. I promise I tried.

When it got to the point that I couldn't keep my eyes open, they got worried. I couldn't sit up. I couldn't hardly talk. I couldn't drink water or take a fucking Tylenol. It had hit me so fast. That's what concerned them.

Nurse John told me we had to go. I was too out of it to be compliant. I couldn't even consent to the IV fluids I was receiving. I was barely lucid. I just let whatever was happening happen.

In the meantime, things in my head were doing the loving protective dance that they did to save me when things went wrong. I knew I was not doing well. I knew that something in my body was deeply unhappy and that I was maybe in more physical trouble that I could notice on my own, but that seemed far away. Instead I had the boy and the girl keeping my company. They stood at my bedside and chatted away with eachother avidly. Normally they bickered, but this time they were just talking. They seemed excited about something, but I didn't know what. I wasn't really listening to the words. I could just tell that she was holding an arm over his shoulder and that he was blushing and laughing in response to her. It was cute, and bizarre. Instead of that I focused on Hoggle, who had curled up next to be in the hospital bed. I focused on the way his hair laid in a fluffy mess. It was soft and familiar. It helped me feel more comforted. It had felt like this the last time I'd touched him too. The real time; when he'd laid down with me during the fire when he knew everything wasn't going to be okay.

I could feel him there next to me. He was warm and still and always so careful of my space. His head was only slightly over my lap. He smelled good, like earth and a little shampoo. He always smelled like that. He was good at the service dog stuff, and he always listened, but that dog just loved rolling in the dirt. He loved it so much.

"You doing okay Alex?" Nurse John asked me at some point.

He was coming in and out to check on me throughout the night. I had slept a little at some point after the IV, but it was spotty sleep. It's hard to stay asleep when my mind is so frazzled. The IV in my arm was just uncomfortable enough to keep me from slipping into unconsciousness for too long.