Consume

I entered through the heavy door; the air was hot - too hot. The chattering of the crowds overwhelmed my head, pounding in time with each step I took towards the room. The smell was revolting and the lights too bright. I could hear the buzzing of every machine. Every table was full, with one chair empty at the end. Standing arm to arm with each body, I pushed my way through the cue, deciding halfway that today was not my day. I left.

Longing for the time before would never disappear in my heart. Before each table had only four chairs, and I cried into the mess that would never reach my mouth. Before I stopped stepping foot through the doors of that room. Before I sat in the back, with the lockers towering over me, and no one noticed I was gone. Could I pretend that before was no different? Could I pretend that I had somehow changed? On second thought, no. The only difference being who, and where, and when.

In the end, the room was the reason. Not the smells, nor the lights, nor the chairs, nor the heat. To blame them was to give an answer to my indescribable pain. The room itself was a large expanse, filled to the brim with everything of which I was afraid. Memories of the table and benches flood back when my feet touch that laminate; an endless expanse, yet I had nothing to say. And I remember the table stretching out on either side of me, empty and vast as the hole I could never quite fill. The hole I now had no desire to fill. It stretches through me even now; I won’t go to the room today.

Each year was a new hell. First alone - miserable solitude. Then with leeches covering my arms and chest, sucking from me what little I had. Then alone again, stifled by the heat of tape over my mouth. And at home the voices rose over the hum of the refrigerator, until I abandoned that room as well. The whirring of machines and the elated yelps from those whose faces I knew but whose names I did not, washed over me. And I remember the carpet with stains from people long gone and each step I took on it. Yet I entered the room every time; they would not permit me to escape again to a world of solace. When the eyes finally closed, now that was when my freedom began.

Don’t believe for a second that I did not gaze into the mirror with contempt - poking and prodding the withering petals of an unwatered flower. Feeling the hole so deeply, with pride that the hole could only grow bigger. It swallowed me whole, drowning me in the sensation of complete and total emptiness. I loved it. I don’t need to breathe.

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In the end, the weight occupied each corner of my mind. I left not a speck of light, coating my own personal prison in the darkness I needed like air. Our atmosphere was thick yet sterile and I cleaned each day, hoping to rid the floor of the scuff marks. Closing myself into that small box, even in the dark the trees sparkled. What a beautiful choice I have made.

Always, that room with the crowds and the smells and the lights and the chairs - especially the chairs - loomed over me. Hard as I tried I couldn’t escape it. But today I won’t pass that threshold. And I didn’t. So if the room could be avoided for one day, why not two? Why not three? Ten? The possibilities were endless. I feel powerful, standing strong, unhampered by that weight.

Mostly the task was easy, though I could feel the room beckoning at certain hours of the day. It rose up in me, but I swallowed it down. I pushed it deeper, deeper, until there was nowhere left for it to go. One more push. And this time it would stay down. That room could not control me; I would control it. I was a far bigger expanse than even its most far reaching corners. I was far brighter than its artificial lights. I was nothing like the damp, crowded air of that room. I am nothing like it.

How many times would I lie to you? Maybe as many as I lied to myself. Do you remember gazing into my eyes? I wonder, did you detect the slightest hint of that weight? You smiled and waved, as though I were nothing. And I had escaped one more time. Of course, I didn’t fall for my own trickery, but you did. You most certainly did.

Under it all, I was becoming weak. Every step was a challenge to which I could not accept defeat. As I grasped the large clump of hair, I wept for the new hole. Buried under my blankets I shivered from the cold - though come to think of it, it was spring. My head continually pulsed, as though my brain were playing music for its own enjoyment. My nails broke off and my throat was dry and my muscles ached. But I could not let this stop me. I was winning, I had been from the start. To quit now would be abhorrent. I may have fallen - once, twice - but bruises never kept me off my feet.

No one hated me quite like you; no one’s words could ever cut so deep. I hear you now in my head, reminding me. Your voice screams above all the rest. You demand to be heard, though you don’t deserve my attention. Perhaps today will be the day. The snow is falling fast and it’s cold. I can see the lights through the window and somehow, they seem dimmer than they did before. But the pull of your voice is louder still. Not today.

Golden rays stream through the window, stirring me from feverish nightmares of the room with red walls. The hole always feels deeper in the morning. As I get ready, I hardly notice it. I think about the taste of coffee, slightly burned. Those colorful pieces seize my attention, refusing to surrender. Just like I crafted this, I can craft myself. People are only pieces, with a million colors scattered across the floor. Mine would be one with only sky.

Rare. The days I can remember are rare. As is my smile, my strength, my hope. I always wanted my brain to be quiet, and now it was. I flipped the light switch hoping for some clarity, but the bulb must have died. Oh, how happy I was in the world I created; finally a world with no rooms. It was only me and my own personal dungeon - finally free. I had made my dream come true, at the cost of my reality.

Yes, do you not remember what I said as I braced myself, gaze locked to the floor, and walked out the door? Well, my friend, I lied. I am hungry.

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Author: Summer Eaton