My Eyes On You

Whomever

She woke up during the second dialysis session and said, “I feel no pain.”

Her pastor visited her. The rest of her family visited her. She received flowers. After a week, she was strong enough to be let out of the regular hospital.

By law, they had to place her in a psychiatric ward. Leah didn‟t want to go, but her mother explained to her that either she go voluntarily, or a judge will force her. They changed her meds. A doctor spoke with her every day. The hours inside that place dragged as if they were weeks, and Leah wished she could be let out sooner than later.

But they thought she was lying about not being suicidal anymore. It was enough to make her want to have a

temper tantrum and be locked up in the quiet room, but she controlled herself.

After ten days, they finally let her go.

Leah still felt weak, but secretly, she now knew that she had the courage to kill. And that made her feel powerful.

Her mother enrolled her in a local community college.

Leah was a good writer, so everyone thought that she should take some English classes. She made straight A‟s. With newfound optimism and confidence, Leah decided to go out and socialize again.

She hung out with the few friends that still lingered in Hopeville, smoking cigarettes occasionally with them, even

though she had quit.

She started going to raves and clubs. She went there

dressed like a hooker—in short, tight skirts, halter tops, and spiked boots. She almost always made out with someone

different each time she went, and on several occasions, she let him do more.

She never forced him to use protection. It was as though she were daring God to give her some fatal disease. She rediscovered her haughty, sassy attitude and used it every chance she got. She showed her personality with her body, and her mother disapproved.

“You‟ll break my heart,” her mother once commented, shaking her head. Leah just looked at her leave.

Even though she was living dangerously, her grades did not suffer. She made straight A‟s all the way to her AA degree.

The only d**g she did was the occasional ecstasy tablet. She was on a roll: energized and self-confident.

But then she dropped again. When she came back to the hospital, they re-diagnosed her. They now said she had

“bipolar.”

Apparently you get really high and really low. Leah didn‟t care enough to listen to everything they said. They put her on Lithium, anyway.

She transferred to a four-year school and majored in

journalism. Her thoughts, at that point, were consumed with studies and writing.

She dreamed about someday having

a lucrative career at a major newspaper.

But her mother was concerned about her. She was

determined that she was going to drop again. She was concerned that all this success meant only one thing—mania.

She forced her daughter to go to a day-treatment program for the mentally ill on her days off.

She walked into the day room stiffly and uncertainly, looking at all the faces. Some of them were staring off into space with their mouth open. Others were mumbling to

themselves, pacing back and forth.

All of them had a not-

so-there expression on their face. Some even looked intelligent, but you could tell that there was something not quite right about the way they looked longingly out the window.

Leah timidly took a seat, clasping her purse in her lap. In the mornings, everyone had to do a job. It was like work: dusting, sweeping, mopping, cleaning the toilets, etc., etc. Then there was a communal gathering for lunch, and afterwards, they all met for group therapy.

At first, Leah didn‟t want to share. But soon, she thought of inventive things to say: “My mother is upset about my past d**g use” or “I‟m having a tough time coping with the stresses of school.” Those two always went over well.

But neither of them touched on the real heart of the matter. What bothered Leah, what had been bothering her for a long time, was something she couldn‟t quite put into words without sounding crazy: the dissolution of her soul.

She was getting a lot of mentally ill friends. Not only did she meet people at the clinic, but she also met people every time she went into the hospital. She went into the hospital eight times over the next several years.

Each time, they adjusted her medications and observed her for a few days. Each time, she went in because she was suicidal. Except once.

She found herself at the mall with two younger friends who were just graduating from high school. The girl

driving them was mad at her, and Leah c****d an attitude.

“So just leave me here,” she retorted. Soon, she was off and flying. She was running through the mall so quick that

the two girls behind her could barely keep up. When they did, Leah rushed up to a security guard.

“See those two girl?” she said, pointing at them. “They‟re trying to kill me.”

They were taken to the security guard station.

Their Mothers were called. The younger of the two girls started crying and then the older one did, too.

When Leah's mother picked her up, little was said between the two of them. Leah stood staring out of her window when she heard a rap on her door. “Leah? I think you‟d better go to the hospital. I don‟t think you‟re well.”

When they got there, they had to wait again. The wait was excruciating. Leah thought about Cameron and about the

last time she was here in the emergency room, and she decided to lose it.

She screamed at the top of her lungs. She wouldn‟t stop; it was as though her life depended on it. She screamed until her lungs became hoarse, not even stopping when they gave her an injection in the hip and strapped her to the bed.

She was in the hospital for three weeks. Her parents visited her occasionally, bearing gifts, but they did

little to comfort Leah, who was in despair. None of the doctors thought she would get better, and everyone predicted that she would be there for months.

Leah wept in her room, thinking about the freedom she felt when she owned the g*n and engaged in fantasies about killing whomever she wanted.