I think they’re trying to put me in a mental institution. Today Miss Theobald sent me to the counselor. I think she thought I was sad. Or she might have seen some of the pictures I left in the print dryer. I’m not sure what I left there, but it might have been something disturbing. I think I might have printed some pictures with blood in them. Miss Theobald is very squeamish. She’s easily disturbed. So she makes me leave class to go see Ms. Connor. Miss Theobald sent a note along with me that said I was despondent, and that we should discuss that. I ended up helping Ms. Connor with her book. She’s writing a novel, but she’s not very confident about it. She’s a totally talented woman and I think she’ll make a fine writer. The problem is she doesn’t see herself as a writer. So we talked about what she’s working on and worked on some of her characters. I mean that’s ostensibly what we talked about. Really it’s about her getting over this idea that she’s stuck being a school counselor for the rest of her life. Or that she somehow doesn’t deserve to do—whatever she wants to do. Which in her case is write a book. We just talked a few things over. Nothing major. I think she found it quite helpful.
I think I’m gonna stop talking. I’m not really sure there is any point in it. And when I open my mouth I get sent to talk to school counselors or psychiatrists. I love talking to them, don’t get me wrong. They’re amazing people, but—I would rather have spent that period in the photo lab, printing pictures. I will still talk to you in my head, though. And I will still hear your voice talking back to me. When I close my eyes, we will say things to each other. But we need not do it aloud.
I think I prefer to speak with you that way, either in blue gel pen or with my eyes closed. If I do, will you read me that way?
You get sent to Ms. Connor too. You’re very emotional. Which is part of why I like you. They say you cry too much. They say you cry for no reason. And you do, Pony Boy, you do cry too much. But that’s one of the things I love about you most. No one cries the right amount. If your choice is crying too little, or crying too much, which one are you gonna choose? They say when you break down crying in computer class because you’re thinking deep thoughts, that that’s crying too much.
They also say you’re clever, but there is a difference between us. I can’t say what that difference is, but I know that you can feel it too. It is reflected in a thinness of the air that I exhale. Or maybe that I inhale. I don’t think that people like it. I know that sometimes it is unpleasant for you. I can kinda see it in your face. Or I can feel it in your breathing sometimes. It’s like around me things get very very quiet. Like there’s a vacuum, a thin air vacuum. Or maybe it’s the opposite of a vacuum, whatever that is. I want to meet the Unabomber. He seems like he would be friendly to me.
I think I know how Jared feels about playing chess. That’s the way I feel about making pictures. Most people say taking pictures. That’s because they don’t understand what they’re doing. You’re not taking pictures. You’re making them. For some people, making a picture is a question of how to approach the scene. When they think about which of the possible pictures to make, it’s a question of angles, and lighting, and subject. The problem for them is getting all those right in combination. For me the problem is running out of film. To me a picture is just that before I clicked the shutter, I had twenty-two shots left. And now, I have twenty-one. It’s how we think about creation. Are you creating, or are you using up?
I’m using up.
Run the water lukewarm. Mom’s got some guitar music playing downstairs. It’s vague, muddy, rambling and without structure. Close the door. Turn the lock and hear it snap into position. White cracked paint, twenty layers. This house is probably about sixty years old. My book is on the toilet. Red cover, cover closed. Toe in the tub. It’s fine. Cool enough to get me sick. If I stay in long enough.
It’s depressing to be alone. But actually what’s depressing about it is that it puts me in touch with my memories of other people. When you’re alone you have time to think about how much your previous interactions sucked. I need to check myself into a hospital. Or maybe get someone to do that for me. I could probably force them to do it by exhibiting certain behaviors. Pre-diagnose. Exhibit. Force conclusion. Reap desired result. I’m not gonna do that though. Not unless things get really bad. But I don’t know. They might be really bad right now and I just don’t know because I’ve built up such a high tolerance to things sucking. I think the problem with me is that there’s nothing wrong with me. But wait. That really is a problem. Because that means I don’t fit in with everyone else.
Check the stopper. It’s plugged all the way in. Bright light shining in the bathtub. White counters. Off-white walls, but close enough. Whitish shower curtain. White incandescent light with no shade. 100 watts. Really more orange but to most people white. Mirror on the edge. Look at myself. Hi. Hi self. Let’s do some looking. No. Put it down. No need. I know what I look like. I know how I am when I squint my eyes. And what if I were to push my reflection over the edge of the tub. Tip the balance of the mirror. Let it hit the floor.
No one hears the sound.
No one comes to check.
I could grab one of those glass fragments and cut my perfect skin.
I shut my eyes. Don’t do that. Don’t push the mirror. Don’t say anything more to yourself. Just lie in the bath and breathe. Don’t think right now. Don’t think about it being too bright. It’s not too bright. You like it this bright. That’s why you put it this way. It’s nice in here. It’s quiet. It’s got good echoes. Good dripping. Don’t press my fingers to my mouth. Don’t press my lips together. I don’t need to do that to not say anything. I’m not gonna say anything. I don’t need any help with that. Tape you. Tape you. Tape you and I’ll never have to listen to you again. Tape your eyes open for the bright light and your ears closed for the loud noises. Tape a gun inside your mouth. Make it quiet. Spin you around to get you dizzy, pull the trigger. Bring out the psychological instruments. Administer away. Let’s see what we can find out about the person who designed this test. Every question you ask me gives something else away. Bring out the blocks. Bring out the ink blots. The only thing wrong with me is that I can’t get any decent conversation around here. People peak when they’re about five years old. After that it’s down hill for about 98% of the population. Trust me. I’ve done extensive field work regarding this phenomenon. I’d love to be locked up if I could only convince you assholes to do it. Spend my days doing art classes with retards. Perfect. Much improved. Silence please. Silence. Would you take my temperature? I prefer it in the ass. A nice little insertion.
I bust out laughing.
I just like fucking with nurses.
Oh shit, I’m laughing by myself in the bathtub. Mom is downstairs with her structureless guitar performances. And I’m laughing by myself in the bathtub.
The funny thing is: no one hears me.
Tip that mirror over the edge.
It does break.
No one comes to check.
I do reach down and fumble on the tiles for a lovely shard.
No need to look as I reach for it. No need to be careful picking it up. What am I gonna do, cut myself?
Ah, there’s one.
Pull it into the tub with me.
I am going on a trip. A very long trip. I do not expect to return. I hope not to. I wish I could take you all with me, but alas, the car is too small. It only seats two, and only one of us is coming. I tried to get my traveling partner to come with me but you are not ready. You have some things to do. Maybe you will be able to meet me later. I sincerely hope so. But if not, know that I loved you, truly, and have never met anyone I could talk to like I talk to you. I feel like breaking things. I think I need psychological help. Oh, Pony Boy, you do help me, just by being, but I think I need help from a doctor. The only problem is I’ve already seen them and they are no use. I may have something especially wrong with me. Something they cannot diagnose. So I am putting all my things in a tiny paper boat that I will fold with my hands and set sail across a mud puddle. It’s a very tiny boat so I will only have room for me and one bag of my things. A very small bag. I will not even be able to take my kitten. So obviously there is not room for another person. But you can overlook the lake my boat sits on. And you can pray down on me with your breath. I will look up and see your eyes as stars. Your breath will wrap me up and push my boat along. Then it will get cold, my Boy. Very, very cold. And I will no longer be able to feel your breath as the warm wind, you will be very far behind me. This is where the sea gets cold. Where night surrounds me. Where the sun is a long time coming. That is where my boat will stop. I will be stuck. No wind. No light. No stars. Almost no sound. Then I will lie back and take a nap. And I will never wake up.
You say to me. “What are you doing?”
And I say. “I’m practicing my suicide notes.”
You give me a weird look.
“Well, you only get to leave one. I want to do mine correctly.” I don’t think a person should wait until they decide to kill themself to write their suicide note. It makes much more sense to start working on the note now. Then when you get the note like you like it, you’ll know it’s time. Lately I feel like I’m squeezing blood from a rock.
Drip. Drip. If I stay in here much longer I’ll get sick.
Squinting into my reflection in the mirror shard.
If I’m making faces at myself in the reflection of my suicide instrument then I’m probably mentally healthy enough to stay alive. Or: my sense of humor is probably in good enough shape that I should be able to be considered mentally stable. Aren’t you supposed to be depressed when you’re killing yourself? Maybe the thing that’s so sick about me is that I’m not even depressed while I want to kill myself. If I did kill myself, I would probably be laughing when I died.
Ok. Ok. All your solutions are wrapped up in the same pieces that form your problems. There aren’t any new pieces. Just rearrange existing ones and cancel things out, like algebra.
Get out of the tub. Unstop the water. Try reading a really subversive book and see if that helps. If we have any.
Go downstairs. See if we have any.
You’re not gonna kill yourself tonight.
You might kill yourself.
But not tonight.
Unstop the tub. I’m standing.
Naked, I kneel by the tub. I place the mirror fragments into my towel. I’ll throw them away in my room. Wash the towel to get any smaller pieces out. That should work, right? I walk to my room holding the towel. I don’t cover up. The guitar is still playing downstairs. I can kinda tell where my mom is by her music. And tonight I don’t care if I get caught walking naked. I think my mom already knows there’s something wrong with me.
I tuck myself inside my comforter. Wrap up all the edges. Make it a nice warm pocket. Reach for my phone. Set the alarm. 1:11. On vibrate. Lie here and try not to think about anything. It doesn’t work. But focusing on the patterns on the backs of my eyes helps. It helps that what I see is not something I’m guiding, not something my thoughts control. But instead it’s like I’m watching a little play of noise. Some random theatrical production that doesn’t even have characters. Just dots and dust and splotches of color. Moving outside of my control. And if I try to focus on them they go away. So it encourages you to relax. Eventually I recognize that state where I can tell that my thoughts are not making logical sense. But I am still having them. In this state I cannot have a train of complete thoughts. Each thought might make sense on its own but strung together they would not be acceptable in waking life. In this state I cannot follow my thoughts. I cannot think about what I am thinking about with consistency. I get lost as they flow from this to that. I can recognize this state while I am in it, though. This is the state that happens right before I go to sleep. It is a relaxing state if you go with it. It can be interrupted, sleep postponed, for a little while with effort. But that is inelegant. The thing I like to do is to watch my thoughts come and go, to listen to them without attempting to say anything. Things like: “That doesn’t make sense!” Or: “I’d like to go back and review that.” If I do that it is too much work. If I let my thoughts come and go and simply watch them, I fall asleep. You cannot remember when you fell asleep. But you can know when you are about to. You cannot know what mixture of ingredients will cause your death, but you can sometimes, for a second, see that it is about to happen.