The stairs shot down like a slide. They were too small to step on, I'd fall down right there, and tumble and crash all the way to the bottom.
I mean, I know I wouldn't really, but that's how it looked. Steep. Towering. High.
I saw my mom at the bottom. She looked like an ant from up here. I blinked and there she was.
She carried me down the stairs and set me down on the couch. "Everything okay?" I heard dad ask me.
"Yea just tall stairs today" He smirked, "gotcha kid, think fast" he tossed me a biscuit and I looked at it.
"you put chocolate chips in them today?" He looked up from the stove once again, "no but I'm sure we can-" I screamed.
They were crawling out from the biscuit onto me and onto my mom.
She didn't move an inch, but I squirmed and waved my arms violently.
They were everywhere.
Mom looked at Dad and he nodded his head, "come on Ad." she picked me up and we walked outside to the car.
Dad got in the driver's seat and mom sat back with me stroking my hair and calming me down.
As much as I'd like to say it helped, it didn't.
I could feel them like little needles pricking my skin. I've always heard TV static in my brain but it grew and grew as did the collection of spiders on my skin. I felt sleepy.
You'd think the spiders and needles would keep me awake but they didn't.
I woke up to spiders standing still on my skin and dad lifting me into a wheelchair. This wasn't the first time I'd been in one. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.
The nurses knew me immediately and took me right into one of the rooms on the psych floor. It was bland and boring but I had enough going on already.
They took my vitals and as soon as I saw the IV needle I passed out.
I woke up a while later and mom and dad were there. Mom had ordered me soup and crackers. The spiders were gone now, which was both a relief and a disappointment.
"Nobody pitties you, even if you're in the hospital"
I turned to look where the voice came from but all I saw was my sleeping mom and my dad reading the newspaper. I decided to brush it off and tell the doctor about it later.
I've been diagnosed, that's not the problem, the problem is that my therapist wouldn't allow me to get meds.
Mainly because if you're directly related to someone (like a birth mom) that was a drug addict, it tends to trickle down to you too.
And that's the last thing my parents need right now. Another issue from me.
"That's right. You're a burden. Don't forget that."
The voice crept back in. They usually stop when I draw. So I took a pen from mom's purse and a napkin that came with the soup on the table next to me.
Before I knew it, hours had passed. I think I only blinked once or twice throughout the 3 hour period.
Needless to say, my eyes were watering and they stung like hot air had been blown in my face. And with the heaters from the hospital room, it probably was.
The hospital wasn't a cheap, shabby place. It had good food, mediocre beds, really nice staff, and TVs. But something today felt off.
The staff from this morning that ushered me in, knew me since 3rd grade when the symptoms started.
They took me and my case and tried their best. Mainly because of the publicity they'd get if they fixed me, but also the fact that mom and dad would pay extra.
They were the best, and they promised me recovery.
But right now, I'm not sure if I wanted recovery.
I mean, I did. But the thought of being "normal" scared me.
I'd never been treated like I could live without constant surveillance. I didn't think I could. Maybe it was dumb, but it felt too real.
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