Decline of a Mind

I adjust myself on my bed. I fix the sheet that I hung up as a makeshift backdrop. I look at the viewfinder on my camera that I begged my parents to get for my birthday. I smile at it. It doesn’t feel right. I look around. Make sure everything’s nice and ready. Make sure it’s clean. Don’t need anybody seeing how much of a slob I’ve been recently.

I look down at my outfit and my stance. My denim shorts are riding up, but it’s not too much. My yellow tube top shines against all of the dull colors that my apartment has become. What sun is able to make its way through the clouds and the glass of my window shines off of my golden Birkenstocks. 

After checking everything for a second time around, I get up from my bed and click record on the camera. 

I smile at it, awkwardly, not charming like people who know me are used to. I shrug and sit criss cross on my bed. “Who am I kidding,” I ask myself, “are any of us really happy right now?”

I smirk at my comment and then frown, looking down at the fuzzy blanket on my bed as I run my fingers through it. “Sorry, probably not the best way to start off a video that people may or may not see.”

I grow quiet again and shake my head, “what am I doing? I mean, I guess I wanted a conversation, but that’s a little hard, especially right now. I mean, I don’t know what I expected.” Silence. “Sorry… Well, I guess I’m not really doing anything different. I’m just talking to a camera this time.” Another pause. “Sorry again, I thought the camera would help, but it’s just awkward.” I look up at the camera and stare at myself. I look so empty. What’s happened to me? I used to be so full of life and now I’m just. Not. 

“Um, well, I guess I’m filming this as kind of a video diary thing. I’ve been stuck in my tiny apartment for about the past month or two. I still work. It’s just online. I guess I’m lucky enough to have a job where I can work from home, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

I adjust my top and smile. Shaking my head, I say, “I’ve picked up the habit of wearing these brightly colored clothes in order to try and make myself happier. You know? Bright colors equals happiness? I guess that’s how it’s supposed to work these days.”

I trail off and look around my room. Not for anything in particular, just to find somewhere to stare that isn’t at the camera. “Um, so, what have I been up to? Well, not much. I’m a college student. Um, things got cut short. Never thought I’d be finishing out the things for my degree from my apartment. I’ve been working too. I work for an up and coming author. I just manage her social media accounts. I wasn’t getting paid much before this all happened, but it’s even less now. I’m still getting by though. I definitely have it a lot better than other people for sure.”

I buzz my lips and stretch my arms. “So, I was, um, I was going to star in the school play. Had all of my lines memorized and everything. That got cancelled. That was one of the first things to get cancelled.” I smile to myself and shake my head, “yeah. I feel like everything happened so fast. One day I get an email saying that all activities are cancelled. Then I get another email saying that all classes will be online. Then the numbers start going up and it feels like a never ending spiral of disaster and disappointment.” I pause to catch my breath, not realizing that I forgot to breathe while talking.

“Yeah, things have been pretty bad. My parents have been delivering groceries to me because they don’t want me to leave my apartment.” I pause and look up at my ceiling. “I live in this tiny apartment all by myself, so it gets really quiet. I feel like my neighbors are a lot quieter than usual. God, I would give anything for things to go back to normal.”

I throw myself onto my back and exhale for a long minute. “My social life has declined a lot. It was okay to begin with. My friends and I figured out how to do things through Skype. We’d play charades and video games and watch movies and shows, but one day we just stopped doing that stuff. I’m not sure why, I never asked, but since then, I haven’t really talked to anybody.” I close my eyes tight and try to hold back the tears that are on their way. “Yeah, things are really quiet. I never realized how much I needed the noise until now.”

I sit up and rub my eyes, blinking slowly. I look at myself in the camera, smile, look down, and shake my head. Grabbing at my bare arm I say, “I’m falling apart. I don’t know what to do with my life right now. I see all of these celebrities complaining about being stuck in their mansions and how hard it is for them, but they don’t know what it’s like to be stuck in a tiny apartment 24/7 waiting for that day where the government says, ‘hey guys! Everything’s clear! You can leave your houses now!’ My God! I hate this!”

The first tear falls from my eye. Then another. And another. They keep coming. The salty water makes its way down to my lips and dries them up. I wrap my arms around myself and start sobbing. “I can’t believe this,” I whale. “I’m doing everything I can!”

The tears keep coming. They don't stop. I don’t know how to make them. 

“I am so tired of crying!”

I squeeze my eyes shut and block everything out. I take one breath in. And another one out. One in. One out. In. Out.

“Sorry about that,” I say plainly. “That’s become part of my regular routine. I don’t know how to make it stop. I wish I could make it stop.” I pause and bite on my lips. “I’m losing my mind. I’m going crazy. I’ve had enough of this. I just want it to end. I want everything to end!”

I scream then. I just scream. It’s high pitched and it hurts my throat, but I don’t want to stop. I can’t stop. I yank at my hair and curl into a ball. “I can’t take this anymore. I can’t. I can’t. Ican’tIcan’tIcan’tIcan’t!”

---

I open my eyes. I’m staring at my plain ceiling. I sit up. My head is throbbing. I bring my forehead to my hands. I look around. I can’t remember the past day. What happened?

I get up and go to the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes have horrendous dark circles under them. All of the color from my face has faded. I look like a walking corpse.

I turn the sink on and splash some water on my face before opening the cabinet and grabbing some ibuprofen. I choke down the two pills before looking back at my reflection. “What happened to me?” I don’t sound like me. I sound like a different person. I can barely speak. The words barely come out. “What did I do?”

I stare into my reflection’s dead eyes. I can’t believe this is me. I look nothing like myself. I look even less like myself than I usually do.

I hear a sound from my bedroom. I leave the bathroom to go see what’s going on, though the reflection of me still lingers in my mind, like one of those optical illusions. 

I lay in my bed and grab my ringing phone. “Hello,” I manage to croak out.

“What was up with that video a few days ago? What happened to you?”

I straighten up as I hear the voice, “Emmalie?”

“Yes, what happened? Are you okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You posted a video like, three days ago. You looked really bad in it. Everybody’s been trying to contact you. We’re all really worried about you.”

“What video?”

“Are you messing with me? It’s the one where you basically had a breakdown.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fine. Be that way. I just wanted to see if you were alive anyways. You are. Good-bye.”

She hangs up before I can say anything. I check the date on my phone, April 22. 

I close my eyes tightly and lean back on my bed. The last thing I can remember is eating cereal and then… getting my camera set up…

I open my phone and see a bunch of text messages and missed calls from friends and family. I click on a YouTube link that was sent to me and look at it in shock. The video is a girl that looks like me. The name is my name. But this girl can’t be me. She’s so sad. So pathetic. So crazy.

I scroll down and look at the comments: preach it. You need help. Tell it how it is. Somebody needs to call the cops. Somebody needs to check on her.

The video has over a million views. “This isn’t possible,” I croak out. “This can’t be me. I would’ve remembered filming this. I would’ve remembered posting this.”

I hear a pounding at my door. I set my phone down and make my way to the living room. I unlock the door and slowly pull it open, revealing two police officers. “Hi, we’re here to take you to a safe place.”

They put handcuffs on me and escort me from my apartment. I’m not able to grab anything. I’m not able to explain anything. 

I’m put in the back of the cop car and we go on a long drive to a hospital. A hospital where I can’t hurt myself. I am told that it will help me get better. But I don’t know about this. I don’t think this is going to help me at all.

I’m not crazy.

I don’t belong here.