White Walls

In my abnormal psychology class we discuss mental hospitals like a chapter out of a history book. something that doesn’t exist in anyone’s reality. i️ don’t tell them that the waiting rooms smell like an ICU or that it’s best not to tell your therapist when you skip a meal. And i️ don’t tell them about Madison. I️ sit patiently impatient at the front of the hallway as the nurses are too busy with their “nursey” shit to put me in a room. When she walks up to sit beside me she’s wearing an oversized plaid sweatshirt, baggy boyfriend jeans and red keds. she loved oversized clothes, they were an easy way to shelter the beast of Anorexia. I️ say “hi i’m Amirrah, what’s your name?” but it sound like “i know you” she says “i’m madison” but it sounds a lot like “you found me”. you see every morning after that, me and madison, madison and I️, we were joined at the hip or at the everything. sometimes i️ couldn’t tell where she started and i️ ended but i️ didn’t mind. she tells me “i️ thought you were the popular girl i️ couldn’t hang with” but it sounded like “i️ thought you wouldn’t recognize me” i️ said “and i️ thought you were the pretty girl i️ couldn’t associate with” but it sounded a lot like “i️ think i️ lo-“ you see, me and madison, madison and I, we used to play this game called do you love me? although we both knew each other’s answer we played ignorant. she told me “when you look at somebody you love, your pupils get big or something” and it sounded like “look at me...please” little did she know, that’s all i did was look at her. the way she would flinch when someone reaches for a hug because she hadn’t learned how to unspell “rape” yet. how she buttoned her flannels up to the third to last button because although anorexia has to stay in the closet, sexuality didn’t. how she ate less than half her food but mixed it around to make her plate look empty. how the scars on her arms look exactly like mine as if she was my voodoo doll, or i️ was hers, or there is no difference between the two. how she used sex as an escape from her own reality, just like me or like her or like us? I️ can’t begin to explain how it feels to have someone bring you that piece of yourself that you’ve been looking for in all the wrong places. how it feels to touch a dream. how it feels to be understood. not in a surface level “oh she’s just upset right now” way but a “hey, excuse me you dropped your soul a little ways back. i️ picked it up for you. it didn’t look like anyone else could tell it fell” kind of way. We gave each other nicknames. I was Vivian and she was Deborah. we were two women who were healthy and who didn’t live behind four white walls. we were two women who could love and it sound like love. On my checkout day, me and Madison ate lunch together. well as much as 2 anorexics could eat. we both stared at our plates as if they would give us a way to put more hours in a day. I️ walk up to Madison in her doorway and hug her so damn tight that im almost positive my collarbone still remembers the shape of her chin. she whispers “bye vivian” she looks at me with those aqua blue oceans, pupils spreading into gardens of forbidden fruit, and they sound like “i️ love you” as i️ stare back at her or me or us, my eyes tell the same story. as i️ walk out the door i️ look back and she says “don’t you come back here Amirrah, we were never supposed to be here” it sounded a lot like “i’m in love with you, it was never supposed to be like this, but i’m in love with you.” I said “i know Mae, i know” it sounded just like “i’m in love with you too. right here, right now.” maybe we would have said it out loud if it weren’t for the anorexia or depression or those white walls. or maybe vivian and deborah were the only ones who knew.