She thought she'd get better. She did everything they told her too. Get off the meds, find your inner strength, be normal. She felt normal enough. She assumed that was what she was supposed to feel when they gave her the ticket to freedom. But she wasn't sure if she was normal, or if she was numb.
Everything was wrapped in styrofoam. She couldn't tell if it was protecting her, or protecting everything else. She wished to cut through it and feel what was underneath. Oh how she longed to touch. But the Voice said No. Though alien, it was something she had learned to trust more than herself. She turned on the TV, but she couldn't understand the laughter or the tears. The screaming and the shouting. It was too confusing, so she turned to her iPod. She went through all the playlists but never played a full song. Love songs were too whiny, or too happy. Rap was too noisy. Hip hop made no sense, and the ones she used to like she no longer had the patience for. She turned on the sound to the click wheel and scrolled through her songs. All of 1890 of them. Sorted by song name. By artist. By album. By genre. The battery ran out before she completed her new song: the Electric Clicks.
She picked up the Self-help book she had put together over the months. She turned to the page titled "Coping Strategies." Item #13: Juggling.
She tried to remember how she got there. Wondered if she should have.. pause. Pause. Her mind went blank for a few seconds before she realized that she had spaced out. She couldn't continue her thought. She kept trying and ended up in the same empty space. She was sure she wasn't trying to stop herself. Suddenly it dawned on her that she had gotten used to it. She had forgotten how to remember.
She regretted leaving her juggling balls behind. She thought she'd never need them again when she left. She hadn't used them for a whole month. She turned her attention to the phone. She knew she had been eying it for the last few hours. She promised herself she would be self sufficient today. "Maybe tomorrow," she bargained, "tomorrow I will be."
She picked up the receiver and dialed the number. A friendly voice greeted her from the other end. It was always friendly. Always different, but always friendly.
One last time, she swore to herself. Tomorrow, for sure.