From this side of the window (p.5)

So, I wanted to know the truth, didnt I?
Now I have to stay here... in this cold and horrid room hiding from them.
If they find me... well I believe something bad could happen.
Dammit, this death skin smell is terrible... I think Im gonna puke for the third time.
These are my last sheets of paper, the one I had in my pocket since yesterday.

And, you may wonder why I am here... well, they would NEVER look out for me in here, because it is the place where no one would like to be, where they force you to be only in special ocassions... yep, Im the "magic room".

I took my chance, I started to talk to my shrink.
While she was doing a the routinary questions about my health and childhood I told her: "and I hated my mom" just to see how she reacted.

She didnt move a finger so I stood up and held her hand so she would stop writting in that light green paper I´ve come to hate.
She looked at me and I told her: "I need the truth, and I need it now. Why am I here?"
"Sweetie" she said "because you killed a cat".

"What is so wrong about it? When and why did I kill it?"

"I dont know why you killed it, but you assured it was your mother, hmm let me check"
She looked to my files and said "September 28"

I was very confused now, it couldnt be... "It cant be, that day I was at the cementery... I was leaving flowers for my baby, my Laura..."

"Who´s Laura?" she asked

"My dead baby... my daughter, she´d be 18 now"

Well, if you didnt know, and even when you probably dont care, I had a daughter.
I used to be a good girl, obedient and all stuff... but I got pregnant when I was 16.
I was young, and stupid... but I wanted to keep my baby.
How come I could love someone I didnt know so, so much?
My parents were really mad at me, they screamed all the time and called me with dirty names.
My dad left us because of it, he said he would not stand the shame of an "used" daughter. He went away and I havent seen him since.
My mom was so desperate that she wanted me to abort my baby so my dad could come back home.
I couldnt do that! It was MY baby.
I refused... so said I could stay but that she would never talked to me again and that I shjould work to get food.
So I did it like that cause I had nowhere left to go.
My brother took care of me while I was pregnant, but right after Laura was born I started to work.

I had to work from 6:00 AM to 9:00 PM to feed both of us.
So my baby stayed home with my mom.
She only gave food to the baby and then do as if Laura wasnt there.
But after all she was my mother, I know she would not be so cruel to Laura, it wasnt her fault.

But one day, when Laura was 2 years old... well... mom and I had a fight. It was the only and last time that she talked to me since I was 17. She was really angry because the money I made wasnt enough for me and the baby, she said she would end up raising Laura... then she started to tell me again about my dad and how I ruined her life and that she hoped Laura ruin my life as I ruined hers.

I was really angry, so I just took my coat and left.

When I came home that night I saw a lot of ambulances and people all around my house. I got scared, I thought my mom had killed herself or something... Where was my baby?

I will only say that my mom felt so angry with me that she screamed to Laura and told her I would never come back and then locked herself in her room.

Laura was scared and went out to look out for me... she was a baby, a small baby.

She got run over by a stupid car.

She is dead because of my mother...

Wait... what is going on...
I remember a cat... yes, I remember I screamed to the cat and that I ...

Oh My God! I killed the cat....



(Suddenly lucidity came into her mind... now she sees the truth)

No, No.... It cant be...
No there´s no cat... there had never been... I made up that? Why didnt anybody tell me?

It wasnt a cat...

Oh my God... I killed my mom that day.


...
...
...

Where am I?



"The end"


From this this side of the window (part 1-5) by http://likesomepassingafternoon.blogspot.com/2010/05/from-this-side-of-window-p5.html is licensed under a Creative Commons Atribución-No comercial-No Derivadas 3.0 Unported License.

From this side of the window (p.4)

I did not kill my mom... how could I? I mean, I know I hate her, but I would never do something like that.

After all If I can still remember, when they brought me here, they said it was because of the video of me killing a cat saying it was my mom.

Now my brother calls and tells me that mom is dead... and that I killed her!

Well, I know I did not... I would never do that.

So, now I think I´ve lost all my beloved ones (even my mom if it is true that she´s dead). I mean I hate her! but she was my mom after all.

Its been nearly two months after that call that turned my world upside down.
I have to stay here, and to be honest, I think Im getting used to it.

I´ve learned to stay away from the shrink, how to avoid my nurse´s pills, how to scape from the human meat eater (who by the way tried to steal one of my hairs every single day) and to listen "blah, blah, blah" when Anne Boleyn talks to me.

Maybe there is a chance that I can get out from here soon.
I don´t have where to go, but any place is better than here.

Tasteless food, no one calling, people talking to me as if I were some kind of retarded... talkin about that, how come they never ask about my mom and the dead cat?

Maybe I should try to find out the truth, maybe if I start crying and say I miss my mom, they will be able to "treat me" so I could fake my total recovery and get out from here.

Ooh, yes. My rage-control therapy is now over.
And I dont take too many pills a day, so it is fine.

I am starting to wonder why they can´t notice Im not crazy...

From this side of the window (p.3)

November 15, 4:00 P.M
I´m getting tired of this silly game.
All this rage-control stuff and the talks with the shrink (she is the old lady I mentioned the first day I came here)are making me feel exhausted.
I must say there are some good things about this, like not having to do the laundry, or being able to be with myself not having to answer to anyone.
I like that, I´ve never liked people very much anyway...

Today is my birthday number 35.
Funny to write it, as if I needed to remember or as if someone who may find this in the future would care.
Today I am expexting the call of the only family I got left, my brother.
Well, my mother is still alive, but I don´t talk to her since I was 17.
It is a sad and stupid story, Im sure you don´t want to hear it.

I tried to call him a week ago, but he was busy so he promised he would call me on my birthday.
I really hope he does, because even when I am surrounded by more people here than what I´ve ever been my whole life, I really feel alone.
Besides Anne Boleyn, I can´t talk to anybody, and by now I must confess I don´t believe the "king" would love her... Poor child!

Yesterday I asked what was my diagnosis. The doctor seemed really surprised and told me that no one in my "condition" had ever asked that before, he said maybe I can recover because I show a little more sanity than people like "me".
Will someone ever answer my questions?

So, Anne Boleyn told me that she was taken by her nurse the other day to a "magic room".
I dont know what she meant, the only thing I could understand is that after you finish some kind of treatment, they take you there to a "revealing" moment that will help you to heal your wounds.
She came out crying from the magic room. She told me it wasnt pretty, but her nurse heard her and told her to shut up.
Then she looked at me and told me: "Poor kid, she is not ready to leave yet". It kinda suprised me, because she talked to me as if she knew I am not crazy, as if I could somehow understand that the "magic room" has nothing magical in it...


9:00 P.M


He called...
How I wish he did not!
Because I can`t talk to anybody here I think I must at least write it, take it out of my system somehow.

I can´t believe how glad I was when the nurse took me to that little green room with the phone over a white table.
I sat down and said "hello" as if I were a kid who says it for the first time in her life.
He answered everything I asked with cold, flat words.
I was about to tell him about Anne Boleyn when he interrupted me and said: "I was just calling to say happy birthday as I promised, I don`t really care about the place where you are".

¿What?

I asked him what was wrong... the silence went on.
In a desperate effort to hear his voice I asked "How is mom? Does she know I am here?"
Suddenly I heard his breathing changing and, with a voice full of anger and resentment like he had never talked to me or to anyone in his life, he said: "And you dare to ask *·%*$¨!"
I tried to say something, anything, but the words didn´t come out from my throat.

"She is dead" he said.
"Dead? Wwwhen?"
"You killed her darling, they made you forget that?"
"I didn´t kill her, how can you say that? I haven´t seen her since I was 20!"
"And why do you think you are there? huh? You made a good role hun, you saved yourself from ending up in prison..."

"It was a cat Brian! It was a stupid cat!"

He hung up...

From this side of the window (p.2)

Day 10

Sorry, I wasn´t allowed to write until today.
Well, the last time I wrote was the night after I was brought here.
By the way, "they" made me burn the paper I wrote that day.
It was part of their rage control therapy.
My nurse found it one night when I was sleeping in this rigid mattress, so when I woke up I had two doctors, one shrink and my lovely nurse standing in front of me, staring...

"Good morning sweety, how are you today?" the shrink asked.
I hate when they talk to me, they do it as if I were some stupid little child who doesn`t understand what is going on, or worse... they talk to me as I used to talk to my dog.
I am not stupid! I am not crazy! Let me out of here!
How I´d love to shout at them... anyway I won´t do it, because no matter how well behaved I act here, how I obey their "rules", how I go to therapy, they still believe I am crazy, suicidal and stupid.
Later on that same day, the shrink asked them to leave us alone, and she closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of my bed.
She showed me my writting and asked me to deny I wrote it.
I thought there was absolutly nothing wrong with it, so I admited it was mine.

She looked at me, as if she was very confused and told me I had to go to an anger-control therapy.
I believed it was ok daring to ask why, after all even crazy people have their rights, right?
She nodded with her head and with that big stupid smile on her face said: "Honey, I can see a lot of rage in this writting... see how many times you wrote stupid"

Well, I must say she is right, it is the least ugly word I can use to describe everything around here.

Oh, I remember I was about to tell you about people.
Where should I start? Monique.
She is a very young woman, she must be around 23 or 24 years old. She is the less harmful insane person here, actually she is very funny.
She firmly believes that she is Anne Boleyn.
Pretty original huh?
She keeps telling me about how she will stole the king`s heart so he stops loving her sister Mary.
Everyday she cames up with a new strategy to capture his heart.
The other day she claimed and affirmed that she was pregnant and that finally she would be the queen.
The next day she cried out loud because she had lost her baby while she was taking a shower, so now she refuses completely to take a bath.
I know, stinky problem.

But, most of the people here are not funny.
Every night I have problems with sleeping because their heartbreaking cries and sick murmurs resound all across the room.
I can hear some of them talking to the walls, whispering to their pillow asking them to keep their secrets.

Last night, a man around his 60´s came straight to my bed. I got scared, who wouldn´t.
He apologized for it. He looked around as if he was making sure no one was listening and said to me in a very low voice: "Do you want some?".
"Some what?" I asked
He replied "Some meat, human meat. I know where we can find it. Come!".
"I don´t want human meat, thanks".
His face suddenly turned red and shouted to me: "Well, as you wish young lady! You won´t be able to try the glorious taste of it".
All I wanted was to hide myself somewhere, and I know it might seem childish or old fashioned, but I covered my face with the blankets.
I had nowhere else to go, no scape.
When I opened my eyes to see if he was gone, I found out he was still there.
He tunred around to leave but saying in a soft tone of voice: "If you want some... I can show you where. They will take you there sometime anyway."

So, now you may have an idea of how things are over here.
They won´t burn this writing, I know exactly where to hide it.

From this side of the window.

Day 1.

Well, I know where I am.
What I do not know is why I ended up here.
At least they allow me to write, i have some sheets and a non sharp pencil (they say I may try to kill myself, funny because I suspect it is exactly what they want to do to me here, there cant be another reason).
Maybe I shouldnt write stuff like this, if they find it they will probably send me again to that stupid room with the stupid old lady who keeps asking why am I so stubborn. "Why cant you just cooperaate?" she asks "Did your parents hurt you when you were small? Did you have any friends? Are you suicidal?".
Honestly, I dont know what the hell she is talking about!
Yes, I am in a mental institution.
I am not crazy, I am here because my neighbor who actually IS crazy and should be here instead of me, had a tape with me on it killing her cat at the time I assure the cat name was Ruth, my moms name. It is followed by an extense speech of bad words and other unpleasant stuff.
Well, I didnt kill the stupid cat, I didnt even know she had a cat!
Among other stuff, Ive never been allowed to see the tape.
So, what is the worst part from being captive here? People.
Insane people are even more scary than sane ones...
Pill time... I have to go. If I am still alive tomorrow, maybe I will write about crazy people.