They day I found my love was the day I came home again. Mother held me by one arm, guiding me through the front door, as if I was an invalid of some kind. Father was gone.
I examined the living room. Everything somehow seemed different. Nothing had been changed, yet, the entire house seemed safer and more sanitary. As if my mother had secretly made the house accident-proof while I was away. I don't know. Maybe I'm crazier than I think.
I closed my eyes often, because I was very tired. The entire trip was draining. Each time my eyelids sank down and darkness surrounded me, I felt as if I was being watched. However, every time I opened my eyes, nobody was there. It was only me, sitting on the couch alone in my living room. This went on for about an hour, until I finally gave up on sleeping.
I could have turned on the television, or asked Mother to bring down the CD player. But, I didn't want any of that. I wanted quiet. Mental hospitals are supposed to be calm and peaceful. Truthfully, they are the complete opposite. There is always a T.V. going, always some maniac shouting. Never peaceful.
I slowly lifted my arm from the couch and looked down at it. The skin was still so red, so many scars that I knew would never heal. I was about to lift my pant leg, but decided against looking at more mutilated flesh.
So, I went back to trying to sleep, and kept thinking someone was watching me. Maybe I'm not crazy at all. Maybe someone really was there, and they just didn't want me to see. I dont' know.