“Lily lives in her own little world. And nobody can get her to leave”
He opened the door. Dr. Quinn looked at the girl, her bony, angular features jutting out from her thin face, making her look almost skeletal. Her lifeless long black hair made an stark contrast with her pale skin, making her look deathly pale. And she was staring. Just staring into space with chocolate brown eyes that sat in hollow sockets in her gaunt face. Lily turned her head, and her blank detached eyes seemed to look straight through Dr. Quinn. She idly wondered what on earth was going on inside Lily’s head. Would she ever know? She felt a sense of inadequacy. What if she couldn’t do this? What if she couldn’t do what was right for Lily? But she had to try. If she didn’t then there was no hope left.
“Trust me…I can do this.”
* * *
”It’s nothing! It’s all nothing!”
“Lily?”
“Pointless…Futile!”
“What is?”
“What’s the meaning of it all?”
“The meaning of what?”
“Life!
Dr. Quinn sighed. She’d lost count of how many times she’d had this conversation with Lily over the past six months. But it had to be done. If she got past this, it would be the first step on a long road to recovery. But she knew from bitter experience that the first step was always the hardest.
“I can’t do this,” Lily whispered, a lone tear trickling down her pale cheek. “I can’t do this… I can’t do this! I can’t do this! I’m scared…I’m so scared!” She started shaking. “I need help. You have to help me. You have to!”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“You keep saying that. But you don’t know. You can’t see inside me! You can’t tell me how I feel!”
“I know that. But if you told me how you felt, then maybe I would be able to help.”
“I want to go home.”
“Home?”
“With Skye. I need him. He needs me. I want to go home. Please. Just let me go home.” An apparent change had come over Lily’s face. Anxiety. She looked like a five year old who couldn’t find her parents in a supermarket. “I just want to go home.”
This was the first time Dr. Quinn had heard Lily talk about something that could be considered as ‘normal’. Lily continued talking about her life. Her family. Her boyfriend. Her job. Looking into Lily’s brown eyes, she could see positive emotion for the first time. Hope. And as long as she had hope, that was the best cure for her. Lily had been through so much, and yet so little for a nineteen year old girl. Was it really fair to deprive her of more of the new experiences she should be facing? She made a solemn resolve to herself that if she did nothing else, she would help Lily get through this. Give her the life she deserved. A second chance. She had faith in Lily. She could get though this. She would get through this.
* * *
Dr Quinn,
It’s been five long years since I last saw you. I had my 26th birthday last month. It was a double celebration – it was also mine and Skye’s second wedding anniversary. We had a baby. A little girl. Named Hope. Because I really was starting to have hope. I had a husband I adored, and an beautiful baby girl. She symbolised everything. The future. I could go on. As long as she was with me. I loved her. Hope represented all our dreams.
But all that changed. Hope is gone. I have no Hope. She’s beneath the ground. No parent should have to bury their child. It’s the worst experience anyone could face. But I had to do it. I had to be strong. Because if I didn’t do it, then nobody else would. I remember her funeral. Everyone saying how brave and how strong I was being. But I wasn’t. Not inside. Inside I was slowly falling apart. Piece by piece.
Everywhere I looked there were flowers. The entire church was covered in them. Lilies. The flowers of death. And I remember thinking, ‘Lily. That’s me. All I do is bring pain and fear and anguish everywhere I go. Through everything I do. To everyone I meet.’ It’s as if I’m cursed. If God exists, he’s a complete bastard. When my life seems for once to be going right, something happens. Something bad. Everyone leaves me. Like Hope did. Like Skye did. I had so much going for me. And then it was all gone. Skye couldn’t cope. He left with my ‘best friend’. So you’re the only one still left. I doubt if you even remember me. Sometimes I think you’re the only one who ever cared about me. But then that was your job.
I can’t stop the screaming. It won’t leave. I need it to stop. But it won’t. Everywhere I go, everything I do, it’s there. Wherever I turn, the pain is unbearable. It’s as if I have barbed wire surrounding me, and with every movement I make, it digs deeper into my skin. Cutting into my flesh. Deeper and deeper, until I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. And the pain just gets worse. It won’t go away. I need to make it go away.
I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn’t realise it had got so bad. Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. And for the first time I saw my true self. I saw what other people see. I saw an empty, hollow shell of a person. And I was disgusted. Repelled. Full of loathing.
Don’t mourn for me. Mourn for those killed in war. Mourn for those desperately trying to cling on for just a few more seconds. Mourn for those who don’t get a chance. But don’t mourn for me. I don’t need your pity.
I look back at my life, at all that’s happened to me, and I think ‘Why did all this have to happen to me? Why not to somebody else?’ The problem is, we’re all ‘somebody else’ to somebody else.
I’m sorry. I know you always tried to help me. But it’s too late. It’s gone on for too long. It’ll never stop. That’s why I have to do this. To stop the pain. To stop the hurt. To stop everything.