Traces of My Tears

With every step Julia took as she walked down the street, making contact with the outside world felt so weird. She remembered the past few months. Every hour of the day, every day of the week, every night seemed to be the same. Her hospital room was like a prison as Julia felt cold from head to toe as if walls caved in on her. Some days, she felt her madness resembled nineteenth century poet William Butler Yeats’ inability to come to terms with reality. She remembered what he had written in a poem called ²The Moods²: Time drops in decay, like a candle burnt out…² Julia’s hospital room was a dark place with no place to grow, a cold, unlit environment where she lost touch with herself and the rest of the world which had probably forgotten who she was anyway. Despair seemed her only companion. She barely remembered yesterday and nor did she have projects for tomorrow. She had trouble living each day that passed feeling deprived of everything, even of her dignity in her blue cotton hospital gown. What else would she want to wear in a place like this anyway? Julia had felt like taking her own life at least three times in her still young life, but she never had the guts to go through with it, she was still too afraid.

As Julia was about to cross the street at the intersection, she suddenly felt dizzy and blacked out. When she regained consciousness, a man was kneeling beside her. The fall had blurred her vision. Julia could barely see the man’s face but she could hear the stranger’s voice.