Axiomatic Form
"Please, Vera, please. Just tell me."
My dear friend is strapped to a hospital bed. She closes her bloodshot eyes and rolls her wrists against the taped gauze. She takes a deep breath and sighs.
"No."
I lick my lips and look at her plaintively. "Look, I know it's hard, but..."
"Bullshit. You don't know," she says coldly. "You only think you know. But you have no freakin' clue."
My shoulders sink, and I bite my lower lip. Not one to give up, I try another tactic. "You're right. I don't. But... but I consider myself your friend, and it's killing me to see you like this."
Vera chuckles under her breath. She rolls her head toward me and opens her eyes. The tears brim at the edges of her lower lids, close to breaching their banks.
"It's funny you say that," she jokes, rolling her wrists against the restraints.
Several hours ago, I walked into Vera's home and saw her lying on the couch. An empty bottle of Advil PM was in her blood-covered hands, and the freshly punctured seal was still attached to the cotton. In my haste, I called 911 and, well, here we were.
Vera drags in a bedraggled breath, her throat clearly still sore from her stomach being pumped.
"It wasn't a cry for attention, you know."
I nod, but inside, I disagree. How could it not be?
"Look, I've just been... I've been so wrong for so long that... it just wasn't worth it anymore. I know you've never..."
She sighs.
"I'm not right in this body. I'm not wired to be a woman. I look at my breasts, and I curse that they're there. I look at my hips, and I hate that they're wide enough to bear children, something that I don't think I'm inclined to do. Ever. Period. No backs.
"You don't know what it's like to feel like your whole body is just one big lie. On Halloween, we all get to pretend to be something we're not: scary, sexy, ridiculous.
"But I can't take this costume off."
The tears fall down her cheeks.
"So I'm stuck like this. I'm stuck in this hellacious existence, something I can't break free of. Hell, I don't even have the gumption to try living like a man. Believe me, I tried, and I... well, I looked worse for wear then than I do now."
She closes her eyes as her chest heaves up and down. In this desperate moment, my friend is laying bare before me. I try to wrap my head around it, and I, well, I can't. I can't fathom the thought that her soul, her essence is not... well, it's certainly not "Vera."
I know the right thing to do is tell her that it’ll get better, but I know it won’t. I want to tell her that people love her regardless, but I know that’s a lie. Fragments of her soul have been passed around in this woman’s body and have been passed off as the real thing.
But the real thing just tried to drown itself with 30 sleeping pills covered in fresh blood. Her certain exterior does not belie her very certain interior.
And in this moment, I have no words. All I have is the hand that I reach out to squeeze her own.
This entry is for the topic Deconstruction over at therealljidol.
My dear friend is strapped to a hospital bed. She closes her bloodshot eyes and rolls her wrists against the taped gauze. She takes a deep breath and sighs.
"No."
I lick my lips and look at her plaintively. "Look, I know it's hard, but..."
"Bullshit. You don't know," she says coldly. "You only think you know. But you have no freakin' clue."
My shoulders sink, and I bite my lower lip. Not one to give up, I try another tactic. "You're right. I don't. But... but I consider myself your friend, and it's killing me to see you like this."
Vera chuckles under her breath. She rolls her head toward me and opens her eyes. The tears brim at the edges of her lower lids, close to breaching their banks.
"It's funny you say that," she jokes, rolling her wrists against the restraints.
Several hours ago, I walked into Vera's home and saw her lying on the couch. An empty bottle of Advil PM was in her blood-covered hands, and the freshly punctured seal was still attached to the cotton. In my haste, I called 911 and, well, here we were.
Vera drags in a bedraggled breath, her throat clearly still sore from her stomach being pumped.
"It wasn't a cry for attention, you know."
I nod, but inside, I disagree. How could it not be?
"Look, I've just been... I've been so wrong for so long that... it just wasn't worth it anymore. I know you've never..."
She sighs.
"I'm not right in this body. I'm not wired to be a woman. I look at my breasts, and I curse that they're there. I look at my hips, and I hate that they're wide enough to bear children, something that I don't think I'm inclined to do. Ever. Period. No backs.
"You don't know what it's like to feel like your whole body is just one big lie. On Halloween, we all get to pretend to be something we're not: scary, sexy, ridiculous.
"But I can't take this costume off."
The tears fall down her cheeks.
"So I'm stuck like this. I'm stuck in this hellacious existence, something I can't break free of. Hell, I don't even have the gumption to try living like a man. Believe me, I tried, and I... well, I looked worse for wear then than I do now."
She closes her eyes as her chest heaves up and down. In this desperate moment, my friend is laying bare before me. I try to wrap my head around it, and I, well, I can't. I can't fathom the thought that her soul, her essence is not... well, it's certainly not "Vera."
I know the right thing to do is tell her that it’ll get better, but I know it won’t. I want to tell her that people love her regardless, but I know that’s a lie. Fragments of her soul have been passed around in this woman’s body and have been passed off as the real thing.
But the real thing just tried to drown itself with 30 sleeping pills covered in fresh blood. Her certain exterior does not belie her very certain interior.
And in this moment, I have no words. All I have is the hand that I reach out to squeeze her own.
This entry is for the topic Deconstruction over at therealljidol.