Find Another Way 4
Disclaimer: The Hunger Games does not belong to me.
She did not know how to put into words how this new treatment had made her feel - quite frankly words and feelings had both slipped so effectively away from her while she was under that it might be of no use to try. She could liken it to sliding into the blackness of sleep, but sleeping never left her vaguely aware of her surroundings while remaining so detached from what her senses were registering that she simply did not care what she might or might not be processing. It had all seemed very natural while it was happening. In the aftermath, she was confused as to why it had not registered as odd at the time.
[(more)]
She had hoped (back in the days when the "headaches" were fewer and farther between) that there would come a day where she became used to the pain (or tolerant enough of it to pay it less mind). She had told herself that there would come a day where the pounding would be a sort of a background noise that she could push through and function with (perhaps not comfortably but functioning all the same) so that everyone around her was not pulled into the effects of the pain with her. She had longed for that day to come with each and every moment of importance she had missed (and each and every just everyday moment of which she had been cheated). Surely, she had told herself, that it would eventually become familiar enough to be less jarring. She had been wrong.
It never became something that she could push through or move beyond. The headaches became more frequent. They lasted longer. The times in which she could be her in between them started to become negligible. She would never forget the expression on her daughter's face the day she had come home from school and followed the sound to where she had been beating her head against the tile of the bathroom floor in a half-delusional attempt at driving the pain inside of her head out with self-inflicted pain on the outside. She would never get over the sight of her child wiping up the blood that she had not even realized was dripping from where she had split open her forehead from the force she was employing. She had scared Madge. She had frightened Simon. She had terrified herself. She had had no idea what she was doing - only that she had wanted something (anything) to make the pain stop.
She had said yes to the doctor when he made the suggestion. She knew all of the reasons why it was a potentially bad idea. She understood the series of concerns that had been visible in the depths of her husband's eyes. She did not know what else to do. None of them did. She was tired of hurting. She was tired of hurting her family. She was tired of her place as wife and mother being lost in the hazes of pain and nausea that filled up her days and nights and swallowed all else in exhaustion in their wake. She just wanted it to stop. There had to be some way to make it stop. There had to be some way to get her life back to at least some semblance of what it had been when there had at least been breaks in the pain.
This medicine did seem to accomplish smoothing away the pain. Smoothing the way seemed like an appropriate turn of phrase to her (admittedly still somewhat fuzzy) mind. It was like everything around her had melted and the pain was as distant and detached from her as the feel of the bed or the sound of voices or the movement of her own limbs. The pain was gone but so was the time during which she had been drifting in the muffled darkness. She would have to wait and see how long the headaches stayed away in the aftermath. She would have to see how much time she had lost and weigh it against the time gained. She would have to be as logical about it as possible because she knew even in these first moments of coming back to herself that letting further decisions be determined by how she was feeling would be a colossal mistake.
She had liked the melting. She had liked the distance and the detachment from the pain. She had appreciated the muffling of everything. Given the choice in the midst of it all, she knows that she would have chosen to stay. Nothing else had mattered while she had been there. She had not cared. She had been detached from everything, and everything meant everything - the house or the District or the Capitol and herself or Simon or Madge. She had not cared. She would not care again if she was back there. Things like caring would not fit into that place. It did not exist.
The effect of the medicine itself was not what was causing her worry. The knowledge that she would go back in a heartbeat in the midst of one of her pain filled episodes is what left her completely terrified.
The tap at the door of her bedroom summoned her attention, and she blinked her eyes wondering if she was seeing things as she came down from the influence of the substance in her veins. She did not recognize the woman who peered in while holding a tray across her forearms.
"You're awake, Mrs. Undersee," the woman said as Mira tried to sit herself up in the bed and get her bearings. "Madge wasn't sure when you might be up."
"Madge?" Her voice sounded strange in her own ears as if the muffling had not completely subsided.
"She had a bit of a mishap," the unknown woman said gently. "The doctor is just checking her over before he comes up to check on you."
Several thoughts flooded through her at once in response to those words - the caring that had been missing in the muffled dark slamming into her all at once. Her daughter was hurt, there was a stranger in her house, and one last nagging source of anxiety that was trying its best to shove everything else to the back of her mind - just how much time had she lost?
Next
She did not know how to put into words how this new treatment had made her feel - quite frankly words and feelings had both slipped so effectively away from her while she was under that it might be of no use to try. She could liken it to sliding into the blackness of sleep, but sleeping never left her vaguely aware of her surroundings while remaining so detached from what her senses were registering that she simply did not care what she might or might not be processing. It had all seemed very natural while it was happening. In the aftermath, she was confused as to why it had not registered as odd at the time.
[(more)]
She had hoped (back in the days when the "headaches" were fewer and farther between) that there would come a day where she became used to the pain (or tolerant enough of it to pay it less mind). She had told herself that there would come a day where the pounding would be a sort of a background noise that she could push through and function with (perhaps not comfortably but functioning all the same) so that everyone around her was not pulled into the effects of the pain with her. She had longed for that day to come with each and every moment of importance she had missed (and each and every just everyday moment of which she had been cheated). Surely, she had told herself, that it would eventually become familiar enough to be less jarring. She had been wrong.
It never became something that she could push through or move beyond. The headaches became more frequent. They lasted longer. The times in which she could be her in between them started to become negligible. She would never forget the expression on her daughter's face the day she had come home from school and followed the sound to where she had been beating her head against the tile of the bathroom floor in a half-delusional attempt at driving the pain inside of her head out with self-inflicted pain on the outside. She would never get over the sight of her child wiping up the blood that she had not even realized was dripping from where she had split open her forehead from the force she was employing. She had scared Madge. She had frightened Simon. She had terrified herself. She had had no idea what she was doing - only that she had wanted something (anything) to make the pain stop.
She had said yes to the doctor when he made the suggestion. She knew all of the reasons why it was a potentially bad idea. She understood the series of concerns that had been visible in the depths of her husband's eyes. She did not know what else to do. None of them did. She was tired of hurting. She was tired of hurting her family. She was tired of her place as wife and mother being lost in the hazes of pain and nausea that filled up her days and nights and swallowed all else in exhaustion in their wake. She just wanted it to stop. There had to be some way to make it stop. There had to be some way to get her life back to at least some semblance of what it had been when there had at least been breaks in the pain.
This medicine did seem to accomplish smoothing away the pain. Smoothing the way seemed like an appropriate turn of phrase to her (admittedly still somewhat fuzzy) mind. It was like everything around her had melted and the pain was as distant and detached from her as the feel of the bed or the sound of voices or the movement of her own limbs. The pain was gone but so was the time during which she had been drifting in the muffled darkness. She would have to wait and see how long the headaches stayed away in the aftermath. She would have to see how much time she had lost and weigh it against the time gained. She would have to be as logical about it as possible because she knew even in these first moments of coming back to herself that letting further decisions be determined by how she was feeling would be a colossal mistake.
She had liked the melting. She had liked the distance and the detachment from the pain. She had appreciated the muffling of everything. Given the choice in the midst of it all, she knows that she would have chosen to stay. Nothing else had mattered while she had been there. She had not cared. She had been detached from everything, and everything meant everything - the house or the District or the Capitol and herself or Simon or Madge. She had not cared. She would not care again if she was back there. Things like caring would not fit into that place. It did not exist.
The effect of the medicine itself was not what was causing her worry. The knowledge that she would go back in a heartbeat in the midst of one of her pain filled episodes is what left her completely terrified.
The tap at the door of her bedroom summoned her attention, and she blinked her eyes wondering if she was seeing things as she came down from the influence of the substance in her veins. She did not recognize the woman who peered in while holding a tray across her forearms.
"You're awake, Mrs. Undersee," the woman said as Mira tried to sit herself up in the bed and get her bearings. "Madge wasn't sure when you might be up."
"Madge?" Her voice sounded strange in her own ears as if the muffling had not completely subsided.
"She had a bit of a mishap," the unknown woman said gently. "The doctor is just checking her over before he comes up to check on you."
Several thoughts flooded through her at once in response to those words - the caring that had been missing in the muffled dark slamming into her all at once. Her daughter was hurt, there was a stranger in her house, and one last nagging source of anxiety that was trying its best to shove everything else to the back of her mind - just how much time had she lost?
Next