framed plaques containing yellowing certificates cover two of four walls lined with sickly peppermint-colored wallpaper.
though there is no window in the room,
framed sun-faded pictures of celebrity patients and
girls I'd liked to have fucked
line the other walls.
being asked muffled questions
I stare blankly at a corner where the damn wallpaper bubbles up near the transplanted Econo Lodge brown, orange-speckled shag carpet.
I am the lone patient left, silent, lying on a sagging couch in this fucking budget psychiatric office, gritting my teeth, hopped up on narssicism, thinking of writing myself a perscription to dull my constant bullshit self-analysis.
I have no answers. I have no questions.
yet
the muffled voice continues.
it comes from the walls.
Author notes
I wanted to get something down. Not sure if it's to vague to communicate what I'm thinking.
Written January 14th, 2005
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Unique
I have been back to this piece several times over the last week or so, and yet I find it difficult to find anything to say about it.
I'm not saying that's a bad thing. Not at all. But, for some reason, it just seems to throw up so many different emotions and thoughts.
Quite frankly, it makes me feel tired. Emotionally, physically exhausted. Perhaps it's the idea of the empty room, the disembodied voice (conscience?), the dream-like qualitys here. I'm not sure.
But for a piece of writing to have this much effect on a person must be a very good sign. I shall be back again, no doubt, to ponder the words written here.
For now, I applaud you.
Edited on Jan 28, 9:39 because 'Must stop saying "but"'. -
this is perhaps derived from gilman's 1892 "the yellow wallpaper"? if not, it's still related in content. i like the added narcissistic element, which fits well in modern american society.
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