Color My Face

February 3, 2009
By shayne holzman BRONZE, Santa Monica, California
shayne holzman BRONZE, Santa Monica, California
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Today seems calm as I look out my window. The sky is clear without grey outlets of raindrops. I like the day when the air is crisp and fresh without smoke. Picture a day when my life has sped up five hours until the next day when I can't sleep. Today is the day when my life went haywire.

Black is the color I see when night falls. At night on the windowsill I see this atrocious girl living with me. Her name is Winona. I see her in my mind at night. She has black short hair and steals things. Winona tells me to do tricks and troubles I am unaware of. I repeat this is not my voice. I am she. My name is Winona. I am not insane.
Walking towards Glendale Avenue I see something, it is red and pale.
As I walk down the block I repeat the colors in my mind. The grass is green with steal lead coming through. Seeing the sky makes me cry because I see things up high. The roads are dusty and grey because I don't know what it is so I keep starring. I know it is not real. I am hallucinating, and I am 17 years old.
My face is precisely colored with heavy-duty red prints. This is because I am stressed. I have just become very depressed, as I have gotten in a huge fight with my mom. As I decide to color my face with make-up I smash the mirror with my hand and my hand bleeds. This does not help. I soon feel rusty and fall to the ground as the ambulance comes. My face is colored with, sweat, as I am unconscious.

My name is called in this symbolic way. Pale is the color of my blood as I wake up. I never feel satisfied, just ready to fall asleep again. I hear things at night and see things in the morning, and I often think that I am not myself. Just like what happens when you get a gold star, but instead you are headed to the mental ward. That is I.

The hospital is covered with sweat as the room fills up with bubbles from bath steams. Loud noises come from each corner of the room shrieking at the top of the ceiling. I am dressed in a blue gown with no clothes underneath. You can only see my skin peering out the holes of my nightgown. My mind races as I hear the sound of footsteps coming closer.

'Winona, are you there?' The voice says at a halting stance.

'Stop talking to me,' I reply diligently.

I hate this voice. I can't focus when this happens. It is like a terror from hell. My body shakes as I listen. I can't listen, but my body fails and sends an instant message. The walls are wet with designs of mucked holes in the middle from patients banging their heads.

I am hearing this voice as it implies, 'Winona, listen to me.'

'I'll listen to you, just don't scare me.' I say this with firm legit emotions.

Red as I see it, runs down my vein, not an intentional cut, but a symbol of love verses despair. My arm is cut and I did not cut it. I cut it with a bottle on accident. My veins are coated in blue as I step out of the shower. At my hospital I have a nurse, and her name is Sara. She has short brown hair and looks like a mutant from hell. It is not the pleasantest sight. Sara holds me tight as she injects a needle through my blue vein that hides its lines in shades of red and purple. I don't drink water so my veins are small.

She asks me if I want some medicine to go to sleep. I turn and say no. This is because I am already on a huge cocktail of medicine, which I get for dessert at bedtime.

'I have medicine for you,' Sara says as she moves the cart swiftly to the right.

'No thanks, I can go to sleep fine.' I talk to her as she waits in disturbance near the door.

'If you don't take them, I will have to shove them down your throat, and I bet you
won't like that,' Sara remarks as she intends to shove my medicine down my throat.

'No Sara, I won't,' I say as I tremble in my anxiety-provoked bed.

'Thank you.' Sara is very harsh as she tries to give me my medicine.

At night my lights turn on quickly because I can't sleep, there is too much noise out there. I am in the mental ward 2 South. I see this troubled person standing near me, and this time it is real. Her name is Penelope. Penelope walks as a red headed female. She comes to the mental hospital for adolescents for suicide reasons. She is too risky. I feel this voice between my thighs and below my cheek. An anxiety attack floods through my veins, as my head is erect. Whispers frighten me. The color of my arm is orange and green. I have just purged. I feel my skin trembling down my spine. Remember I am not insane.

In the morning I hear a knock on the door, a girl comes in as I hear a squeaking chair move. I am not okay. Penelope shoves me to the nearest door. This cannot be good. I despise this wooden hallow dream. I am sleeping.

In the morning I wake up to the sound of murals crawling towards me. I tremble at my escape. This is somewhat not normal. The brisk light sparkles in my rear view mirror, as this is the windowsill. I see this, but it is unreal. I do not cut, but wish, that I were surrounded by blood itself. This time the walls are black and red. I have to keep repeating my name so I know I am still alive. Penelope knocks me down hard, as if she has a wooden fist. I am not myself, and I am now insane.

'What's wrong with you?' Penelope questions as she signifies a message.

'Nothing, what do you want from me?' I reply as if I don't care.

'Why are you here? That is all I want from you, just answer!' Penelope exclaims, as her fingers are chipped with terror.

'I am a kleptomaniac,' I respond in fear of her response. 'A kleptomaniac is someone who steals things when they have the money on an uncertainty impulse.

'You?' I beckon as I think my mind is exquisitely boring.

'I am bipolar,' she responds as in terror of how I will react.

'Oh, so you like jumping for joy, and then winding up abusing yourself?' I ask frequently jumping in ritualistic manners.

'Yes, it is called manic-depression, ever heard of it?' she asks, as she is frustrated at my tone.

'Basically manic-depression is when someone has extreme mood swings, so one's mood would be extremely hyper and high, which is called the manic stage or very low which is called manic depression. When I am manic, my brain goes really fast, like I am in an airplane and then I look out the window and I see all the houses and I scream in happiness.'

'Yes.' I say sorry, as she is hurt inside with pain.

Talking in a low voice, 'Oh.'

'Good night I have to sleep.' As I turn off the lights.

'Good night.' Penelope winds up staying up all night.
In the middle of the night I wake up to the sound of Penelope singing and knocking her head on walls. As she kicks walls she hurts her body and this is not by accident. I wake up to the call of bright lights as I jump into euphoric attitudes. I am jumpy and act very goofy. Penelope thinks I am strange and morbid, but I for once like how I am feeling. All I am waiting for is to find an answer as to why I am held at Medley View. I need to explore and get out in the world, or just have sex. My vision of sex is abusive because I am scared of having sex. Soon my symptoms go haywire and I can't sleep.
After I tell the nurse I am feeling very euphoric, but they call it manic. I don't like that word because it is like mania. It actually is called mania. In the morning we eat breakfast and I am served very nasty and impolite food. I am served meatballs and chicken strips at 9 o'clock. The meatballs look like small planets with black residue on them. This is the way my perception receives it.
I slowly feel better after this manic episode is over, but I still feel like someone else. In the process of taking my medicine I feel a lot better. Penelope describes to me who Winona is. She is a movie star, with black short hair and steals things, which is labeled as a kleptomaniac.
Penelope comes dashing down the room, and says to me, 'Winona, look at yourself in the mirror, do you know why you are not yourself?'
In the mirror I look as if I am in a saddened picture, 'No, but, I am after all Winona.'
'No you are not,' as she steps into the hallway.
I said, ' I am Winona.'
Again Penelope replies, 'No you are not.'
This was exquisitely wrong, perhaps I should try again, or just my head isn't built right for my mind and brain. I feel like I can do anything in the world and fight the evil. I am so hyper and I get confused at the same time. I still do not know who I am. I am clearly manic.
Since I am finally feeling better, the next day Sara says I can go home tomorrow.
'Winona you can go home now,' Sara holds my hand in excitement.
I jump out of my seat in joy, 'Thanks Sara.'
This makes me very punctual. There is just one piece missing. I still don't know who I am. Penelope shows me a magazine that reads, 'The Difference Between You And I.'
'Here, I brought you a magazine so you can once again, clarify who you really are,' Penelope swipes her hand on the table, and I can tell she despises me.

I don't like the way she steps on my back like that and hurts my feelings. She is after all helping me out. The magazine is about how to define one person from another. I personally know that I am Winona. I want to know it forever, because I believe so.
Penelope and Sara walk through my room, clap their fingers as I wake up, and tell me that Winona is a movie star and my real name is Leah.
'Oh my gosh, what? This is insane!' I think in forms of rapped speech. 'What should I do, this is all too wretched.'
'Yes we know,' Penelope, remarks involuntary.
Now I sit down in my chair and act childish. I soon cry as philosophical words run down my eyes down to my wrists and through my ribs. I am truly heartbroken and yet confused.
The next thing you know, I am in the car ready to go home. My home is on Grandview, but this time I don't see things, or hear her name. This time I hear Leah is my name, and I see that today it is not raining. So tomorrow will be the day to start my life. I am Leah and I am not insane.

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