Alex Barrett's Diary

Today I woke up with a pounding headache and the smell Strawberry Poptarts flooding the apartment. I slowly stumbled into the kitchen to be greeted by, Elena reclining in one of my plastic chairs, snacking on a Poptart. She told me she walked over to a convenience store and picked up my favorite, so I grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed her in the chest. The way she looked down at the knife and then up at me before falling on floor was the saddest look anyone has ever given me. She wasn’t angry, only disappointed, confused, saddened. But it was almost as if she understood everything I was going through, it was like a little “I could’ve helped.” But no, Elena, you really couldn’t have. After breaking out in this act of utter impulse, I made my way over to the bathroom where I took out a the blades of my razor and slit both my wrists. Right now I guess all I’m doing is keeping the blood flowing, and, I’m sorry, Elena, I’ll see you soon, okay? Okay.

averysixx asked: wow. i cant even think of anything else to say about it lol its just too amazing for words :)

haha thank you so much :) that’s really kind of you

The taxi halts at the metal door of my apartment building. I pay the bearded Middle-Eastern man what money I’ve collected from my jacket and jean pockets, extend a leg out of the taxi and walk across the pavement and pull on the heavy handle. Beginning to walk up the three flights of stairs, I find Elena sitting on the steps in her blue jeans and grey hoodie, leaning against the cement wall. Smirking at her small, skinny, resting body and her long, curly, brown hair covering the left side of her face, I walk over and slowly pick her up. I carry her through the hallway and down to my room, struggling to open the door without waking her up, I’m finally back home. I walk through the room, I turn my head over to the right to see the minor, burnt damage in my small kitchen.

I feel dizzy, I’m trying to keep my legs from giving in before I reach the couch, before I drop, Elena. My sweating hands more tightly grasp her left thigh and the side of her rib cage, I loosen up as not to hurt her but I can still feel myself shaking. I’m finally past the kitchen after a few slow strides and I still can’t get that awful and pathetic image out of my head. The blackened remains of the Poptarts box float around in my thoughts even after I gently set, Elena down and lay down in my bed. Tears run down my face for what seems to have been hours and hours. I am extremely disappointed in myself for having such uncontrollable feelings for this single box of Poptarts and one ridiculous t-shirt contest linked to it that I may or may not have won if I had entered it. How could anyone’s emotions be so foolish?  

I filled out forms, I talk to doctors, I talk to nurses, and of course, I call back my sister and talk to Elena (we finally set up an exact time to meet up), this time a little more focused and actually somewhat satisfied that things ended up working out this well. But I still feel a dark, heavy, pit of difficulty and sadness. I try remind myself of the things I can look forward to, seeing my sister again, basic cable, the comfortableness of my own non-wax smelling home… what else?

The Poptarts t-shirt, this brings me back to the pathetic root of all my pathetic anxiety. I decided that it wasn’t real, or at least I think I did, but some part of me desperately wants to enter to win this insignificant contest. Why does this mean so much to me? I hate myself right now for wanting this so badly and feeling so much towards this ridiculous cause!

But of course, being the lonely, single, jobless, guy I am, I’m excited to get back home, not entirely to see my sister, but to get to a Poptarts box. So I dig through my pocket for change, count up my quarters, and hop in a taxi. 

How am I going to tell Elena that I’ve been the hospital and just didn’t tell her? The nurse has already informed me that I should be in here for four days. How many days have I been here? How many nights have stayed awake through? How many days have I slept through? My line of thought broken by the sound of nurse, Barbara’s high-pitched voice;

“You can start getting your stuff together if you’d like.”

“Huh?”

“You can start packing up.”

“To go where?”

My mind has just been so distant, am I really this overwhelmed and caught up in my own thoughts? 

“Home, remember? I told you about this yesterday, all the tests are done, and other then your minor case of impaired vision, you should be fine.”

What else have I been informed of that I simply just didn’t process or pay attention to? But then of course this is great, because now I don’t have to explain anything to Elena. The burnt balled spot that used be on the back of my head has now grown over, and I’ll probably be home by the end of the day, whenever that may be.

Wiping away the dry tears from my sticky, red, face and scratching at the burnt bald spot on the back of my head as my phone starts to vibrate in the chair next my hospital bed. I lean over the side of the mattress, balancing myself with one leg on the sheets and the other on the cold, linoleum, floor, reaching for my cell phone. This the first time I’ve had to hold the screen closer to my face to make out the black lettering. (***)-***-****; Elena, my 19-year-old, hyperactive, younger sister. 

“Alex!” She enthusiastically shouts into the phone.

“Elena, hi.” I lethargically reply.

“Is it cool if I drop by tomorrow? I gotta do another independent movie that’s only showing at like five theaters. The one I’m going to is like a 10 minute drive from your house!”

Elena writes reviews for a local newspaper. She’s actually a pretty good writer. Unfortunately she rarely gets to cover blockbusters, leaving her with independent films and low budget horror flicks. 

“Alex? You still there?”

Realizing I’ve been lost in my own thoughts as she’s gone on about her job I quickly reply;

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m still here.”

“So can I come over tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.” I answer without even processing the question.

“Awesome, thanks! Also, are you okay? You seem kinda’ distant, and you’ve barely said a word.”

“Yeah I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Bye, Elena.”

“Okay, see ya’ tomorrow!” 

*beep*

Tomorrow? Sh*t… I’m in the hospital.

No, Not “God”, just a nurse. Squinting my eyes and taking another whirl around the room, I realize that I’m in a hospital. A bit anxious, but mainly confused, I ask the short, brunette, nurse what had happened to me. She informed me that I was caught in the middle of a gas leak that caused my toaster to explode, giving me a concussion. Because the damage was done in the back of my head, towards the occipital lobe in my brain, my vision is permanently blurred. 

It hits me like a bullet, that art will never be seen to the fullest, my handwriting will now be slurred by the newly impaired vision, nothing will be quite as clear to me, no one will be quite as beautiful, and nothing will be the same. It’ll be like going blind, but instead, loosing sight of all the beauty in the world. Just fuzzy, blurred, smudged, ugliness. Everything, everything is ugly, everyone is ugly.

I finally see the bright side, and it occurs to me that this could be a gift. A gift, which gives me the ability to judge people by their personalities, to look through the haze and see people for who they really are. Or maybe I’m just being naive, maybe it is just a burden.

“Would I have won? If I had entered the t-shirt contest, on the side of the Poptarts box?”

Poptarts contest? F*cking Poptarts contest!?! Seriously!?! I’m filled with anger, frustration, and self-hatred as I want to kill myself over the fact that I could have asked for the cure to cancer, the best way to govern a nation, ANYTHING! But because of my ignorance, I chose to ask if I could have won the freaking poptart contest. But, being the kind of person I am, I am still genuinely anxious to hear the answer.

“Yes.”

And then everything went black. But like a light at the end of the tunnel, my eyes open like an aperture, letting in the light of the room. I feel dizzy. I can barely lift my hands and I slowly turn my head, looking left and right like I was about to cross a busy street. It was a white room, I was lying down in an elevated bed, and I was accompanied by another person. Hoping it was “God” again to my rescue, hoping I would get another shot at the ultimate question.

I haven’t practiced religion since I quit smoking, but I don’t stand strongly by atheism. Frankly I try to stay out of that sort of conflict. But could it be true? Could this be some sort of purgatory state I’m in right now? Is my fate being weighed at this very moment? Thoughts fly rapidly through my mind like a highway. This beginning of a mental breakdown is interrupted by the voice of this ominous figure. I still cannot place an accent or gender to this character. This is what it said:

“Welcome to your first Near-death Experience. You may ask any, one question. Choose wisely.”

WHAT THE HELL!?! I have so many questions! How can I pick one!?! Where am I? Who are you? What happened to me? Am I going to Hell? The list has no end. I’m swelling with emotions. Frustration, sadness, anger, excitement, anxiousness, terror, etc. I feel as though I’m going to black out. Pressuring myself to the point of near combustion I ask the first question that my ignorant little mind can squeeze out…