Short Story One: 'The Feeding Tube'

Fat. Sometimes I like to imagine the cracks in the wall gradually getting bigger and wider. Each little crack joins together forming one long crack reaching from the top to the bottom of the same clinically white wall. Then slowly it begins to separate, creating a gap; I can picture what’s behind the wall, motorways, rats, exams, theatres, all the things that actually make me feel, not just think. I begin to feel a tugging, a pulling, a kind of force bringing me towards the gap which has gotten so wide I could almost fit through it. I’m almost there, reaching forwards, I can smell the fresh, breezy air, a cool wind, and most strongly of all, freedom. I’m getting so close, I’m almost there, and then… “Come on, you were doing so well. Just try harder”.

                I’m back again. The same room for the fourth time today. The cracks in the wall are always the same. They never change. In fact the whole wall never changes. Ugly. Every time I sit at this table, trying to block everything out, I distract myself by thinking they need to reconsider their décor in here. Don’t they realise how boring it is to stare at the same awful paintings, made by patients who have no spare energy to think of any other creative ideas other than to draw a butterfly or a pot of flowers, six times a day, every day? The only thing that is more annoying than those paintings is the cheesy, patronizing ‘positive’ quotes – ‘Lift a fork for freedom’ or ‘Think positive thoughts and positive things will happen’ – I wish it was that easy.
                “Don’t even think about it, just do it”. I wish they would just shut up. Worthless. I can feel my anxiety building up already and it’s only been half the time, fifteen minutes. But I need to pretend. To pretend that I can’t hear them, sitting silently staring at the blank wall in front of me, unmoving.  Greedy. I like them to think they have no control over me.
                “Just get it over and done with and then you can forget all about it”. I’m trying to remember which member of staff is sitting next to me. Whoever it is I wish they’d stop. Some of them can be nice and I don’t want to upset anyone. Selfish. That’s all I seem to do. Upset people. No matter how hard I try, I can’t do anything right. If I do what they’re asking me to do I’ll be destroyed but if I don’t... What do I do? Disgusting. I can feel the panic rising in me again. It was on a gentle, simmering heat before but now it’s starting to really boil.
                “Come on, you’re running out of time”. Shut up, shut up, shut up. I can’t cope with this pressure. Leave me alone. I am Repulsive.
                “You’ve got so much to live for. Why are you doing this to yourself?” Why? Why? To myself? Now I’m really getting anxious. I am a bad person. I don’t deserve their help. I can’t do this. I can’t. I don’t know how to get back into control. I’m scared. Hideous.
                “You’ve got five minutes or you know what will happen”. no. No. NO!
                I should die. I have to get out of here.
                I don’t know what I’m doing. Arms flinging everywhere. Covered in strawberry flavoured protein shake. Suddenly many people around me. I can hear crying – did I make someone cry? I’m sorry. Sorry.
                No. No, let go of me.
Their grip tightens. My legs are kicking. Why are they kicking? Are they even my legs?
                Please.
I try to run away, pulling at my hair. But more of them come. One, two, three, four, five.
                LET GO OF ME!
Now I can hear screaming. Is that noise coming from me? The room starts to change, I’m not in the dining room no more. Oh, god no.
                Why are you doing this to me? LET GO OF ME.
That cold, sterilized room. They’re bringing me to that room. That’s not what I wanted.
Kill. Food. Shut up. Don’t –
                Don’t do it! Please! Get that THING anyway from me!
That long, plastic tube. I thought it was just a nightmare.
                Out. Need to get out. Don’t touch me.
                LET GO OF ME!
I can’t breathe. Help! It’s going down. I’m gagging – can’t they see what they’re doing to me?
                NO, NO, NO! Stop it. Get it out!
It’s going down. I can feel the coldness. The fullness. The fatness.
                GET IT OUT!

Written by Áine Dods