When I open my eyes, all I am greeted by is white. Cold, clean and crisp white. It spans before me and arches down, the ceiling melding into the walls because there is nothing else to focus on, just the same blank canvas colour. I don’t like it, I never have. It always makes me feel cold, alone. I want to bring my arms up to hug about my body, but one of them won’t bend. It’s that silly needle, the plastic cord that binds me to the machine that beeps at me. I don’t understand the code. If I lift my hands up towards the roof, the drip runs backwards, and the terrible haze of white is broken by this streak of red. I take comfort in knowing my blood has more colour than my surroundings. I have not seen myself for such a long time, who knows whether I have become lost in it as well. Maybe I am see through. I can see myself, but isn’t that what all the see through people say? I don’t know anymore. I’ve been told I don’t know a lot of things. The doctors like to tell me things like that, that my thoughts are silly. I can’t help it though, that is all there is up there. Silly thoughts, static electricity and pink mush in the brain box. I want to get up and move. The left cheek on my backside has long since gone to sleep, and I suspect its partner is soon to follow. Silly things are meant for sitting. The tape doesn’t want to part with the hair on my arm as I take the needle away, glue and hair always become good friends. I like watching the thin fibre of metal slide so easily back. Are they always that long, or am I just special? There’s a little bit of blood welling, but it will go away with a well prescribed application of spit.

I want to stand up, my little wormy toes wriggling with excitement at being put to use. Go my pretties. My legs decided they hated me today. They’ve done it before as well, just deciding that they won’t take the weight of the rest of my body as I swing myself off the bed. I head butt the floor hard. It retaliates with a well placed carpet burn on my nose. Lucky floor, it wins this round. But I know that next time I will walk all over it. Perhaps staying on my belly is a good idea, covert and sneaky like. I can wiggle my hips, and inch myself towards the door. I’ll make like the lizards if someone walks by, stop moving and hope they won’t see me. They just glance into the little port hole window anyway. They are more concerned about the turbulent waves of life out there. Man overboard! It’s calm in here. Calm and still. It’s too still for me. I like noise. I like the way that the cats would beat their bodies against the trash cans, the sounds of the cars belching on the road. I liked the back and forth shriek of ‘what?’ and ‘yeah?’ that followed every other statement. Where is the happy noise? Why do we have to walk anyway? Wouldn’t it be good if we could all soar? I could spread my arms out, lift myself up on my toes and patter away down the hallway. Flit in and out of the shadows. What shadows? We can dance around the others. Music. Birds singing and helium high giggle fits. Where is our laughter? Yes ours. Yes, we.

This place is yucky. I’m going to get worse if I stay here. Stark raving mad? I don’t think so; I’ve been rather quiet considering the noises from the other patients. Gruff men coughing, the nurses shuffling wash clothes over surfaces. The smell of clean. Not the nice pine fresh kind of clean. The you-have-germs kind of clean. The kind that tells you that you are not wanted; even though they keep the doors shut to make sure you don’t leave. I don’t understand these places. I want to leave. The world is a white splatter underfoot. There should be colours, bright colours that jump up and punch me in the nose. I like that colour, I’ll call it shy. I hate that one; let’s return it to the store. Where is the receipt? Why do those two look familiar to me even though everyone else says they are different. Liars. Little twits. Spreading smarmy words. The doors open above me, and I can feel the boots stomping on my halo. If you gave me back my glasses then I could see you better. You look a little fuzzy to me right now, or was that the way you always were? Doctors, all talk. Yes, I can see the music notes from your mouth, but it doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t like that sharp C there; it doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the harmony. Are you yelling at me? With your finger hurting the air with every jab, (What did it ever do to you?) before wagging it like soggy pasta. What a funny thing, mouths turned down in clown smiles. Opposite day? Does that mean I am in the wrong room? What day is it now? The wind will tell me, psst, psst, psst in my ear. Soft hands upon my cheeks and in my hair. I was born on a windy day. Northerly breeze was the mummy I always wanted. But I’m trapped inside, there is no wind here. There is no way for me to know what is going on.

Titters of laughter mask the grunt of pain. Tongue lolling in my mouth like a land plagued fishy. Blub. Come now, silly, silly. You needn’t lift me up so hard. I think my legs will agree with me if we compromise, I can find my own way back to my bed. Take a breath and hold it, use the slow motions to calm yourself down. Rest, back in the bed. Flat on my back is better than on my bum, but all I can see is ceiling. I’m sick of the ceiling. I’ve seen it too much these past few days. I want something new, I want something fun. I want something that will stop me from thinking all these things. There is only so much one poor little me can take. My tummy gurgles to agree, the chicken water meal they gave me this morning sloshing around. Honestly if I have to spend one more night here, I will go crazy. How long does it take to get an appendix out?