Sara Roza

United States of America

My name is Sara and I love to write. Any advice is greatly appreciated!

Message from Writer

Interests/ favs include reading, writing (obviously) Stranger Things, Six of Crows, Shatter Me, BTS, and Anne with an E
I'm always happy to talk about any of these things or anything else with anyone :)

I'm Not Crazy

February 24, 2019

Waking up in a hospital room wasn’t the worst part of my day. Neither was finding out that I had broken two ribs and destroyed my liver. Finding out I almost killed my best friend- now that was the worst part of my day.
    Over the years I’ve done a lot of stupid things. I’ve smokes until my lungs turned black, drank until I couldn’t feel my body, and downed pills until all the colors I saw turned a little more vibrant and the people I talked to turned a little less annoying. But this… this took the cake.
    Now, obviously I didn’t mean to almost kill him. At least, I don’t think I did. I don’t really remember. But, for some reason, I can’t seem to convince anyone that I didn’t do it. I tried and tried. Screamed and begged. Swore that I would never mean to hurt him. But, they don’t believe me.
    Its because they don’t listen to me. They’d rather sedate me than actually hear what I have to say. Whenever I try to tell them the story, all I get is either a look of pity or a look of disbelief. I think maybe it’s because I’m being too soft-spoken. So, I start talking louder. When that doesn’t work I use my whole body to tell them. Tell them how much I love him and how much I want to see him. Then they stick a needle in my arm and everything goes black.
All I want is to see him. Because he didn’t die. I know he didn’t. I saw him resurface. He even smiled at me. I remember giving him a slight wave and then… nothing. I remember nothing. Nothing after jumping in the water, at least. Which, I’ll admit, was a pretty dumb idea. It was dumb because, one, I can’t swim and, two, the water I jumped into wasn’t a pool or a lake. It was the water under the Golden Gate Bridge.
It just looked so comfy. All blue and sparkly. I’m someone who just goes for it. So I did. I took Nathan by the hand, and went for it.
He didn’t necessarily encourage me to do it. But, he didn’t discourage me either. He didn’t really talk much. DOESN’T. Doesn’t. He doesn’t talk much. He’s alive.
They think I tried to kill myself. I told them I didn’t. I told them the water was calling my name. It looked like a bed and I was tired. I saw a bird swoop in and grab a fish. I wanted to save the fish. I told them all of this because all of this is true. They thought I was making it up.
They asked me why I had so many pills in my system. I told them I had a headache. Which was true. After the fourth or fifth pill my head felt like it was going to explode. So, I took a break from Xanax and took some Tylenol, hoping it would soothe the throbbing in my temples. It didn’t really help.
At this point, I was feeling really stressed because I somehow grew three fingers. I swear. They just appeared out of nowhere. So, I did what I always do when I’m feeling stressed, I went for a drive. Driving helps calm me down. But, the problem is that I don’t have a car. Or a license. So, I found a car with its keys in the ignition and took it. What else was I supposed to do? They were basically asking for someone to steal their car anyway.
So, I drove for awhile and somewhere in the middle of the drive Nathan joined me. We talked about a lot of things. Well, I did. I told him how stressed I was about growing three fingers and how my stupid head wouldn’t stop throbbing.
I noticed I started drifting the car a little so I decided to pull over since I wouldn’t want Nathan to get hurt. I just happened to pull over while we were on the Golden Gate Bridge.
Now, another reason why they think I tried to kill myself is that I just so happened to be carrying a pocket knife. I wasn’t going to hurt myself. Or anyone. I only had it on me in case I found myself in a dangerous situation. But, I must’ve cut myself with it on accident when I jumped in the water because apparently there was a huge gash on my forearm.
 I remember looking out at the water with Nathan right next to me. I looked at him and he looked at me and I just knew, I knew we were thinking the exact same thing. So, without more than a nod of the head, we did it. We jumped. And it felt so good.
Next thing I know, I’m in a hospital, the scent of latex filling my nostrils. And no Nathan. So, that’s the first thing I ask. “Where’s Nathan?”
The nurses exchange a look. I try again. Louder this time. “Where’s Nathan?”
They tell me they don’t know who I’m talking about. I describe him. Curly hair, tan skin, brown eyes. No one has seen him. But I saw him resurface, so he’s alive. I know he is.
The hospital called my mom even though I told them I was perfectly fine going home alone. They told me that I’m not going home anytime soon.
I just need to get Nathan to come here and he’ll explain everything. He’ll tell them I wasn’t trying to kill myself. Why would I want to do that? I wanted to call him but they wouldn’t let me use my phone.
When my mom arrives, the first thing does is start crying. I tell her she doesn’t need to cry. I tell her I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. She could even ask Nathan. She starts crying harder. That makes me start crying. The heaving is hurting my ribs. The pain is foreign and I realize that I haven’t actually felt pain in a long time.
I ask them to give me medication. Any kind. I just want to stop...feeling. I don’t need to know the sensations my body is experiencing. I don’t want to. They don’t give me medication. They tell me I’ve developed a problem and I need help. I tell them I don’t. Nathan was with me. They can ask him anything they want. They look at me. At my mom. They leave.
Mom sits on the side of my bed. She grabs my face in her hands. She takes a deep breath. “Nathan is dead.”
I smile. “No he’s not. I saw him come up from the water after we jumped. He’s alive.”
Mom looks like she’s going to burst into tears again, so I try to calm her down. I tell her I know that he could’ve died and I’m sorry I didn't try to stop him. But he’s not dead. Everything’s ok.
She starts wailing. She’s clutching on to my hospital gown and her face is buried into my stomach. I don’t have the heart to tell her that she’s killing my ribs.
She lifts her face. It’s puffy, blotchy, almost unrecognizable. She’s still clutching on to my gown. “He’s dead! Ok? Nathan is dead! You know that, right?”
I ask her what she means. She lets go of my gown and I see her entire body deflate. “Sweetie, come on. Come back to me.”
I tell her I’m right here. She shakes her head and looks down. “Nathan is dead...he’s dead and he’s been dead for three years.”
I start laughing. I tell her she’s silly. How can Nathan be dead if I just saw him? I tell her that I’ve been hanging out with Nathan almost everyday for as long as I can remember. He’s not dead. He’s not dead now and he wasn’t dead three years ago.
Mom gives a sad sigh. She calls the doctors over. They whisper back and forth. Mom takes my hand and tells me she loves me. I tell her that I love her too. The doctor sticks another needle in me and I close my eyes.
I wake up in this room, where I am now, writing this. It’s quite nice. The bed is comfortable and the floor is shiny.
I sort of want to go home. I really want to see Nathan, but he’ll come find me. I know he will. He has to.
And, it’s pretty simple, if he doesn’t come to me, I’ll just come to him. And then everything will be okay.

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  • February 24, 2019 - 8:48pm (Now Viewing)

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2 Comments
  • morganstearns

    great story. i thought nathan was alive until the mom said he did three years ago.


    8 months ago
  • CamR

    This is amazing, this writing has a really special charm to it.


    8 months ago