Smart

(Edit added to end.)

Has it always been like this? For some reason, I can't seem to remember. I'm told that I'm special, or was special at the very least. A talented young man or something, with lots of talents. I had to ask . . . what was her name again? Never mind, it really doesn't matter I suppose. But what was it . . . Talents, talents. Apparently, I had talents. But then . . .something happened. And now I don't have them. It's all really quite confusing, and I'm not sure I understand it. I shall have to ask . . . but now I can't seem to remember her name. Not that her name mattered.

I lift my hand to wipe my brow distractedly, and I watch it, full of curiosity. It clasps itself into a fist that shakes visibly. How odd. She says I wasn't like that before. Now people are coming into my room. Lots of people. I don't think I know them, but yet, some of the faces seem familiar . . . Why does my head keep jerking so? It makes it hard to make them out. It angers me that I can't focus on them. Now one of them is speaking. Franklin? That's not his name I know, but I think it should be. He says that I might get better after the treatment. He says that I might be smart again.

Smart. I used to be that. Now I'm not though. I'm not smart. My arms shake. Now another man is talking, but I don't hear what he says cause his nose looks funny. But when I try to tell him so, I can only make a retching groan come from my mouth. Maybe it's cause I'm not smart. One of the other people comes forward to my bed, and for the first time I'm actually able to focus. It's a woman. She's pretty. I don't know why. But suddenly it hurts that I'm stuck on this bed. I want to be smart. Oh how I want to be smart. But she doesn't know that. Instead she kisses my forehead. It tickles, and I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with the concept. But she is pretty. And I don't know why.

They bring a chair that has wheels on it. Maybe for me? I don't know, cause I'm not smart. I need to ask her. But I can't talk at the moment. I want to name the woman Franklin as well, but that's stupid. So I name her Fran instead.

Now I'm crying, because I want to walk. I want to talk. My heart yearns within me. I open my mouth in a groan, trying to tell them . . . I want to walk. Now I'm wailing, I want to be smart! Please let me be smart! Please let me be who I used to be! Tears roll down my cheeks in a flood of coolness.

Why can't I?

Why can't I?

WHY CAN'T I, PLEASE!!?

They watch as the wheelchair is wheeled out of the room. The woman turns to the doctor.

“Is there any chance that treatment will be successful?”

The doctor looks in her eyes, his own clouded with doubt. And it's all the woman needs.

*Edit added afterward.   Ok, as Robert has pointed out to me in person. It may seem slightly surprising that I'm writing about having a mental illness.  (Ok, ok, not so surprising.)  So here's a little background, and the purpose of this post.  I have spent some time thinking about what it's like to be afflicted by something like that,  and I was curious if I would be able to convey that.  But ultimately, what I wanted to convey the most to you, is that feeling of helplessness.  And I have no idea who the woman is, either.  So you get decide who she is.  

So, I suppose the question is,  was I able to convey that to you effectively?*