It was still an hour until lights out and I was waiting by the security doors for James. I HAD to see Lily tonight.

I paced in front of the triple lock and metal security gate area like a caged animal determined to find my freedom. With every passing uniformed orderly or guard, I hoped to see through the meshed glass and bars of the guard station the figure of James coming to escort me to Lily’s section of the hospital; but he never came.

I continued to pace in the hallway, my mind hopeful of relief but I could feel the fear and hate inside me mounting like a rising tide. I would have to return to my room within the next 50 minutes and I knew that with every passing second, my chances of seeing Lily were fading.

Since the beginning of my stay here at the Mental Health Center, I’ve attempted to figure out how many linoleum tile squares it takes me to walk down a hallway. So far I’ve counted it at 21 during a normal gate and 18 at a fast gate. But how many at a breakdown gate? I began my little test, garnering attention from passing inmates but I was determined not to stop. Perhaps my walk would alert the guards to finally tell James I needed to talk to him?

Suddenly, the hallway intercom crackled and I heard a voice boom from the guard station, “Hey crazy man, James ain’t working tonight. Take a chill.”

I felt the tide break past the storm wall and flood my soul with despair. I wasn’t sure what to do but I knew there was no way I would be feeling Lily’s warmth across my frozen soul this evening. I turned around from the guard station and moved down the hallway to a small corridor that connected to an empty recreation room. I stepped inside, plopping my body down into a chair and dropping my head onto the steel arts and craft table.

Suddenly my head swirled with thoughts of Greg, Fran, Mike, and the rest of the group that was my world-- and my father’s. But the lonely realization that my father was now dead and no longer present seemed almost unreal. Perhaps I would eventually wake up from this nightmare and discover I wasn’t at Greystone for mental illness and my father didn’t die trying to become my mother.

As I stared at the dried and splattered paint across the metal tables, the realization I was completely alone like these scarred pieces of metal, made itself known– but I knew there was solace in the locked and barred cupboards in the walls around the room. There would be certain objects inside, such as plastic palette knives or the ends of brush handles that could be used to open a vein. And then all of my pain and rage would come to an end.

I still had other plans to get out of here and perhaps those, with the help of Lily, would work. But there was no denying the fact I was upset and alone.

I could here guard footsteps approaching and I knew I was about to be harnessed and reprimanded for being in an off-limits area, but I didn’t really care. I just wanted to feel something.

Anything.