Excerpt: Misheard Lyrics

Before I knew it, the end of the day had arrived, as had the moment of truth; Marian and I headed out to the parking-lot, climbing into his blue SUV and taking off down the highway to the Royal Ottawa Mental Health Centre. “This is where they brought me,” he explained calmly. “After my last suicide-attempt, they took away all of my razorblades and stuck me in intensive psychotherapy. I just remember being really drugged-out on all the antidepressants that the doctors at the Civic had given me… It was like being high, only much-less fun.”

Though I admired his willingness to open up to me, I was slightly disturbed by the fact that Marian talked about cutting and suicide the way most people talked about the weather, or everyday tasks, like brushing one’s teeth. He probably thinks it’s normal to feel this depressed, I thought to myself, shivering a little as he held the doors open for me. Oh, well. The most I can do is be supportive throughout this ordeal, and we’ll both come out the better for it.

We walked through the hallway, arm-in-arm, for what seemed like an eternity until we finally entered a small, grey room with a couple of other people inside; a cute gothic-couple sat in orange plastic chairs in the far corner, and a few others were seated in a circle on the carpeted floor. This is going to be weird, I mused. I can’t relate at all, but obviously it was important to him for me to be here…

I took a seat to Marian’s right, and I watched as the small, brown-haired girl to my right-hand side scanned the crowd. Slim and blue-eyed, she was rather pretty, though I noticed several ugly gashes on her arms and legs, not unlike the ones Marian had shown me. It’s a shame, I thought to myself. Why do such beautiful people see the need to disfigure themselves so willingly?