These Walls

It had been six months since I left the confides of my apartment. What kept me inside? I still wasn't sure. The only thing I knew was that I needed to get out before the walls closed in.

My morning routines were established by the two-month point.

Wake up at 9, Use the bathroom, drink a cup of coffee and smoke a single cigarette. Eat half a grapefruit and stare out the window by 9:30. For the next thirty minutes I would just stare out and dream of the day that I would leave my apartment.

Now most people have no problem leaving their apartments. They do it everyday, to get to work, to meet their friends, to take a walk, to go out to eat. But for me, none of those were possible. I stayed in my 400 square feet apartment and for 6 months now, have been limited to this space and this space alone.

For the first few weeks I searched for a way. Wall to wall, floor to floor but to no avail. The first month was the hardest but everything came easier at the two-month point. With the development of my routine, my days would pass without ever wondering what I should be doing or how much time was left in the day.

So hmm, at 10 I would put the Beatle's White Album on my record player and listen to that for about an hour. I would close my eyes when listening to Revolution 9 as the melodic noise seeped through my ear canal; through the nerves; into my unconsciousness:(id). Images: Part Fellini, Part Lynch. Transcend this world: ZAP. Foreign planet. Maybe Andromeda? I heard the tourist scene is pleasant there.

At eleven, I would prepare for lunch. Now this preparation was more than just a routine, it was a ritual. The only ritual that I practiced. Didn't need Buddhism, Judaism, didn't even need Christianity; all I relied on was my afternoon ritual. Now I can't go too much into this ritual for I believe it to be sacred, but it involves a knife, some skin and masturbation.

Now practicing this ritual alleviated a lot of the pain but reminded me of much more. Reminds me of the memories of my past, reminds me of what I could have had, the faces that I've run into and the faces that I've loved. The faces that I'll never see again and so the pain is brought back to life.

Around one or two depending on how quickly I finish my lunch, I fill up the bathtub and drown myself in it. Oh the hurt that feeds off the salt. (I never want the wounds to heal so I pour salt into my bath) The wounds remind me of where I've been and how it felt when I received them. I fall asleep sometimes in the bathtub, only to wake up with blisters from the salt grinding up against my wounds. At this point the wounds would be torn wide open and touching it only irritated it, but the irritation slowly led to numbness and the numbness led to pleasure and the pleasure would turn itself into self satisfaction. At this point, all the loneliness went away and I needed no one but myself.

So at around noon I find myself staring out the window once again. I remember of the times I spent in the playground, throwing a red bouncy ball to my friends, now they are probably just lying away. Wasted and used. What is the point of throwing red bouncy balls anyway if you're just going to end up in the morgue? And what's the point of life if it ultimately ends up in death? And when you die is nothing really nothing, I mean, how can you describe nothingness? How do you see the blackness of the hole in the center of your mind?

I dig around and see an opening to my apartment. It's the front door. I am free. But do I want to get out?