This is supposed to be MY story. Not the hospital's story, not my family's story, not the story of a bunch of mental patients with nothing better to do with their time then smear me, MY story.
Disconnect
The voice on the phone was familiar to him and still talking, but he had stopped listening several minutes ago. She obviously didn't realize this because the cadence did not change. He was far away, floating somewhere far above where he lay sprawled on the floor, his tense hand still clutching the cold receiver in some sort of karate death grip. His breaths were slow and shallow, his body motionless, and from the vacant look in his eye, one might mistake him for dead and gone. But Eddie was very much alive on a physical level, even if emotionally he was numb. He could still hear her words in the distance. He didn't really need to hear them. He knew what the message was. In some sense he had seen this coming. He never acknowledged it, of course, but the gnawing dread, the feeling of falling, had been there in the background for quite some time. The words themselves were unimportant and expected, words like "time", "space", and "different". Yet s...
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