E-Issue3_Finallydonep

Silver Girl
Larissa Fleurette
“I think I was meant to hear that song
tonight,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Janice asks.
“I feel that God played that song for me
because he knows I love that song and that I
would feel hopeful if I were to hear it. So He
played it for me tonight, because I was losing
hope.”
“Losing hope?” Janice looks at me like
I’m about to slit my wrists in front of her.
“What do you mean?”
I’m about to speak, but Jake interrupts.
“That’s crazy talk,” he says. “You’re schizophrenic,
aren’t you?”
“That’s none of your business, Jake,”
says Janice before I can answer. “We ought
to be heading back to the hospital, guys. It’s
getting late.”
As we walk back to the hospital, I pretend
I’m Silver Girl and all my dreams are on
their way. For some reason, it doesn’t seem
impossible.
Larissa Fleurette
1 st Place National Winner
Non-Fiction
Larissa Fleurette is an alumna of the University
of Toronto Mississauga, currently pursuing
a master of fine arts in creative writing at the
University of British Columbia. Larissa is passionate
about travel, food and mental health
awareness.
A View From
the Inside
By Kelly Aiello
My heart has been racing lately – I have
been reflecting. But when reflection turns
into a tumble down the Rabbit Hole, my
heart races, my chest tingles. My fingers go
numb. My emotions commit mutiny and
Mr. Hyde comes out – that’s what we call
him, my therapist and I. Mr. Hyde. I couldn’t
think of a more apt name. He takes me
over; hijacks my insides and I walk through
the days in a fog of anger, humiliation, fear
and elation. My puppet strings in the hands
of a vapid and elusive entity. I can take over
the world – no, fuck you, I hate the world.
I can’t sleep, I can’t stop sleeping. It’s too
bright, the sunlight is my muse; I can’tstopcan’tstopcn’tstpc….NO!
I fall.
Graphic by Phoebe Maharaj
My work is a short, non-fiction about my first experience as an inpatient due to mental illness.
I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder during this experience and subsequently
with co-morbid Bipolar Type II Disorder. This work is a reflection on my experience with healthcare
during my stay and the stigma attached to suicide, attempted suicide and the mentally ill.
I have bipolar type II disorder.
Today I have been reflecting on a very brief
time in my life that I realize, I have never
actually spoken of. Only parts I can write because,
quite frankly, my memory is a broken
puzzle, pieces of the event missing. Blank.
And what I do remember, it’s difficult
to write. It hurts.
I was twenty-one and I remember
bright lights. I remember feeling cold. Cold
right through my entire body. I could smell
vomit and iodine. The sterile yet somehow
disgusting smell of a hospital.
I’m thrown back into the memory.
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