How Does It Make You Feel?
The New Testament
None Taken
Photography: luiisrtz
A beautiful young Puerto Rican girl bursts through the door while Amelia is on the toilet. “Can you believe this bullshit?! That asshole puts me in here like some kinda joke? Fuck you, Tulio!” she yells to the ceiling, giving the bird with an over-manicured nail. “And fuck that skanky bitch you got on the side!”
Amelia pushes the toilet flush, then quietly rinses her hands without soap. She can smell that the girl is on her period. As if flowery perfume on a maxi pad could cover the rusty stink of blood. There’s an invisible wind blowing her mood around, making her vulnerable to outside forces. Her new roommate is an outside force.
The young woman talks at Amelia.
“I slashed this bitch’s tires, spray-painted CHEATER on HIS car cuz he’s a FUCKING cheater, and they call the cops and they put me in this place with you psychos. No offense.”
Amelia goes very still. The scruff on her neck pricks up. “None taken.” Offense has been taken.
“Isn’t that just bullshit though? I am NOT a crazy person. This is BULLSHIT!” Pull off the fingernails.
“Yes. It is. Bullshit.” Crack the bones open and suck out the marrow. “You don’t belong here.”
“For real!” Jasmine sizes up Amelia. In her Velcro hospital gown and slipper socks she looks benign— the type to attack herself, not others. The stitches in the crooks of her elbows glisten with recently applied ointment, inflamed and slick, the black threads twisting up out of the wounds like frayed electrical wires. “You do that to yourself?"
“Yes.”
“Somebody rape you or something?”
“No.”
Jasmine sucks her teeth. “Well I don’t know what your damage is, but you’re obviously psicópata. I’m Jasmine.”
“Amelia.” Shave the head. Burn it. She does not move. The crow circles like a vulture.
“Well Am-e-li-a, I’m here for three days, tops, so don’t kill me in my sleep okay?”
She plops down on the bed and starts braiding an inch-wide plait over her shoulder. Amelia is rooted to the spot. Every hair on her body is standing on end as she thinks about the girl’s blood, bright on the colorless wall. Fascia pushes up and out of Jasmine’s throat tear it open with your teeth. The light dimming in her eyes GOUGE OUT THE EYES TAKE THE EYES OUT! All of it is there in the infinite darkness of her brain. She’s about my size; it would be a fair fight. Beat her! Strangle her! Bite her!
“I’m thinking about it,” she tells her. “Hard.”
The Bottom
Photography: h m
Amelia stares at the intimidating, white trapezoid given to her by the medication nurse. How the fuck am I going to swallow this? I can barely take Tylenol. Rosemary starts complaining about the hesitation, so she takes a mouthful of water, drops the pill in the very back of her throat, gags once, then manages to gulp it down. Amelia shows her tongue to the nurse before the woman moves on.
Henry must already be in his room; I don’t see him. She starts a game of Solitaire but feels sleepy within minutes. When Amelia stands to go to bed, the room tilts. She has to sit back down to upright her torso. Her eyes go in and out of focus. Her breathing is heavy. Where… Where am I? Inhale exhale. Inhale exhale. Am I… What? Inhale exhale. Inhale exhale. The walls and floor are warping under her feet. Inhale exhale. Inhale exhale. This is… Is this Nine Inch Nails? Inhale exhale. Inhale exhale. Trent Reznor’s voice coaxes her toward the room.
Her eyes swim in their sockets. Everything is in slow motion. Leaning on furniture and the wall, Amelia plods toward her room. People are halos of darkness against the light. She does not know if they speak to her. The guitar keens. Trent whispers something she has never figured out, as she falls face first onto her pathetic little bed and passes out cold. The tendrils of the song flick her ears as she sleeps long and hard.
Suddenly, he screams in her head, jerking her into confused consciousness. What is that sound? Her mind gropes the air to put a name on the vibrations. It’s a scream. Someone’s being tortured. It’s a—
An orderly pokes her head in and says, “Fire drill. Get up and go stand by the exit.”
The fire alarm is going off. Amelia’s brain tunes it out in favor of ‘The Downward Spiral (The Bottom).’ Her mind gropes for clarity. Clicks and whispers. She can barely stand. Instruments blip in and out – Wavering with her eyesight. ‘The question is sleep,’ everything is still at half-speed. Am I awake? The drums signal that she is. ‘The answer is Trazodone.’ All the psych patients are being crowded into a narrow hallway, blocked by two thick, metal double doors that are locked. When Amelia sees it, the cellos groan. EXIT. She stares down the hallway as it distorts into an impossibly long, white corridor.
Shoulda got a gun escape now Dasein cow stupid bitch my ears hurt. She drunkenly steadies herself against the wall, and makes her way to the area the geniuses who decided to have a fire drill at six a.m. in the psych ward have designated for this fire drill at six a.m. in the psych ward. The cellos moan again. I can’t hear the alarm but my ears hurt. The disembodied hands type: If any man come to me, and hate not his father and mother, and wife and children, and brethren and sisters, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.
The emergency lights flash with the flutes. Pulse—Pulse. Clap your hands, Peter! She stops to watch them. Pulse—Pulse. Clap your hands! Tinkerbell is dying! People are pulling and pushing on their way, Pulse—Pulse, screaming in excitement and confusion and fear. Pulse—Pulse. She stands, fixated by the lights for an eight-measure eternity.
But because of your stubbornness and unrepentant heart, you are storing wrath against yourself for the Day of God’s Wrath, when His righteous judgment will be revealed.
When Henry finds Amelia plastered to the wall, staring at the flashing lights, Pulse—Pulse, he says something important, but Amelia can only hear a voice telling her how easy it is. Not real. Not his real voice – Not Henry. Henry speaks again, and Amelia shakes her head. Baaaaaaaannnnnggg. He leads her to the corridor, sits, and invites her into his lap. She buckles onto the hard floor. Robots are crawling through her brain cells, chewing on the synapses. Henry pulls Amelia’s head up onto his leg and tries to reassure her. Baaaaaaaannnnnggg. Mechanical spiders are replicating in her cells, replacing her human neurons. Her gaze is empty as she perceives the rest of her inmates going wild while nurses try to control the crowd and take attendance. She squints. Maxwell is jauntily going from person to person to work them up. Baaaaaaaannnnnggg. Trent Reznor’s distorted voice hits her mind like sound-braille. Baaaaaaaannnnnggg. Two people get taken down. So easy… Some are rocking and crying. Their ears hurt too flood in the ears infections of the brain. Lucia is screaming prayers – Blood in the ears – Blood in the brain. The mute wets herself. When Maxwell punches the wall next to Rosemary’s head, he gets taken down. Baaaaaaaannnnnggg. He does not go calmly. Shoulda got a gun. He kicks and screams and fights them, tooth and nail. Baaaaaaaannnnnggg. Amelia curls into a ball, unable to function. Henry strokes her hair and tries to speak again. “Baaaaaaaannnnnggg.” All she can hear is the song. “They turned off the Baaaaaaaannnnnggg.”
The man who swore to rape her hoots, “I can see her ass! Damn that’s a cute ass. Can I get up in there?” Jackoff pulls down his boxers and takes his dick out, making straight for Amelia. Baaaaaaaannnnnggg. He is intercepted by Daniel. Rape her – She WANTS it! Skullfuck her eye sockets and come in her brain and she’ll THANK you for it! He also fights them, tooth and nail. Henry’s hand is still on her head. Her eyes gag on the room as everything starts to spin out of control.
I also gave them over to statutes that were not good, and laws they could not live by; I let them become defiled through their gifts; the sacrifice of every firstborn, that I might fill them with horror so they would know I am the Lord.
The nurses are trying to calm the remaining patients, now that the alarm has stopped. The limp guitar strums. The most dangerous patients have been subdued. Some are still crying and praying, and the piss runs down Juanita’s leg into a pool at her feet. Amelia’s mouth starts to water.
“Daniel,” she slurs. “Daniel, I’m gonna throw up.” Somehow he hears her, or Henry calls to him, she’s not sure. They help Amelia to her bathroom. The Jack-in-the-box is clear in her mind. She is inside. It is bottomless.
All around the mulberry bush / the mon-key chased the wea-sel / La, la la, la lalala la / The vomit surges out of the bottomless pit. Her mouth pours saliva. All around the mulberry bush / the mon-key chased the wea-sel / La, la la, la lalala la / Amelia vomits again. The clown mocks her – Bouncing on its spring. All around the mulberry bush / the mon-key chased the wea-sel / La, la la, la lalala la / More vomit comes gushing from Amelia’s insides. All around the mulberry bush / the mon-key chased the wea-sel / La, la la, la lalala la / Amelia vomits so hard that she can feel blood vessels bursting in her eyes. Pop! goes the wea-sel.
She collapses.
How Does It Make You Feel?
Photography: Andy Lee
Amelia has been allowed to go back to sleep on a med pass until lunch. Lying on her sticky plastic mattress, she studies her wounds as an audience applauds in her head for a long time. Something live; that’s good. She anticipates the acoustic opening of ‘Nutshell’ and is rewarded with Alice in Chains.
She slowly picks at the stitches in the crook of her left elbow. The skin on the top one pulls back as it loosens. She can see the white tissue underneath. The skin is red and raw as it starts to heal around the edges. FLAY HER, encourages a malicious voice. Amelia carefully takes the top stitch out, then starts to work on the second one. The voice massages her neck from behind, peering over her shoulder at her progress. After the second stitch is out, she is bleeding again. The voice clasps his wet, red hands in approval.
“Knock, knock!” Henry appears in the doorway to Layne Staley’s coos. “My aunt brought me these flowers and I thought you need them more than I do. She even got a plastic vase so I can keep them on the dresser. Er, you can keep them on…” he looks around the room, “You don’t have a dresser.” Amelia hides her arm from his view.
“Thank you, Henry, but I need to rest.” Bleed the sick child. Get your leeches and maggots and ticks.
“I just…” He lingers at the foot of her bed, flowers in hand. “I just wanted to hang out. Everyone else here is a lunatic.”
“Henry, I’M a lunatic,” she retorts.
“Yeah, but you’re interesting crazy, not syphilis crazy.” Everybody’s clown.
“Please don’t use that word to describe me.” The voice is displeased by the interruption. Get rid of him!
“We’ll just chill then,” he says, sitting on the edge of her bed. She can’t look at him, but he smells like moors and cold wind and thistles. Full-scale cèilidh performance – Goddamnit, what the fuck is up with their weird little feet? “What did they give you?” he asks, oblivious to her mood.
“Trazodone.”
“Just a sleeping pill? What’s your dosage?”
“One-fifty, and it’s shaped like a fucking trapezoid. I can’t believe I was actually able to choke it down.” Amelia pictures a group of pharmaceutical reps trying to figure out how to *really sell* their product, Trazodone. I know! says one. TRAzodone – TRApezoid. We shape the pill into an inch-long trapezoid! The other reps pat him on the back and take an early lunch.
“Mo-ther-fuckers,” he shakes his head.
“Best sleep I’ve ever had in my life,” Amelia grudgingly admits. He smiles, turns toward her, and puts his thigh on the bed.
“Why do you hate it when people call you ‘interesting?’ I mean, being interesting is a good thing. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
“Why? Because I’m not a fucking television set. My stories are not movies you can rewind just to see your favorite parts and my misery is only poetry because I write it down as such. Don’t treat me like a book that self-destructs when you finish reading it.”
“You shouldn’t be offended,” he counsels. “You can’t not realize you bring it upon yourself. If you really hated it, you would pretend to be boring.” Sew the mouth SHUT! Amelia’s eyes narrow. Don’t let her speak!
“I’m not going to dumb myself down to make people feel better about themselves.” Pride, pride, pride, the archangel shakes his head.
“Then you’re going to have to accept that you’re interesting,” he grins. She bares her eyes. The song stops suddenly. The tension between them smells like the dentist. Henry’s confidence gives a sharp pull to his esophagus. “I mean, you have so much to give but you’re being torn apart— by fate, or illness, or God, whatever,” he stammers. “That’s not the point. The point is that you live honestly, and that’s why I care about you.”
Amelia’s affect turns completely neutral. You have no fucking clue how I live. It’s certainly not honest. Instead of Henry, she thinks about her successful failure of a life and the inertia caused by freedom of choice. Original sin. The angels scream, FILTHY! FILTHY! FILTHY! in her head. You bring it upon yourself.
“And you’re important to me. I mean, it would be cool if we could see each other when we get out. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about life on the inside.” Amelia doesn’t respond. A romantic vision of a suicide pact between her and Henry presents itself to her. “I think you’re beautiful and unique, and I want you around,” he tries. Bite the wine glass. Slash the mouth to bits. Crunching between the teeth – Shards in the gums. Henry stands up. “Well, say something. I mean, how does that make you feel?”
The last chorus of ‘How Does It Make You Feel?’ by Air bursts into Amelia’s head. She considers his words through a screen of music. How does it make me feel? You bring it on yourself. How does it make me feel? If you really hated it, you would pretend. How does it make me feel? Henry can see the sudden change in Amelia, not knowing that it is music immobilizing her and not him. How does it make me feel? He waits and holds her gaze. When she finally speaks, there is only one reply she can give.
“Well, I really think you should quit smoking.”
Music References
The Downward Spiral (The Bottom) - Nine Inch Nails