the taste of your mental disorders

Jisung looks out the window, and there is bright summer and warm sun.  The wind is not seen or heard, he hid.  Perhaps playing hide and seek with foliage, and maybe with yellow birds.  In the sky, shining with pale blue paint, light clouds fly.  And the plane, leaving its long line of dreams come true and hope for the best, flies to greater happiness.  The trees, spreading their dark green paws, are calling to drown in tenacious claws.  And the grass, hiding as if it were quicksand, is waiting for its new victim. Han, putting his hand under his chin, looks at how people a little younger than him are having fun and talking nicely, discussing something, just having a good time.  It's all so foreign to Han.  After the death of his friends, he was never able to meet anyone, or rather, he simply did not want to.  The trauma suffered in childhood and adolescence was so severe that it was easier to keep silent about it.  But the silence was very loud.  The body screamed for help, but Jisung didn't hear it.  He tried many times to quit self-harm, but his beloved imp that sat deep inside him, each time reminded him of what he went through and who he became.  How ugly and worthless.  A disgusting person that at twenty-eight he walks to work and shop.  Sometimes along the way, running into a construction shop to buy blades for a clerical knife and a pharmacy for hydrogen peroxide and chlorhexidine. Listening to the humiliation of his consciousness, he prayed that this couple would pass as soon as possible, but, unfortunately, it has not yet begun.  The auditorium is empty, and so is Jisung inside.  There is simply nothing there.  No light, no darkness, no sea of ​​hope.  Nothing is that which does not exist;  eternal rest and endless nothingness.  And that's exactly what happened inside Jisung.  Only occasionally a cool breeze blows, reminding him that he is still alive.  For what reason is unclear.  It's just there and that's it.  He doesn't even live.  This word has long been meaningless to him.  It doesn't even exist.  He just is.  Here, there, over there and here.  Just eat.  From his presence or departure, nothing will change. Finally, the emergency bell rang.  The audience slowly began to fill with ghostly people whose names Jisung didn't remember.  In principle, he has a bad memory, it is difficult to remember something.  And there are so many people here every day.  So you could go crazy. Looking at the faces of the students, mixed into one indistinguishable colorful mess, Han suddenly felt some anxiety in front of them.  He is here alone.  A little boy named Han Jisung.  He stands in an empty room in his parents' apartment and looks into the mirror.  He sees himself beaten up there.  Broken eyebrow swollen so much that the eye was closed and now does not see.  Violet flowers grew into bushes on the face of a ten-year-old boy.  Han loved flowers, but not when they grew inside him.  After all, it hurt.  They are prickly and sharp.  Every time they accidentally touch them, they grab so hard that new inflorescences grow in this place.  And so tired of suffocating. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, and it was time to start the lecture.  But Han, bending down, looks at the screen of his laptop so that no one sees him.  And pressing on a recent cut, the anxiety goes away.  Only a small pool of blood soaks the black shirt.  — Hello, students.  The topic of today's lecture is the book "Morphine"  - Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov, - Han says cheerfully. Turning off his consciousness, he worked.  I tried to tell and analyze the work, to give answers to the necessary questions.  And if the couple flew by quickly... The students liked him.  Constant jokes and a cheerful atmosphere, not at all what was deep inside.  Han was not one of those teachers who would bring down even lectures.  He conducted the exams in such a way that he handed out tickets to everyone and left.  Forces, sometimes, were not enough to answer the question “Do you need a package?”, And even more so here.  Jisung quickly gets tired of people. The laser pointer fell out of his hands, bouncing off the floor with a loud bounce.  The brushes started shaking so much that it seemed like Jisung was joking or just playing.  But no.  After a couple of moments, he rolled his eyes and fell to the floor, unconscious.  The girls screamed, all the students were in shock.  Someone ran away for a doctor, someone called an ambulance, and someone went to help the teacher. Jisung doesn't remember what happened next.  Only small fragments remained in his memoirs about how he talks about the quarrel between Anna and Polyakov, and after a sharp emptiness inside, trembling all over his body and indescribable pain right in the sternum.  Han was conscious when he fell.  Therefore, I managed to remember the pain of hitting my head on the stone floor.   Jisung woke up in the hospital.  In the waiting room.  One of the students was sitting next to him.  Han turned his head and recognized the man as Lee Minho.  The kid who is too interested in foreign literature, and perhaps his teacher at the same time.  But Han doesn't care.  Even if he gets a tattoo with his name, it will not cause any emotions in Jisung.  And why does he immediately think of falling in love?  And everything is quite simple.  He wants to feel this so forbidden feeling for him.  He only loved Seungmin, Geonjin, and grandmother Yeonsu from the fifteenth apartment.  - You've woken up, teacher Han!  How do you feel, remember me?  - the student asked anxiously.  - Fine thanks.  Lee Minho — you are my annoying student, Jisung whispered, feeling a nagging pain in the back of his head.  - I’ll call the doctor - the guy replied, jumping up from his seat.  Minho left, he returned five minutes later.  - Hello, hello, my name is Seo Changbin and I am your doctor, - the man took out a light pointer from his left pocket and began to shine in his eyes, - Yes, great, there is a reaction. Why don't you take care of yourself, Han Jisung?    - I work a lot, Han answers him.  He suddenly thought about how he is now dressed.  What if someone saw his hands?  Then he would have been in the psychiatric ward long ago.  - Work is not a wolf, it won’t run away into the forest, -  the doctor smiled, - you fainted due to some kind of severe stress.  What happened to you recently?  - So Changbin asked while flicking his pen and pulling out a notepad. «What to answer?»  Jisung suddenly became afraid of how to explain that he had been in this state for many years..  - A childhood friend recently died, - was the only thing Jisung remembered at that moment.     - The reason?  - the doctor wrote down all the words of Jisung in his notebook.    - Suicide, - Han answered him in a trembling voice.  - It's clear.  Here’s a list for you, - he tore out a piece of paper and gave it to Jisung, - drink magnesium B6.  If you have problems with sleep, you can buy more melatonin.  - No, there are no problems with sleep, - he lies.  There are problems.  Han sleeps either for three hours, waking up from every rustle, or sleeps for twelve or even more hours.  - Well, that's great.  We can check you out in an hour. - Changbin turned to Minho.  - So, student, will you wait for the teacher or will you go home?  - I’ll wait and help you get home, - Minho told him.  - Fine!  Rest a little more, a nurse will come for you, - saying this, the doctor, saluting with his hand, left the ward.  Han looked at the trail of the departing doctor and turned to Minho.  - Lee Minho, you can go home, I can handle it myself, - Han quietly getting up, felt a pulling pain in the back of his head, but still sat down.  - Sorry, teacher Han, I can’t do that.  May I walk you home?  So I will be calmer that nothing will happen to you along the way. Han spat to argue with the student, because he understood that this was a useless business.  - Fine.  19:19  Jisung and Minho ride in a taxi to Han's apartment.  The car stopped near a tall white building, the guys got out.  - That's it, you can go back, Minho,” Han told him, putting on his hood, hiding from the drizzle.  - I’ll help carry it, - Minho told him.  Holding his backpack and laptop bag in his hands.  Han shook his head and they went to Jisung's endlessly cold apartment.  It seemed that there was no heating all year round, because it was warm only under the covers.  Jisung opened the apartment, they entered.  Minho put the bags on the floor and asked:  - Teacher Han, can I ask you to talk to me about the topic of today’s lecture? - the guy said.  - Minho, my head hurts a lot.  Please enter into my position, I want to rest, - Jisung said, retreating to the kitchen.  - Okay, sorry!  Rest properly.  With great pleasure we will wait for you after the sick leave!  Goodbye!  - Goodbye, - Han said quietly, hearing the door slam.  Finally he is alone.  In his own, but such a foreign void.  Here dust is flying in the kitchen, and flowers are trying to survive by turning their leaves into needles due to lack of water.  And the white tulle, which has long turned gray, quietly plays with the shadows of the raging rain, mimicking the leg of the chair.  There is a mountain of dishes in the sink, and someday Jisung will wash them, but not now.  At the moment, he doesn’t care about everything: a lie, some kind of care, or attention from his student.  Han's desire is to fall into the fluffy abyss of his bed and drown in it with his head never waking up.  Lying and looking at one point is such an interesting activity.  Today he did not cut, today the pain was enough.  Let your hands heal a little so that there is room next time.  Little Seungmin appeared in front of my eyes.  Cheerful, with torn knees and a black eye from his mother - this is how Han remembered him.  He saw him for the last time at five in the evening, and at six he was gone.  Seungmin was waving a yellow ball with red circles.  He did this when he asked Jisung to play with him.  And now he's asking.  - Seungminni, you are just my hallucination.  You've been gone for twenty years.. , - Jisung answered him, releasing a tear from his eye.  - Well, play with me, Han!  The wind blew through the room, barely audible.  Jisung fell asleep.  He woke up every hour, but slept an average of about fifteen hours.  But the state of the vegetable has not gone anywhere.  Rolling onto the other side, he took the phone in his hands and decided to look at the time, but when he saw Minho's message, he got lost in the white forests.                                Unknown number.  : Hello teacher Han Jisung.    This is your freshman Lee Minho.      I'm sure you've wondered why      you weren't dressed in a hospital gown.     I prevented this.     When you fell, I was the first to run up to      You and saw your hands.      I don't know what's more of me      went into shock.        What you fell or that       your hands look like a piece of meat.        Sorry for being so rude.      I would like to discuss this with you.        At your convenience,       can we meet?     : Hello Lee Minho.  I would advise you to      mind your own business.       Come to my house today at 16:40.  Han took an incredible anger.  Who is he that climbs to Jisung?  What does he want from him?  I would live in peace, well, I saw and saw, what of that?  It's not his problem, it's Jisung's.  Well, they will meet, and what will he say to him?  “Teacher Han Jisung, you can’t do this!”, “If you do that, you will die.”  This is how he achieves it.  Suicide is a strong act of a weak person.  Gisung is weak.   At exactly 4:40 p.m., there was a knock on the door.  Han quietly got out of bed and trudged to open the door, walking through the wet snow of his experiences.  - Hello, - the boy greeted, awkwardly lowering his head to the floor.  - Hello, - Jisung answered indifferently, letting him inside the apartment.    - When you get dressed - go to the kitchen.  Because of Minho, Jisung had to clean up a little, he rarely did it, but he always did it one hundred percent.  This time it happened the same.  It was impossible to tell from the apartment that the last cleaning here was more than two months ago.  The boy went to the kitchen and sat down at the table.  He held his backpack in his hands and tried to look around the room.  Jisung put the kettle down with his back to Minho.  And he began to think about how to get out of this situation.  By the way, by the way, Han was standing in a T-shirt, and right now he felt how Minho just scorches him with a look.  - Speak, Minho, - Han said, turning to the student, hearing the kettle boil behind him.  - Let me help you, Teacher Han, - he looked at Jisung with eyes that could easily drown.  Enchanting and bewitching, similar to the emptiness inside Han.  - Everything is fine with me.  - No, it's not okay.    - What do you need it for?   - I feel sorry for you.  I understand that they don’t usually say this, but I understand you, - the guy raised his long sleeves of a black sweatshirt, and there was no living place there.  Not a centimeter, not a millimeter.  Everything was cut and covered with either thin or thick scars.  They were clearly alive.  The smaller ones were white, just like Jisung's eyes when he fell.  The rest were brown, red, and some even blue.  As if these were not hands, but a painting by Mikhail Vrubel - "Seated Demon".  - Terrible, - Jisung told him.  -  That's why I want to help.  No one gave me help when I needed it.  - That's not very healthy either, you see.  - It will be comforting to me if I can help you.  You are — a wonderful teacher and I don't want to lose you.  - What’s all this about, Minho.  I am nobody for you.  Empty place.  - No, you are dear to me.  You are a good, just a magical teacher.  I would like to go to your couples more often.  - Well, - Jisung smiled, - thank you, I’m glad.  How are you going to help me?  - I'll just be there, you can trust me.  - Then tell me what happened to you and what happened to your hands.    - It all started when I was a kid...                                        ◎◎◎  Lee Minho was thirteen years old when his mother left his father for a lover.  Dealing with parental divorce is not easy.  Adult people are selfish about their child, forcing them to choose who he will stay with.  And how to answer this question if he loves them equally.  He would like to live with both mom and dad.  With my former family.  But it won't work.  They are constantly arguing.  Because of which Minho climbs under the covers or in the closet.  Includes some letsplayer on YouTube or music.  And she concentrates on not hearing insulting words from her father towards her mother, about what a whore and a prostitute she is, and how she sleeps with her boss at work.  And also not to hear the words of the mother about the father, that he himself is cheating on her with some kind of mymra.  Minho loves his parents and doesn't want it to end like this.  A little boy from childhood was immersed in the problems of his under-family.  Served as a psychologist for mother and father.  First he will talk to one, then to another, and so on in an endless vicious circle.  Needless to say, in such "help" he only drowned himself.  Buried deeper and deeper into the abyss of his consciousness.  Closing himself from the World and hating his life, he walked next to the cliff and was not afraid to fall.  Minho realizes that one day, perhaps willingly or not, he will fall into it.  Will soar in the endless voids of this lonely universe.  Look at your life through the prism of glass bottles, remembering the wonderful days that ran like a cat that dropped a pot from the windowsill.  And no matter how hard Minho tried to save his parents' marriage with good grades, decent, just amazing behavior, all this did not help.  The divorce still happened and he stayed with his father.  He decided that he would be better with dad, but he was mistaken.  When Minho was fourteen years old, his father had a woman.  They began to live together.  Minho couldn't stand this lady.  Once, when his father was on a business trip, Minyo offered a drink.  Minho was only seventeen years old when he slept with his father's woman.  She slipped him Viagra and the teenager failed.  Did he blame himself for it?  Yes.  Hated?  Certainly!  But sometimes they continued to sleep.  Whether he slept with her or not didn't matter.  He hated himself for it anyway, and every time he felt like a dirty, disgusting kid.  By the way, father and Minyo still live together, even got married.  In his senior year, Minho fell in love with his beautiful classmate.  He blamed himself every time he let out his last breath and a sweet moan with the guy's name.  Lee Felix was one of the most sociable people on this World, and at the same time the most vile person on this Planet.  Minho was talking to his high school friend about Felix and accidentally dropped the line, “Why are you teasing me for liking him?  Felix is ​​handsome and good."  Lex was at the back.  After that, they had a serious conversation.  But Minho never expected to be pinned down right behind the school, in the blind spot of the cameras.  And they will kiss so hard that the problems will appear more significant.  They started dating and slept on the first day.  You can't build relationships on passion.  And it is true.  When partners cannot give anything other than sex, a couple of months and a break will come.  Such relationships become obsolete by constant jealousy and even greater perversion.  You are ready for all poses, for all games, if only the person stays with you.  Just to once again feel his hot hands on your waist and the taste of spring obsession.  It was because of Felix that Minho began to cut himself to drown out the terrifying pain of the betrayals of his loved one.  Lee Minho is twenty-one years old and he wants to learn how to live again, he wants to start helping people.  Forget about childhood and disgusting first love.  Start all over from scratch, forgetting about the past.                                         ◎◎◎  - Something like that, - Minho finished, placing a china mug on the glass table.  - I don’t know what to say. - Jisung was confused.  He tried to process what Minho had said, but it didn't work out well.  - Then… Tell me, what happened to your hands? -  Minho tilted his head slightly to the side.  And Jisung said.  He doesn't know why.  Perhaps the pain was unbearable and she wanted to share.  After all, every time to die and be reborn again - so tired.  I want to finally feel this human peace, harmony.  Taste happiness and feel love with your fingertips.  In the void, dead thoughts and terrible memories come to life.  Outside the window, it rained unrelentingly and thunder rumbled, the clouds dropped crystals from tears, listening to the stories of wounded souls.  The sky was covered with the darkness of a dirty past.  Gray miracle clouds crawled to the other side of the planet, occasionally crushing the white rays of hope.  Little droplets of dirty water dripped from the window, trying to eavesdrop.  Even a maple leaf flying past stuck, leaving its mark on the cold glass.  Jisung turned on the light in the kitchen.  And the shadows that fell on the icy floor played with the dust particles hiding under the table.  The air pressed with its weight, and it seemed that in another minute it would become simply impossible to breathe.  Khan continued to tell, but already standing at the open window, releasing suffering into the air.  Cigarette smoke swirled in the space of the room, creating parodies of Van Gogh paintings.  Minho also stood up, borrowing a cigarette from Han, letting out an overwhelming hopelessness.  Lightning flashed and Minho bounced off the window as fast as if he wasn't human at all.  Sitting on the floor and clutching his head, he dropped the cigarette from his stiff fingers.  Now it smoldered quietly on the floor, emitting the last smoke of fading life.  - Minho, what's wrong with you? - Something happened?  Jisung seemed to open his eyes wider and threw his cigarette out the window and ran over to Minho, who was already sitting under the table.  - I'm afraid of thunder and lightning, - Minho whispered.  Jisung distinctly heard his quiet breathing and tears that fell to the floor, breaking against the walls of existence.  - Minho, look at me, I’m near, I’m with you, everything is fine, - Han lightly touched his head and shoulders, gently pulled him to him, trying to hug him.  - Thank you...  - I’ll close the window and draw the curtains, - Jisung said in a barely audible voice, picking up a cigarette from the floor, throwing it out into the street along the way.  Minho crawled out from under the table and sat down on a chair.  They lit up again, but the window was not opened.  The cool air of the lonely apartment mixed with the cherry taste of cigarettes and hopeless sadness.  Han suddenly realized that Minho was one of the few people who knew everything about him.  A couple of the guys from the club that he spent the night with knew about Jisung's past, and that's it.  But it was precisely from this conversation that it became so good, as if all this desperate anxiety had gone somewhere, gone and forgotten.  It drained away like a pouring rain, vanishing into the cigarette smoke of thin Richmond cherry cigarettes and Minho's fear.  The head did not hurt, only in the chest there was a slight tingling, but no more.    Minho left at dawn, and Jisung was left alone, again feeling the presence of shadows behind him, hammering at the door.  Maybe it's time to really try to trust this World or the world?  Han does not yet know how he relates to this word, but wants to believe him and allow him to help. Silence. I am alone.   My strength is exhausted,  and inside is emptiness.   The flowers have withered in my house,  And I feel  that I am withering,  as they once were.   I just didn't ask for help.   I was a weakling just wanted  someone to help.   There is no kindness in me  that only wanted to save me.   And I was not alone in the cold wind,  there was silence,  and the Rain was drizzling.   And the remnants of my beauty withered,  as flowers once withered.                                      "Flowers" - Katarina Leaves.