text: It happens faster than I ever thought it would, hits me with the force of a moving train, and pierces me like an unforgiving bullet. "What?" I say. But those words don't come from my mouth, escaping from the confines of my throat. They don't, because this isn't happening. It is all a dream - and a pretty bad one at that. Everything will be fine, I think, everything is, in fact, just fine... "I'm sorry. I should have told you about this way earlier. Before things got so dire." His voice is distant, dry, emotionless. He doesn't even sound human at all. "l don't get it. What do you need to tell me so desperately?" I sound so stupid. My voice soars like a magnificent eagle hunting for prey and then falls, crashes against the ground like a pathetic pigeon with broken wings. "Why can't you just tell me this in person?!" I scream, and I realize, horrified, how psychotic I have become in just a couple of moments. Are things so bad? When did we go off the rails like this? Is this my fault?! There is a cough. Even through the phone, which strips reality of every detail and delivers a naked, vulnerable and warped mess to my ears, I can sense that his mouth hasn't opened at all. There is someone else with him. A woman. She coughs again, as a tear rolls down my cheek. I know exactly where this is going. "l have been seeing someone else lately", he finally lets out, and I notice that he doesn't seem concerned, or sad, but rather relieved, liberated as if an invisible burden had been finally disposed of. That burden, of course, is me. "Look, I obviously didn't want things to happen like this", he says. "I loved you, Liz. I really did. But you drove me insane." Loved. Have I become so soon an unfortunate memory, a sad reminder of his past? "We have been together for a while." He stops. That's it. He isn't going to speak anymore. "So what? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to get up from my chair and clap? Do you want me to praise you for cheating on me?" I'm not even talking; I'm yelling, screaming at the top of my lungs, bursting half my vessels along the way. This is not happening. We are fine. We. Are. Fine. "Please, calm down. I need to you to understand that- " "To understand what, Peter?! To understand that this is magically over? To accept that some random woman just got in your way and bam, there goes our relationship?! Tell me! TALK TO ME, YOU BASTARD!" "Take a deep breath and calm down-" "Don't tell me what to do! I AM NOT A CHILD! You cheated on me, you disgusting pig, and I swear that you--no, she will pay for this!" "What are you going to do Liz, huh? Are you going to pay my new girlfriend a visit and slay her as if she were some pest you have to get rid of? NO! I love her! She does not behave like the venomous, possessive snake that you are! She lets me go out with my friends when I want to! She isn't attached to me all the time as though she were a leech! YOU DISGUST ME. YOU SICKEN ME. Do you not get that? Have you fallen that low?! Listen to this with extreme attention, Elizabeth: the second you dare lay a finger on her, I will make sure you won't get in our way ever again, by any means necessary." Did that just really happen? Did she just call me "a possessive woman"? Am I one?! Of course not. I helped him. I took him in my arms when others spat on his face. It is clear now, however, that I took the wrong decision. I should have left him to wither and die. "Oh. You're threatening me." There is not a hint of emotion in my voice. "So if I try to take away your new bone, you're going to bite me like the rabid stray dog that you are? What a wonderful world this is! HA! Can't you see? You belong to me. Without me, you are nothing." "Are you even listening to yourself? I do not belong to anyone! I am a free human being! You are sick, Elizabeth, perhaps incurably so. This is why I left you alone in the house. You are a parasite." "Don't you dare lecture me as if I were some obtuse--" "Enough, Elizabeth! I have tried to be patient, to be reasonable! I have tolerated you for too long! You are sick. You might be bipolar, delusional, or schizophrenic, for all I know. You keep claiming that I 'belong to you'. You have always told me that 'you made me'. You may be right, since, after all, you made me sick. Every single day with you was torture. It is now when I realize that I only tolerated you because I pitied you. It wasn't love. It was pity. I saw you, alone, troubled, reviled by many. Now I know why. You are vile poison." For some reason, I fail to respond. I just stand there, looking at my own contorted reflection in the mirror. "Tell me, Peter...of all things, why did you let me buy such a hideous mirror?" There is silence. Then, he speaks. "We never bought any mirrors, Elizabeth." That must be wrong. That is wrong. We bought a mirror a long while ago. I remember it clearly. It is the one that now I face. "Of course we did! The one in my bedroom!" "Elizabeth...seriously. I think you might be very stressed right now. And I understand, of course; in all honesty, I could have handled this better. But this is concerning. But know this: there are no mirrors in your bedroom." "You're lying, Peter. I can see my own reflection in it right now." "No. I once bought you a small mirror for Valentine's Day. Your reflection horrified you. You shattered it to pieces, and said: "I'm sorry, Peter, but never, ever buy a mirror again. I hate them." For a moment I stay quiet. I almost yell at him. But then I realize that his words are not lies. I hate mirrors. I stare at an empty wall. The mirror is no longer there. Then there is nothing. His voice fades away. He is far, far away from me. He will never hurt me again. "Elizabeth! Hello?!" The phone wiggles around on the sand. The waves wash it away. "l am at a beach. I love beaches. I love the water." I say this, even though there is no one around who can hear me, even though the phone is actually my fist, even though I am here, trapped on a cell on the psychiatric ward of a hospital, yelling the name of someone who, long ago, put me here 'for my own safety'. "Peter! Let me go, Peter! I am fine!" I crash my fists against the window. What is wrong with me? "PETER!" Nobody hears me. Through this dirty pane of glass I can see other people like me, trapped in these metal cages as though they were dangerous animals. We are not sick. We simply choose to see the world in a different way. "But I still love you, Peter." Those words did not come from my mouth. Of course they didn't. I drop myself against the cushioned floor. Even pain has been taken away from me here. Eight years ago, Peter brought me here. He said I was schizophrenic. He said I saw things that were not there. A psychiatrist told me that I could construct entire worlds, full of people and places, each with their own completely fictional story. Is this one of such worlds? Am I where I think I am? I'm not certain of anything anymore. I don't even know if my name truly is Elizabeth. In spite of that, I think they both lied. I think they did, because I can feel the sand in the beach, swim in the warm water, as the nurses look at me with an expression of horror and pity on their faces. If only they saw and felt what I do. I am at a beach. I have always been at a beach. I love you, Peter. Thank you for setting me free.