She is a very depressed person and she could commit suicide at any time.
She has committed suicide many times.
I'm her psychiatrist.
I was able to manage her condition, and I am already familiar with dealing with such patients.
She saw me as her savior.
I once told her that everyone has a door in their heart.
That's the door to happiness and joy.
I just helped her find the door.
She said, I didn't help her find the door.
I'm actually the door.
In her long life, in fact, she has been through many doors.
Unfortunately, she didn't knock on every door, but isolated her in the abyss.
So, she often despairs.
Sometimes, I really feel like I'm in love with her.
It's a pity that she is a patient and I am a doctor.
I'm still a professional doctor, and to be professional means to be as indifferent as a machine.
The most important thing is that I'm married.
I may be her door, but my door should never be her.
She was a sensitive woman and was naturally aware of my avoidance.
She began to lock herself in a dark room.
It was just me, when I gently pushed the door open.
A glimmer of light shines on her pale face before she smiles.
I know she's humbly begging, a door that opens by chance, a light of almsgiving.
My major tells me that all this is not going to change, it is only going to get worse.
My decision was cruel, I crouched down, I told her I was married, I told her I didn't love her, I comforted her that everything would be fine if she gave up.
She listened silently and nodded sensibly.
I know it's hard, that's why we get sick.
Before leaving, I told ** to take care of her, after this hurdle, everything will be fine with her, and everything will be fine with us.
The very next night, I was awakened by a muffled, rhythmic knock on the door.
Here she comes. I looked back and saw my wife knitting a sweater in the bedroom, as if she hadn't heard anything.
She knocked the door, desperately hoping that a ray of sunlight would shine on her parched face.
What can I do at this time?
I can only choose cruelty, how many people in this world are like this, knocking on a door that will never open.
So, since this door will never open, is it really that important whether there is sunlight outside the door or not?There was a loud bang that shook my heart, and there was no sound outside the door.
I opened the door and she collapsed in a pool of blood and stopped breathing.
Only then did I realize that if the door in my heart was completely closed, life and death would no longer matter to some people.
The medical examiner came and told me in a professional tone that she had been killed alive.
It wasn't her hand that knocked on the door, it was her head.
The ** who took care of her also came, I didn't blame her, the person who should be blamed the most was actually me, I was a murderer.
* looked at me coldly and told me in a professional tone that she should have died from a skull fracture, I casually said that I really didn't expect her to hit the door with so much force, **'s eyes suddenly changed, I took a deep breath, and said in a somewhat frightened tone:
Last night, she committed suicide by jumping off a building in the hospital, and her hands and feet were all broken. ”
From the day Ouyang died, we were no longer pure.
Since that day, my wife has never spoken to me again.
I understand that she is so sad. People who encounter misfortune will not show their sadness at two times, one is that he is strong enough, and the other is that he understands that he can't get out.
In the past few days since Ouyang's death, I have also been in a daze, as if I have forgotten many things in an instant, even for Ouyang's affairs, I am not so sad.
All I know is that I want to comfort this woman next to me.
I walked behind my wife and I tried to walk as lightly as I could.
She was making coffee, strong, black coffee.
With a bang, I knocked down the chair behind her, and she turned around, and I pretended to be natural.
Her expression was suddenly indescribable, some sad, some lonely, some panic.
Ouyang's departure has become something we think of every day but dare not face during this time.
My wife was avoiding, not looking at me, just busy with her own things in front of me, cleaning, washing clothes, watering and cultivating soil, and gradually, I had become Xi to being ignored by her, and looked at her like this.
Every night, I would still lean into her ear and comfort her with the gentlest words.
Those sentences that she gave me when we first met.
But now, the wife just curled up in the quilt, trembling incessantly.
It turns out that the cold can make people shiver, and so can the memories, but my wife is trapped in the memories of Ouyang, and she forgets me, which is the most powerless thing to do.
Finally, this home has made me feel strange and lonely.
A strange woman, who performs a sad mime in front of me every day, is so involved that she forgets that the only audience member has left the stage.
What is left, still deeply engraved in every moment of life?
I decided to leave, so I strode out of the house, pushed it open, and I saw an old man lying straight on the floor, without eyes, but I knew he was looking at me.
You're leaving?The old man asked.
I said yes. Do you understand why we're leaving?
I say it's because of loneliness.
The old man shook his head and said that young people, some people will not leave even if they are lonely.
It's because of forgetting, if you already knew that she was forgotten, would you still be waiting for her there?
Who forgot whom?
Or, have we forgotten ourselves?
In the end, I decided to say goodbye to my wife, who was making coffee, strong, black coffee.
I gently hugged her from behind.
Do you remember someone who was so desperately hugging many years ago?
If you knew that you would forget each other sooner or later after hugging, would you still open your arms desperately?
My wife ignored me, just trembled, turned around like a world away, and said to my black and white ** on the wall, Ouyang, is it you?
Are you scared?
Still, you miss him a lot.
Before the strange thing happened, none of us cared about Yu.
He's like a dispensable part of the class.
No one noticed, and there was nothing to be noticed.
He's so ordinary, he walks lightly, he doesn't like to show his head, and if you bump into him, he'll say sorry first.
I used to think that such a person, even if he died, we would not notice.
However, he has only been dead for a day, and we are talking about him.
The day after Woo died, strange things kept happening.
All sorts of horrific messages and strange tales began to circulate.
It may be that people are afraid of the unknown of death, so they make up all kinds of strange stories to explain death, but this explanation always makes people more frightening.
It is ironic that a person who no one would have seen in his life has become the focus of attention until he dies.
When people were panicking, I noticed a girl.
She is Yu's girlfriend.
Girls, like Yu, are not taken seriously.
No personality, not lively enough, ordinary appearance.
She has been calm since Woo died, so I noticed him.
When everyone is quiet, we only notice those who are noisy, and conversely, when everyone is noisy, we only notice those who are quiet all the time.
The girl kept this quiet until one day, something happened that I will never forget.
That day, our graduation photos were washed out.
It's a pity that Yu didn't catch up to take a picture with us, but if he can, then who cares about his existence?
If no one cares about his existence, then why catch up?
Not long after getting the **, the girl suddenly screamed.
It was a strange sound, fear, surprise, despair.
The whole class looked back at her.
She looked up and said only one word:
There were 216 people inside.
There are 216 teachers in the whole department.
Except, of course, Yu.
Then, the girl's second sentence made everyone creepy, that day, I didn't come.
She said. Everyone gets such a large group photo**, and the first thing they always pay attention to is themselves.
Who's going to seriously count how many people there are?
Who will be the extra person?
Everyone trembled with their hands and began to count the number of people in **.
There really are 2,216 of them. ”
A girl finished ordering first, said tremblingly, and then fainted.
There was a huge panic among the people.
Later, someone took ** and carefully checked with everyone in the department who participated in the group photo, except for Yu's girlfriend, everyone attended, and no outsiders participated, there were actually only 215 people in the photo.
So, everyone looked at Yu's girlfriend with very vicious eyes.
As if she was the maker of fear, she was in a hurry, just burying her head and not daring to contradict it.
There are even girls who call her crazy in front of her.
It turns out that fear can also cause anger in people, or people often use anger to hide fear.
I don't know why, but I always believe that she wasn't lying.
I put the ** very big, hung it on the wall, and looked at it every day.
Finally one day, I saw something.
I walked up to the girl triumphantly.
She, with her head buried.
I'll put the **, Yangyang.
I know who's the extra one, look here.
I pointed to the corner of **, there is a faint shadow in the world, and I will never pay attention if I don't look carefully.
It's a pair of bare feet.
There a man stood upside down.
Don't worry, it's just that someone is playing a prank, you're just, too nervous.
I comforted her.
She buried her head, did not speak, rubbed her skirt with her hands hurriedly, and only said one sentence in the middle of the ring:
On the day of Yu's death, he fell from a high place and fell head-down.
Dirty, moist floors, foul-smelling, icy air.
A row of shriveled figures lay on a rudimentary clay kang, staring at me with wary eyes.
Next to the kang, there is a deeply decomposed corpse.
Even though I was wearing a mask, I almost wanted to vomit.
I carefully aimed the recorder at the mouth of the old man at the innermost part of the ondol.
If you don't see it with your own eyes, who can believe that there are such miserable people alive in the world.
Who died?I asked.
The old man was as thin as a skeleton, his eyes were deep-set, and there was no electric light in the room, so the light was dim, so I wasn't sure if he was blind.
It was my eldest son, and the old man said that he wanted to leave me, so he died.
The old man was already so thin that he was not in shape, and there were small broken skins near his shoulders, and it seemed that his ribs could be seen.
I looked at the greasy, tattered sheets beside him, there was an empty space, and there were marks of it being turned over. There are some yellowish-red things that I don't know what they are.
It looks like someone is really leaving.
And so the man died.
Living like this, we all understand that it might be better to die.
However, people always like to instinctively choose to live in pain.
This is the human spirit, and it is also the tragedy of man.
I don't know how long it was, but my woman left the baby and left me.
The old man's voice was like a gossamer.
From that day on, I vowed that my family would never depend on anyone or anything, and that we would live on our own.
I looked at the people lying on the beds with pity, men and women.
Their eyes are hollow.
Just choose to live, what price does it take.
I held back my trembling and asked the old man one last question.
Did they all choose to lie here by themselves?
The old man's eyes suddenly flashed with longing and pride in the darkness.
He said, "In the beginning, I wanted them to stay, but now they can't leave."
Then we move on, in reproduction.
If you don't believe me, you take a look at the quilt.
My scalp tingled, and I mustered up the courage to uncover the yellowed sheets with my shaky hands.
On the earthen kang under the sheets, dense blood vessels radiated from under the old man's body, connecting everyone, and their thin skeleton bodies were crawling with blood vessels.
I saw something even more terrifying.
In the position of the eldest son, some of them were broken, but the broken blood vessels were tangled together, coiled in the shape of a baby, the baby's head had been formed, but the skull had not yet been fully closed, and inside were slightly peristalsis blood vessels and nerves.
This is my grandson.
The old man's bleak face shone with happiness.
After divorcing my wife, I lived with my boyfriend openly.
My wife left with almost nothing, leaving us a large sum of money, a house, and a child who was only a month old.
Frankly speaking, my boyfriend and I have a happy life, we don't care about other people's eyes, we have our own little world. My boyfriend is a very young and shy college student. He doesn't like to talk, he speaks very quietly, and when he laughs, he actually has two dimples on his face, which is better than a girl.
In our world, we often play a role-playing game, our life is always fresh and exciting, sometimes I am the husband, he is the wife, sometimes I am the boyfriend, he is the girlfriend. We are all very engaged, and when we are emotional, there are really laughter and tears.
My boyfriend is very kind to my child, more gentle than any mother, and I can see that he really likes this child, and I wish it was his child too.
Will I get pregnant?
One day, my boyfriend snuggled up in my arms and suddenly asked me.
His eyes were as shy and frightened as a girl, and they brought me intense pleasure. It turns out that in this game, he is more invested in the role than me.
No. I whispered, hugging him tightly towards the twilight.
But from that day on, he didn't seem to be able to get rid of such a role, and every time he lingered, he would anxiously ask me, would I be pregnant?Am I really going to get pregnant?Nervous like all the girls who have tasted the forbidden fruit.
How can you get pregnant?
Sometimes, I start to get bored with games like this, and I'd love to say that. looked at his clear and innocent eyes, and held back again.
I don't know if it's because he is too involved in the role, he is getting more and more anxious, and even bought a lot of pregnancy test strips, testing them one by one, and he even quietly listened to the nursery radio. Will I ever get pregnant?He still asked over and over again.
Is there something wrong with you?!I finally couldn't help yelling at him, you're a man!
He didn't seem to hear what I was saying at all, just silently wept, hugged my child, and said gently, as if to himself, I'm not afraid of pregnancy, but what if the child isn't yours?I want to have a child of yours so badly.
From that day on, he cried every day with my child in his arms, and when he saw me, he came up and took my hand.
My baby must be yours, right?His lips trembled and he said worriedly.
I'm finally at my limit. I pushed him down in disgust, and his face immediately turned pale.
Get out!I roared. His whole body trembled violently, and he said in a voice that was almost desperate: Don't you believe that the child is yours?
I felt like I had gone crazy and rushed out the door. When I got back, I was going to tell him we were going to break up. He lay motionless on the bed in his maternity clothes, his anguished face glowing with motherhood and a sweet smile stiffly.
His belly was high and bloodstained.
My child is also gone, because he cut open his own belly, stuffed my child in, and sewed it up with thread.
When he was dying, he wrote a few words in blood on the wall.
Honey, I have your baby.