We’ve got obsessions
I want to erase every nasty thought that bugs me every day of every week
We’ve got obsessions
You never tell me what it is that makes you strong and what it is that makes you weak.
By the time the next nurse changeover occurred I was a wreck. The woman now sat in the chair looked at me carefully, reading my eyes with her own, then pulled out a folder and began to read, glancing up regularly to make sure all was as it should be. I sat, shuddering with repulsion at the flashbacks crowding my mind, tears rolling down my cheeks, fat salty globules of weakness that I brushed irritably away with my sleeve.
The woman looked up again, and caught the movement. “Do you want to talk?” it was a gentle question, spoken in a gentle rolling accent I couldn’t quite identify. I shook my head, then shrugged. She put down her file and looked at me with her head tilted slightly to the side, waiting. Eventually she spoke again. “You seemed very distressed when I came in, you were white as a sheet, had something happened to upset up?” The genuine feel of her concern broke something in my throat, allowing words to form. “I…I’m…kind of scared of men. It just freaked me out a bit, being alone with a man…” I cast my eyes downwards, digging my nails into my hands. Could I sound more pathetic if I tried? “Do you mind if I mention this to the staff, so that your one to one’s will be with just female staff members from now on, so you feel a little less threatened?” Again, it was a genuine question, and I knew that if I refused the subject would be dropped, but the thought of not feeling trapped alone with a male sent waves of relief rushing over me. “Ok.”
The rest of the observation period passed without another word, as I wrote in my diary and read my books and she continued with her file. Her name was Alice and I tucked the name away to remember it. I sensed then, here might be someone I could trust. Here was a potential ally.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
katy, you're amazing <3
and brave for writing it all out
*loves*
“The good things don’t always soften the bad, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”
“Nobody important? Blimey, that’s amazing. Do you know, in nine hundred years of time and space I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important before.”
“If it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”
Later, when afternoon morphed into evening, I was called down for the evening meal. I walked down the stairs carefully then pushed open the door to the dining room, Kellie, the nurse who had taken the plastic off me, hot on my heels. Most of the other patients and the staff were already seated, so I slipped into the empty seat nearest the door, a location I was pleased with-it left ample opportunity to escape if need be. The room was surprisingly home like, with a large sandy coloured table, bright table mats and banter and jokes being tossed over the table. The only reminder of where I was were the two nurses carefully counting out the cutlery as they laid it out, so that it could be instantly known if someone had taken a knife when it was counted back in.
I smiled nervously at the people around the table and Alice and another nurse whom I hadn’t met smiled reassuringly back. My stomach was beginning to twist again. I was battling with bulimia at the time I was admitted to the first hospital, and meals with large amounts of people tended to tip the balance for my ability to fight the disorder. I was chewing my nails absentmindedly, worrying about the food to come, when the girl who had been curled on the bench outside spoke to me. She introduced herself as Em and we began to talk. I noticed her nails were being savaged as well, and took in her frail frame and gaunt face. Food was quite evidently not her strong point either.
Gradually the other patients joined in the conversation, gently teasing me about my clashing bright green Wellington boots and shocking pink tights, which I parried and fell into step with the laughter, teasing and word association easily. The food was brought through by Dillon, one of the patients, and Geri a nurse, accompanied by the harassed looking cook. I was told that having a cook was a fairly new development and was met with sizable relief from patients and staff alike.
One nurse was serving out Em’s meal while the rest helped themselves, though another girl, Sasha, was being watched with an eagle eye as she served herself potatoes, vegetables and Quorn. Em was arguing furiously with the nurse serving her food, debating the portions with a politician’s vigour, her pretty face turned ugly with anger. I served myself a small helping of potatoes and meat, feeling it would be unwise to press my stomach further, and casually averted my eyes from the argument, turning my attention instead to the conversation around the table, debating the latest Coronation Street plot. I tried desperately to ignore the slow rising fear as I counted the calories of my meal with the usual obsessive accuracy. Reaching the end of the first course, we were served a treacle pudding, and there were roars of laughter around the table and even a small smile from Em as a nurse who hated treacle pudding put her spoon squarely on the top of the pudding, shielding the bowl with her hand and said ‘I’m taking a leaf out of Em’s book- the spoon’s hiding it, so I’ve finished!’
I smiled, but my mind was already away, considering the various opportunities there might be to purge without being noticed…then I remembered. One to one observations. The bathroom door half open. My breath caught in my chest and refused to break free, and my pulse beat a battle cry. I was going to get so fat, all those calories weighing me down making me… a small gasp escaped through my throat and I pushed back my chair and left the room as fast as I could. I walked behind the staircase, breathing hard, trying to control the mad flashes of thought and fear.
'Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.'
['There is only one thing we say to death. Not today'.']
'We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.’ – Oscar Wilde
‘It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back.’ Sydney Carter
