[Buttons.]

quick note: from here on out names will be changed for people's privacy (including my own) and suchlike :)


The drive to the unit was a nerve wracking gut wrenching one. I jammed my headphones in my ears and blasted music into them, trying to drown out where I was headed, the connotations of crazy. We drove into the town where the unit was situated, and the piercing blue sky and greener than green scenery seemed to mock my malingering melancholy.


Spotting the sign and pulling into the wide driveway I looked around with vague interest. The building looked more like a very large house than a psychiatric unit, I had expected something colder, more clinical and hospitalised. There was a girl curled up on a bench by the door, inspecting me curiously with her eyes. I returned the favour, taking in her fiery eyes, thin wavy hair, and languid limbs. Heaving my small red case out of the boot my dad led the depressing procession of a family towards the front door. There was no answer at the knock, and the girl directed us to another door.


Ducking round the side, we were let in by a nurse with an electronic key attached to her belt. I felt my pride slip down a notch. This really was a nuthouse, we were Locked In. A familiar fear of being boxed in and caged slipped over me like a familiar coat and I felt myself begin to shake. Steadying myself against a wall I followed my parents up a winding staircase before reaching a thin reedy corridor. Sitting down we waited in awkward, uneasy silence until we were invited into a consultation room.


The next half an hour was a whirl of rules, regulations and a list of degrading measures that would be enforced ‘for my own safety’. The worst of these were the terrible words: One to one observations. For at least the first twenty four hours, and probably forty eight, a nurse would be within eye contact of me, in my room, around the building, even the bathroom, though they assured me, as if this was supposed to be a reassurance, the door of the bathroom would only have to be half way open. I felt physically sick as I listened, and a kindling rage rose inside my chest. You must keep your scars hidden at all times outside of your room or in the presence of other young people. Observation levels will be reviewed every twenty four hours. Your belongings will be searched for blades. If you self harm and refuse to hand in the implement, your room will be searched. More and more heavy phrases rained down onto me until I felt I would buckle under them.

Eventually my parents and I said our goodbyes, tearful ones on the part of my mother, and I was taken through another locked door onto the top floor. I was shown to 'my' room, and told that the nurse I had met in the consultation room would be on my first round of observation. I unpacked uneasily then waited as the nurse rifled through to check for blades and suchlike. The safety pins on one of my arm warmers were removed, but otherwise my belongings remained in tact, and in my possession. I was told any wires such as the link to my Ipod doc, my headphones and my phone charger would be kept in the office and only given to me under supervised use initially.


I carefully ignored the nurse sitting in my doorway, and curled up around a corner, trying to meld out of sight. She shifted the chair and I scowled at her, as she smiled sympathetically at me. Waves of panic were now crashing down on me, and my heart was beginning to race. I would not have a panic attack I would not have panic attack Oh God I’m trapped I’m trapped I’m trapped There’s no way out I’ll be trapped here forever…Without thinking of the consequences I bashed my head against the wall. The buzzing pain eased things a little but still not enough, so I banged again, and again. The nurse approached and tried to persuade me to stop, then called in a more senior member of staff, who stated that if I continued they would be forced to physically stop me. I managed to regain control to an extent, though I was shaking like a leaf and my lungs felt ready to explode with the pressure of hyperventilation.

By the time the changeover was made to another nurse for my observation, who introduced herself, then sat down, I had formulated a plan. I picked up a large book, and then rifled through my diary. Snapping a plastic memento I tucked the sharp pieces up my sleeve then continued the pretence of reading my book. Slowly and subtly I un tucked the plastic and scratched as hard as I could into the fleshy underside of my arm. Thin lines of blood welled and I let out a small, involuntary sigh. The nurse looked up. She smiled in a slightly too understanding way, left her seat and came to kneel beside me on the bed. “What have you done?” she asked. I said nothing and attempted to ignore her. I should have known it would be an unsuccessful attempt.


Minutes later she was cleaning the scratches and then knelt back. “I need you to give me what you used.” I turned my face away.
“Go away.”
“I can’t while I know you still have something to hurt yourself with. Until you give it up, I’ll have stay this close to you, so why not give it in? I’m sure you don’t want me annoying you for the rest of the afternoon.” I moaned inwardly. With a larger than average personal space I couldn’t stand someone being so close to me, breaking my barriers. With a glare I threw the plastic down on the bed. The nurse thanked me, but I turned away and put my Ipod headphones back in my ears, raising the volume of the music until it almost distorted. She seemed to understand and backed off to the chair again for the remainder of her observation time.

The next nurse made me feel faint with fear. He sat down and kept a respectful distance, but I felt my face drain of colour and my stomach twist. I had been unable to bear being with any man on a one to one basis ever since the disclosure…the room swam and faded as a cinematic level flashback drove it’s claws into my senses.


He was there, he was leaning over me, I could feel his breath on my face, his hands reached out for my breasts…the scene changed, we were in the kitchen, his face was troubled as well it might have been. “I’m sorry, I’m a bad uncle, a bad god father, you’ve got to understand…” A fresh trickle of memory swirled into being, his hands at my neck, a vague recollection of wondering if he would kill me, and whether I would care, his crotch pressed hard against the back of me… I put my hands to my head and closed my eyes, trying desperately to block it out…a man in my room, just an ordinary man in my…him. Him in my room. Reaching for me and I stepped back out of range. “Are you not my friend anymore?” A cup of tea, a pathetic conciliatory gesture “You won’t tell will you…they won’t take me alive you know…promise you’ll burn your diary, or give it to me…at least wait until after Christmas, don’t ruin the family’s Christmas…” I had ruined everything, I deserved everything I got…pulling the covers of my head, praying he wouldn’t come upstairs to say goodnight, wondering as tears stung my eyes what I had done to deserve this, or if it was even real “I know you think something happened but it didn’t…” But it was real. So sickeningly heart wrenchingly real.