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.
Okay so there was the bit before inpatient, the bit inpatient and now this is the bit that follows?
& it's great by the way x
Yes ha ha, sorry it's confusing.
And Nic etc I was planning to post more yesterday but then I met Zed (entirely her fault ;-p) and kind of had a falling asleep on the bus and being stranded at 11:30pm thing.
But here's the installment:
Together Shirley and I climbed the stairs to our Form room. Each footstep seemed to bring me closer to some powerful, pulsating overwhelming fear that I had yet to, and have never yet managed to put a name to. The noise of thousands of teenagers greeting and gossiping with each other rose and fell like the tide, until I felt that even within a few short minutes my eardrums would surely explode under the pressure.
Entering the classroom I took my usual seat, attempting to chat with those around me as usual but inside the panic was building, building, building…I made it through the short Form session, managing to hold myself together until the familiar bell clanged, signalling my escape. I dived from the room, chest heaving, mouth dry, heart racing a mile a minute. I stood for a moment, a solitary stone standing still against the roar of the river of students rushing by me.
Their hurry reminded me that I did not have time to freeze, did not time have time to panic, there were lessons to go to, grades to achieve, teachers and students alike to face. Gulping, I glanced down at my timetable. Eyes lighting upon my first lesson I allowed myself to be tugged along by the tide of students, hoping, praying with all my might for the strength to get through just this one day.
'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
The last bell pealed, alerting us to the end of a torturously long school day. Joining the adjourning crowd I fought my way out of the front door and towards the tree under which I would be meeting Jake and Val to walk home. I gasped as group after group of people pushed past me, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of students. Finally I spotted Jake and Val walking towards me and joined them as we pushed our way through the school gates to freedom.
When we reached the narrow path between vast fields that was our short cut to the café I felt near ready to cry with relief. After weeks secluded inside various hospitals and then the careful protection of my parents once I was released I was relieved to enter the soft quiet of those rich fields. We walked through, laughing and joking as usual, then arrived at the café, slipping into our usual booth, the waitress barely pausing to take our order, knowing, as she had done for 3 years, what we would order, right down to Jake’s extra ketchup on the side.
Listening to my 2 friends, loyal to the end, despite my various ill-health and disappearances warmed my heart. Despite the severity of the toll the day had taken on me, I felt hope. Flanked by my friends, I could do anything.
'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
During the following weeks I learnt the hard way that no matter how much support is offered some obstacles are just too great to face. Again I began to experience hours of painful, humiliating panic attacks, pins and needles attacking my hands and face, mind racing a mile a minute, breathing so hard I felt I might pass out. Again my mother was called away from her other responsibilities and we drove home, me silently smoking. We both left my failure unacknowledged unless I chose to bring it up, at which point Mum would stop whatever it was she was doing and listen as though I were imparting the secrets of the universe in an attempt to divine something, anything she could do to help me overcome this private hell.
The battle continued, I fought my way through panic attack after panic attack, clenching my fists so tight the old grooves my nails once carved into my palms returned once again. I began to cut into my flesh more and more in an attempt to cope with the seemingly simple tasks of attending lessons and navigating high school politics.
Both my parents and the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Team could see the disaster unfolding, as it had before, but were powerless to stop it. My mother realised that school was making me not only emotionally but also physically ill, my CAMHS worker was determined that if she pushed hard enough I would break down and attend fulltime. An arrangement was made that instead of contacting my mother when I experienced a severe panic attack, the school would contact my CAMHS worker, Jean, who was determined that with a firm hand and discipline I could be persuaded or forced to remain in school.
The first time she was called she set out to see me. The head of student welfare, having given up on me as a lost cause the previous year turned a blind eye as I chain smoked beside Jean’s car, white as a sheet and trembling with overflowing anxiety. Jean took one look at me, decided that I must be physically ill and should go home, that I was clearly in no physical state to be in school. I accepted this idea gladly, anything to escape the paralysing fear I felt upon school grounds. Later Mum contacted Jean, explaining that contrary to a physical ailment, this was in fact what happened to me every single time I attempted to attend school. Jean dismissed this, sure due to past experiences with other patients, that it was a case of force and determination to control my education, or lack there of.
'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
