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.
Unfortunately, that sense of security, even the desire for it did not last into the sunrise of the next day. I awoke, fractious and hell bent on destroying anything and everything I could, including myself. Especially myself. I snapped at the other patients and the staff, blanked everyone at the meal table, then stumped off for a cigarette with Joseph. I was reluctant for his company, any company, but he had cigarettes, and I had a serious lack thereof. As we smoked, I noticed Joseph was quieter and more subdued than usual.
Deep dark circles were etched under his eyes, and he was pale and shaken looking. The more natural part of me wanted to hug him, find out what was wrong, make it ok. However the smouldering angry part wouldn’t let me. Let him deal with it himself. I was sick to the back teeth of helping everyone else. I turned my head away, searching for the sun behind the clouds. Then I heard a small, almost inaudible gasp. I turned back to find Joseph jamming the lit end of the cigarette into his palm, grinding it in until when the cigarette was removed, there was a charred hole in the flesh. I yelped in surprise and rushed over as he relit the cigarette to do it again. I knelt down in front of him, pleading with him, knowing that I was not physically strong enough to stop him. He drove the cigarette into his palm again, into the same crater, digging deep into his skin. I let out a moan and reached for the hand holding the cigarette, searching with my eyes for someone, anyone to make this stop.
Eventually I caught Gina’s eye in the corridor, and as her quick gaze took in the scene she rushed out into the smoking area and pried the cigarette from Joseph’s grip. “Are you ok Katy?” she asked. I lied, a big yellow Yes spilling off my lips. “Right then, Joseph, we need to have chat, don’t we? Come on.” I watched, heart still pumping fast as they wound down the corridor. The moment they were out of sight I kicked the wall, hard and repeatedly. If I hadn’t been so self absorbed and selfish, if I’d asked what was wrong, talked to him when I first noticed he wasn’t ok, maybe then he wouldn’t have felt the need to hurt himself so horribly. The smouldering hole in his flesh was imprinted on my mind, and try as I might I couldn’t be free of it. It was my fault, I could have done something, said something…I was an awful friend.
I played frantic games of pool alone to distract myself, belted out songs on the karaoke play station games; bullying Em and Dillon into another of our tournaments. As we sang I gradually began to calm down a little, the fierce flames subsiding into dying embers. The karaoke games had been a god send, a gift from Cathy before she left the unit. With two microphones, and a variety of songs and music videos, the games provided an endless source of distraction. Em and I had a competitive edge to our singing, as we were nearly neck and neck, both having a decent ear for the songs. At that time Em was a few points ahead of me, so I fought furiously to get back in the lead, singing until my throat was hoarse, screeching out Evanescence and intoning Nirvana, putting on daft voices for the more flamboyant American pop stars.
Eventually, tired and having almost lost the power of speech, I nipped out for a cigarette, blanking the memories surrounding the area as best I could, then meandered up the stairs to my room. Once there, I heard a shy knock at my door. I invited them to come in, and in sidled Joseph, looking self conscious and more than a little ashamed of himself. I was more shocked by the fact that he had knocked on my door; normally he was worse than the staff for bursting in at unexpected moments. “Hey,” I said awkwardly.
“Hey,” he said in response. He reclined on my bed, messing with one of the many threads coming lose from the blanket. “NHS quality bedding, you can’t beat it,” he joked half heartedly. I smiled weakly. “Look, Joseph, I’m sorry…” I began, just as Joseph spoke “Katy, I was a knob, I’m sorry…” We met each others’ gaze, and then burst out laughing.
“What are you sorry for you knob head,” I gasped through giggles, ruffling his carefully straightened hair. “Because it was a horrible thing to do in front you, you crazy bitch,” said Joseph, returned the hair ruffle. I screeched and tried to reposition my hair. We settled into a game of cards, chatting casually as we did so. After several games where I beat Joseph hollow and teased him mercilessly he became withdrawn again, and despite my assurances that he could talk to me if he needed to, he left for the sanctuary of his own room.
I lay back on my bed, switched on my Ipod and put How to save a life by The Fray on repeat. The lyrics really spoke to me about my situation and the unit itself. I saw the song from the staff’s point of view:
‘You say we need to talk, he walks, You say “sit down it’s just a talk,” He stares politely back at you, You stare politely right on through
Through the window to your right, As he goes left and you stay right, Between the lines of fear and blame, You begin to wonder why you came
Where did I go wrong?
I lost a friend, Somewhere a long in the bitter descent, If I’d stayed up with you all night, Then I’d know, how to save a life… He begins to raise his voice, You lower yours, And grant him one last choice, Drive until you lose the road, Or break with the ones you follow, He will do one of two things, He will admit to everything, Or he’ll say he’s just not the same, And you’ll begin to wonder why you came
Where did I go wrong?
I lost a friend, Somewhere a long in the bitter descent, If I’d stayed up with you all night, Then I’d know, how to save a life…
Gina popped her head round the door as I was listening and smiled, “You’re always playing that song when I come in here!” I nodded, and explained how it reminded me of the staff in the unit. Gina tilted her head to one side with a look of confusion. I elaborated, describing how it felt to watch all these nurses and staff members, some only six years older than me, happy, healthy, normal. People who had taken the ‘right’ path, who could cope with the mysterious phenomenon that was life, and yet chose to work with us, broken human beings fallen by the wayside. Gina nodded, seeming to comprehend my garbled explanation, and left to go and check on the rest of the patients.
Bored now, I slid off my bed and went to investigate what everyone else was up to. Dillon, Em, Catherine, Joseph, Riana and Rick were nowhere to be seen, and V never came out of her room anyway. I mooched off to the art/table tennis room and painted for a while, destroyed what I had painted, then persuaded Mick, one of the many staff members to play pool with me for a while. Eventually even this got old, and I wandered back upstairs, knocking on Joseph’s door. There was no response. I tried once more. “Who is it?” he called, his voice strangely muffled.
“Katy,” I called out, bemused.
“Alright, come in then,” he conceded, so I pushed open his door and went inside. The room was dark, and I couldn’t for the life of me see where Joseph was. I scanned his bed, the corners, behind the chair; he was nowhere to be seen.
“Joseph?” I called uncertainly into the gloom. “In here,” came a voice. I jumped. Where the **** was he? “In where?” I responded irritably. The wardrobe door next to me creaked open, and I jumped out of my skin. In the space below the rail, sat Joseph, his knees crooked to his chest. “What are you doing in there?” I asked, completely bewildered. “It’s just nice to have somewhere to escape to, sometimes,” he responded, with rare sincerity. I smiled at him. I understood the need to escape all too well. “Fair enough,” I said. “Do you want me to leave?” Joseph shrugged, then nodded. As I turned to go, a bemused smile lighting my face, he called out to me. “Katy?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell anybody I come in here, ok?”
“Of course I won’t. Your secret is safe with me.” Joseph nodded.
“I didn’t think you would.” He chucked me a cigarette, and I left with the realisation that you never did really know somebody, only the façade they put on. Joseph, the loud mouthed rebellious and obnoxious teenager, was also a scared, vulnerable little boy, hiding in a wardrobe to try and escape himself…
Last edited by Buttons. : 22-04-2009 at 05:18 PM.
'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
Makes me remember the times when I used to hide. The cupboard and under the desk with the chair pulled across were the best ones - too cramped in the wardrobe =]
Sometimes the way in life seems cloudy...But remember, after the storm comes clear skies
Makes me remember the times when I used to hide. The cupboard and under the desk with the chair pulled across were the best ones - too cramped in the wardrobe =]
omg me too!!!!!!!!!!!!!
katy this has touched me soo much, you write everything so well too
*cuddles*
Later, when Joseph emerged from his wardrobe, we sat outside on the front under a tree, chatting about anything and everything. He told me how he had come to be here, how he had been high and climbed out onto his roof, intending to jump off. He laughed about some Christian neighbours reading the bible to him to try and help. I watched as his face while he fell thinking about his mother watching as he stood up there in the wind and the rain. The unit, apparently, had accepted him on an emergency placement like mine, though they were thinking about chucking him out because ‘he wasn’t working with the unit’. This provoked irritation in me. The people who were incapable of ‘working with the unit’ needed help just as much as the more compliant patients, if not more. Beneath that confident exterior was a suicidal person in desperate need of help to uncover the reasons behind his unhappiness. He should have been receiving intense help, not having to hide in wardrobes.
Joseph told me he was thinking about running away anyway, he didn’t need this place, or those ****ing do gooders. He’d be just fine on his own. I wished I could believe him. I wished he could believe himself. Gradually I opened up about what had brought me in here, something I had been reticent about with the other patients since day one. I told how I had overdosed and the events that followed, though left the subject of the abuse and my family untouched. I wasn’t ready to share that just yet. Joseph had a pitying look on his face that I didn’t like, I was in no need of anybody’s pity, so I swiftly changed the subject. “How would you run away then, if you did?” Joseph glanced around to make sure we were alone and out of earshot. “I can open my window the full way, not just that pathetic crack. If you press at the top of the window and the bottom hard enough, the restraints snap, and you can bust it wide open. There’s no alarms on the windows or anything, I’ve already done it. I could go anytime I liked.”
I chewed over this information, and the festering suicidal tendencies reared their heads in interest, smelling blood. The window…I left Joseph sitting under the tree and went up to my room to investigate. I pushed at the window but couldn’t make it open. No matter, I could persuade Joseph to do that for me easily. I checked the drop outside. Not ideally high, but potentially fatal. It was the perfect plan. I slunk back downstairs for the evening snack, more secure and happy than I had been for a long time. I had a reasonably fool proof plan for when things, inevitably, became unbearable again. I was ready. I could escape.
'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
For a few days suicide and self harm fell to the back burner of my mind. I was busy with activities, singing with the other patients, Dialectic Behavioural Therapy techniques with Y.S, and sessions with Wanda on how to cope with the immediate issues surrounding me. Joseph and Alice also helped more than they will ever know. Alice was one of the only nurses who came out with us while we smoked, having been a smoker herself, Lambert and Butler she told us. Ever since leaving the unit, Lambert and Butler have been the only cigarettes I’ve smoked. She told us stories of her life in various countries, gave us snippets of information on her family, translated a heavy metal song for Joseph, and acting as a foundation for both of us to lean on when we were feeling blue.
Gradually however, despite the support I was receiving, I began to slip, slowly but surely. Flashbacks from the sexual abuse I suffered became so frequent that if I had five minutes free of them I was grateful. I felt constantly sickened and sullied by the ever so present past, and found it hard to ground myself in reality. Any slight confrontation sent me over the edge, food became an unconquerable enemy, blades indeed anything sharp enough to cut with became my only friends.
The worst point came when I was accused of stealing a knife from the kitchen. Already insecure and filled with loathing for every aspect of this ‘self’ I owned, I began to doubt even my own mind, despite my innocence. The knife went missing around lunchtime, and individually every resident was interrogated as to whether they had taken the knife. I was questioned for notably longer. I denied, truthfully, taking the knife, though one nurse misheard me, and it took another nurse’s confirmation of my statement to make her believe I had not confessed to the crime.
Later in the community meeting a number of issues surrounding the knife and weapons in general came up. The staff member present, an art therapist who I had only met that day, detailed how the staff were aware that a patient had once bought blades for someone else. I exchanged subtle glances with Joseph. He eyed me suspiciously, though I had told no one that he had given me the blades. He scowled round at the others present saying defiantly “I bet you all think it was me don’t you, because I’m new.” Dillon fidgeted anxiously and finally spoke “It makes me really upset that anyone would buy anything like that for someone else here, it’s just wrong.” No regret crossed Joseph’s features.
The conversation moved on to the knife. I felt as though everyone was assuming I was responsible, and as in previous circumstances, I laughed. I laughed out of nerves, out of fear, many emotions, but none of them guilt. The art therapist homed in on me. “Why did you laugh Katy?” I responded quickly
“I laugh when I’m nervous is all.”
“But why are you nervous?” inquired the therapist, pinning me with her stare.
“Because I think people think it was me, even though it wasn’t,” I said, hearing how guilty I sounded despite my innocence.
The meeting broke up soon after, and the other patients shot me suspicious looks. These looks became pure poison when Gina told us we would all have to have our rooms searched unless whoever took the knife owned up. I remained silent, sensing the anger aimed at me from all directions, and it destroyed my already weakened sense of self. I was an evil person, even the people I trusted and considered friends disbelieved me, thought I was a cowardly liar.
Later that evening the consultant doctor revealed that he had borrowed a knife from the kitchen for his lunch that day. The unit breathed an audible sigh of relief. The consultant laughed. I didn’t.
Last edited by Buttons. : 22-04-2009 at 05:21 PM.
'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
