The night had drawn in around the unit, and a slight breeze crept in through my window. I huddled on my bed, digging my nails deep into my hands to stop myself crying out in emotional agony. A nurse I hadn’t previously met popped her head round the door and came to sit beside me, sweeping her long brown hair back off her face so as to see me properly.
“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m Jamie. Are you okay? You seem a bit down.” I don’t know what did it. Maybe it was undiluted desperation, maybe it was frustration at finding myself once again alone with this miserable monster that had stolen my face and name. A hairline crack spread through my armour, and I crumpled like a discarded sheet of paper. “I want to die, I just want to die and for it to be over!” The words exploded out of me, tearful and toxic. I hid my face in my hands and let shuddering sobs overwhelm me. “Do you have a suicide plan?” Jamie asked gently. I nodded my head then felt a slap of realisation at what I had just admitted to. I’d be back on one to one observations as sure as the day was long. Jamie gentle took my hands and lowered them, trying to get eye contact. “Katy, I need you to tell me what your plan is.” I shook my head violently, I could not say, I would not say, I’d already let on too much and I needed to keep this final back up plan close my chest, shield it from view until I had gathered the guts to complete it.
Jamie tried hard to persuade me for over half an hour that night, using every weapon in her arsenal against my stiff suicidal silence. Eventually she had to accept defeat, but warned me that in the morning I would have to discuss this with Y.S. My stomach shrivelled and seemed to shrink at the thought of this. I could hardly handle Y.S in normal circumstances, let alone try and talk about this disgusting dark side of me. I turned over in bed to face the wall, and jammed my fist in my mouth to muffle my sobs as tears spurted down my cheeks.
Last edited by Buttons. : 15-03-2009 at 04:35 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
“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.”
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.
The next morning I went down to breakfast with Em, as had become our custom. Shaken and unsure as I was I ate very little, focusing instead on forcing down small sips of tea. The conversation around the table was animated and lively, the unit was planning a trip to go and see the latest Harry Potter film on it’s release the next day. “That’ll be amazing!” I chipped in, forgetting myself for a moment. “Though I warn you, that annoying person that sits and tears apart every scene piece by piece? That’s me!”
“Well you probably won’t be going, will you Katy.” Y.S looked at me hard. “We can only take people on 15 minute observations or more, so unless we can get your observations down in the next 24 hours, I am afraid you won’t be able to go. Bitterness bubbled in my brain, and my momentary excitement was gone as quickly as it had come. The one thing, the one thing that had actually woken a small flame of enthusiasm was going to be denied me, I just knew it.
I left the table soon after that, intent on getting up the stairs and away from the world, when Y.S called me back, and led me into the ‘coffee room’. She sat down, and looked slightly less harshly on me than she had before. “I need you to tell me what your suicide plan is.”
“No,” I said plainly, avoiding her gaze.
“Katy, it’s our job to keep you safe, and unless you tell us what this plan is so that we can keep an eye on the right things, there is no chance of you getting on low enough observations to go the cinema tomorrow, and there would be a high likelihood of you going back down to one to one observations again, which I know neither of us want.”
I fidgeted, tearing a loose thread in my jumper. Pros and cons of action and inaction were whirling round the room. On the one hand, I needed the plan to remain secret. If the unit did find out then I knew they would make damn sure I wasn’t able to carry it out, and that would be my escape door out of life locked and double bolted. On the other hand, given the observation levels I was on, and my dubious maths skills when it came to lengths and so on, it was highly unlikely I would succeed anyway, and I might as well go to the cinema and have a chance at enjoying myself, then sitting trapped on oppressive observations in the unit whilst everyone else was out having fun.
Internal battle raging I barely registered a word Y.S was saying, focusing instead on the decision I had to make. It was a far larger decision to me that it could have possibly seemed to somebody else, I was choosing whether to make a tentative step towards recovery, or to stay in the sad but secure state that I had become accustomed too.
Months, years of being up night after night, shaking too much for my mother to hold me, cutting deep into my skin before, during and after school, drinking from the age of thirteen to forget swam before me in a noisy nagging traffic jam of memories. The image of my thirteen year old self shortly after disclosing the abuse, standing on a bridge in my home town, trembling as I gripped the railing, ready to hoist myself up and over, waiting for enough traffic to pass under to make death certain, texting my friend what I was sure would be my last communication “I love you, I’m sorry.” Being escorted home by the police, hating their pitying eyes as they listened to my pathetically dismal and familiar story. Swearing to my parents, my friends, myself, that I would never again fall into this emotional death trap.
An overdose months later. Again, a promise to doctors, nurses, CAMHS workers, my parents, myself, that this would never, ever happen again. And then the last time, aged 14. The final straw stringing my sanity out to dry while madness marched in. I had to make a decision. Work for recovery, and risk falling far and fast, risk potentially fatal failure, something I had never been able to bear, or drown in my imperfections, images and insecurities and accept quietly as my spirit softly slipped away.
'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 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.”
it's such a beautiful piece of writing but it's almost painful to know how real it is... keep going sweetheart *cuddles*
