Suicide Watch

“Hey, hey. Chill. Just tryin’ a help you out here. Those nurses…Ugh” He shuddered. “I’m Jake. I’ve never seen you around so I’m guessing you’re new here.” He stuck his hand out to shake. I just stood there.

This guy seemed about my age. He was tall, had dark brown, kind of feathered hair, and had crystal blue eyes.

“Uh, hello? You still there” The hand that hand been sticking out was now waving in front of my face.

“Huh? Wha--? Oh! Uh, hi. Right. I’m Nicki,” He took my hand away from my side and shook it. Hmm. He’s gutsy.

“As I said before, I’ve never noticed you around here. I’ve been here for a while so I know who’s new and who’s an old patient. Wanna tell me about it?” He looked at me with those ice cold blue eyes. “Shit. Nurses are coming. You better get back to your room. Tell me later?” He called back as he ran into his room.

“Uh, yeah, sure, “ though I didn’t think he heard me. I walked back to my room ever so slowly. I was thinking of this Jake guy the whole time. What the hell is with him? Being all nice and friendly. THIS IS A HOSPITAL! NOT, LIKE, SOME DAYCARE OR ANYTHING!!! ARGH!!

I walked back into my room, and thankfully, no one was in there. Not a nurse in sight. I paced some more, thinking about Jake and why he could possibly in a hospital. I mean, he seemed like a perfect kid, or something.

I sat down on my very uncomfortable bed. And jumped right back up. “Fuck…That hurt.” The beds are most obviously uncomfortable, but, the last time I checked, it didn’t feel like a needle stabbing you.

I looked at the bed, and, what do you know, the was that earring I had left. So, I guess a needle was stabbing me. I picked up the earring and flopped onto the bed. I lightly ran the earring tip over my skin. It was kind of cold, but I loved the feel. I ran it over my arm a few more times before actually cutting myself with it. It hurt, but it felt so good. Of course, my arm had fallen asleep, so it was kind of numb, but I just loved the look of the cut. The feel of the “needle” running through my flesh, seeing the blood drip out…

“What are you doing?!?!?!” I turned around and, of course, a nurse was right there. “Not good, not good not good…” I assumed all the other patients loved her; she seemed so caring and passionate about just this little cut. She must actually care.

Or not.

“I’ll be fired if I don’t clean this up! WHY’D YOU DO THIS? IT’S ALL ON PURPOSE, ISN’T IT? YOU LITTLE—“ She was almost done cleaning up the mess, and was putting some bandage thing on my arm. “Don’t do it again,” she hissed.

“Oh, hello Ms. Rainier,” Dr. Harris walked into the room. “I didn’t know you would be attending to this patient. I thought it was…”

“It is,” she said hastily. “I just…popped in to check on her, of course.” She gave a sweet little caring smile. “You know how much I love all the patients in this hospital, Doctor.”

“Yes…,” Dr. Harris completely disregarded her in a way she took to mean, Leave. So, that’s exactly what she did. She left that room faster than Michael Phelps swam.

“So, Nicki. I see Ms. Rainier has bandaged you up,” he pulled up a really uncomfortable looking plastic chair as he started chatting me up. “What’d you do?” He gave me an accusatory look.

“You’re a real bad doctor,” I said to him. I oh-so-secretly slid my arm behind my back and gave him a look so I could possibly make him uncomfortable. I don’t like talking to people. It kind of makes me feel weak. They know all your problems and try to help you when you know and they know they can’t do a damn thing. “You’re making me feel like shit, just to let you know. I’m pretty sure doctors shouldn’t be doing that kind of thing to patients, especially not suicide watch patients,” I said in a little bit of a dramatic voice.

“And you’re a very bad patient. A hospital is to make someone better, and you’re completely destroying that main reason by continuously cutting yourself,” he pointed to my arm, which I wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding, “and refusing to go to the counseling classes here for patients such as yourself. I know some people don’t like spilling their feelings out to someone they don’t even know, especially in group therapy, but if you want to make yourself better, you’re going to have to talk to someone about this. What about your friends? You can talk to them. Anything to get you better.” I could just tell he wanted to add an ending like, ”And get you out of my life forever.” I could just read some people like that.

“I don’t have any,” I responded curtly. His expression showed he didn’t believe one word that just came out of my mouth.

“I’ll let you go out and call them, if you don’t want me to. Miss Stamler, it is quite necessary that you get some mental help, or your mental health will remain quite unstable, as is. And you don’t want that, do you?” It was, apparently, a rhetorical question, cuz when that last word escaped his mouth, he pretty much leaped out of his chair and walked out the open door.

Now, listen. Some people think that wanting to commit suicide and being depressed is, like, a mental problem, and it is, but that doesn’t make you crazy. Most people think about suicide at least once in their life. If they don’t, they’re life is perfect and should die anyways because people don’t like people who have no issues in their life. So screw them.

But recently, I’ve been talking to myself, out loud, and sometimes, I even responded to myself, as if there were two normal people talking to each other. So, not only am I depressed, but I might be a schizophrenic. Great.

“Screw him. That doctor’s stupid anyways. I don’t need him. And I sure don’t need people telling me what to do and who to talk to. I don’t have to fix my problems if I don’t want to other people shouldn’t be making me!” I raised my voice at the end of my little, tiny rant, and, what do you know? Jake’s walking past as if he were walking down the mall. And he just happened to hear me talking to myself. Like a crazy loon.

“Hey, there, Nicki. ‘Member me? I bet you do. Who could forget a face like this?” He said as he pointed to his face, striding into my room as if it were his own. “What this about other people making you do stuff? Doctors, right? Well,” he gave me a condescending look, “that’s what they’re supposed to do. They might be dicks while doing it, but at least it’s getting done.”

I scoffed at him and he laughed at me. “What the hell are you laughing at?”

“You act so supreme. You act like you’re better than everyone else. You don’t think anyone knows as much as you, and anyone who challenges you to thinking they can, well, you think they should be shot in the head for even trying. Am I right?” He gave me a knowing smile, which I returned with…

“You need a life. Stop psycho-analyzing me, and you can get fixed for whatever the hell made you come here in the first place. Buh-bye. I pointed to the door like some game show hostess, but he moved not a muscle. “GO AWAY!” I screamed. “I DON’T WANT YOU HERE,” I was screeching and he still didn’t do anything, “I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU OR ANYONE ELSE!”

He got up and walked right up to me, a few inches away, his mouth open as if to say something, and then in came an out of breath nurse.

“Two…patients in…the same…room…is…unallowed!” She was resting her hands on her knees, back arched, catching her breath.

He stared at me a few more seconds, and just walked right out, completely ignoring the out-of-breath nurse.