The Only Way I Know
Does It Get Any Less Painful?
Do you live
Do you die
Do you bleed...
Minutes ticket by...tick, tick, tick. The bedside clock echoed throughout the empty room, emphasising the fact that it was so lonely. How lonely I was. I thought I had cried all I could possibly cry; shouldn't I be a dried-up prune by now?
No. Life dragged on ever so painfully instead.
The hospital bed had apparently put me on suicide watch for 72 hours. I was allowed to get up and walk around my room and in the hospital grounds provided I was supervised. I was kept away from anything dangerous which I could hurt myself with. The powerpoints within my rooms had even been disconnected.
I felt no desire whatsoever to move. My limbs were frozen and numb. My mind was blank, my eyes fixed on the white sheets. It was my fault for doing this. Why didn't i stop?
Revealing my wrist, I forced myself to stare at the hideous scars, where there were lumpy scabs and red lines etched everywhere.
As my mum entered the room, I didn't even raise my head to acknowledge her presence. I didn't want my heart to tear in half as I saw her disappointed face.
"Jamie?" she asked softly. Her voice was wobbly and weak.
I shook my head, biting my lip and trying to force the tears away. Her hand rested on my shoulder as she sat on the edge of the bed.
"The doctors want to talk to you," she said quetly, lifting my chin and directing my gaze upon her. Her eyes were bloodshot and the eyelids had creased from lack of sleep. She continued her steady gaze, swallowing before saying, "Jamie, how long has this gone on for?"
Again I shook my head.
"Why couldn't you tell me?" she asked, even more quietly.
These words sent a knife straight into my heart. not only the words she said, but the way she said them. I would have preferred if she screamed at me, or better if she ignored me and kicked me out onto the street. I couldn't speak; I couldn't look into her eyes, for fear that I would see disappointment.
She looked at me for a few minutes, about to speak, until she was interrupted by a soft knocking on the door.
"Ms Evans?" a lady in a white coat asked. "Is she ready to go?"
My mum nodded, getting up and walking over to where the doctor stood.
"What? What's going on?" I asked, feeling my heart beginning to race. "I'm no going anywhere."
The doctor walked over, placing her hand on my shoulder much like my mum had. Except her hand was cold and stiff; not warm and soft.
"Jamie, you're suffering from serious depression," she said gently. "Wouldn't it be wise - "
"No. I'm not depressed."
"Jamie, you have attempted suicide - "
"Yeah. And wouldn't you? I moved to this shithole, and was a complete outcast. Until I made two friends. And then one of them died. Hmm...I'm not very good luck, am I?"
"Don't use that sort of language with me," she said sternly. I was expecting her to be taken aback and for her reaction to be of soft, gentle language. Her voice was as hard as a rock.
"I can fucking talk how I like, thanks," I said smartly.
My eyes drifted over to my mum by the door. She looked close to tears.
"You will be seeing a psychiatrist for your condition, where it will then be decided if you need to be rehabilitated."
Did she think these words were a comfort to me? An asylum. Thats where they wanted me. Actually, I deserved it. For all the stupid things I had done. I was insane. I was terrified. I wasn't normal anymore. Actually, I never had been.
I looked to my mum in desperation. Her face was blank. Her eyes lowered to the ground.
"No!" I shrieked. "I am not going ANYWHERE!" I screamed, banging my fists down on the bed. "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"
A nurse hurried into the room, trying to restrain me from the doctor. I struggled continuously, and refused to stop screaming.
"I HATE MYSELF!" I screamed, kicking the doctor in the stomach as she tried to pin my legs down. "I HATE MY LIFE! I DON'T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE!"
I saw my mum leave the room, causing me to freeze. Before I knew it, a needle was going into my arm...
And then it all went black.
Do you die
Do you bleed...
Minutes ticket by...tick, tick, tick. The bedside clock echoed throughout the empty room, emphasising the fact that it was so lonely. How lonely I was. I thought I had cried all I could possibly cry; shouldn't I be a dried-up prune by now?
No. Life dragged on ever so painfully instead.
The hospital bed had apparently put me on suicide watch for 72 hours. I was allowed to get up and walk around my room and in the hospital grounds provided I was supervised. I was kept away from anything dangerous which I could hurt myself with. The powerpoints within my rooms had even been disconnected.
I felt no desire whatsoever to move. My limbs were frozen and numb. My mind was blank, my eyes fixed on the white sheets. It was my fault for doing this. Why didn't i stop?
Revealing my wrist, I forced myself to stare at the hideous scars, where there were lumpy scabs and red lines etched everywhere.
As my mum entered the room, I didn't even raise my head to acknowledge her presence. I didn't want my heart to tear in half as I saw her disappointed face.
"Jamie?" she asked softly. Her voice was wobbly and weak.
I shook my head, biting my lip and trying to force the tears away. Her hand rested on my shoulder as she sat on the edge of the bed.
"The doctors want to talk to you," she said quetly, lifting my chin and directing my gaze upon her. Her eyes were bloodshot and the eyelids had creased from lack of sleep. She continued her steady gaze, swallowing before saying, "Jamie, how long has this gone on for?"
Again I shook my head.
"Why couldn't you tell me?" she asked, even more quietly.
These words sent a knife straight into my heart. not only the words she said, but the way she said them. I would have preferred if she screamed at me, or better if she ignored me and kicked me out onto the street. I couldn't speak; I couldn't look into her eyes, for fear that I would see disappointment.
She looked at me for a few minutes, about to speak, until she was interrupted by a soft knocking on the door.
"Ms Evans?" a lady in a white coat asked. "Is she ready to go?"
My mum nodded, getting up and walking over to where the doctor stood.
"What? What's going on?" I asked, feeling my heart beginning to race. "I'm no going anywhere."
The doctor walked over, placing her hand on my shoulder much like my mum had. Except her hand was cold and stiff; not warm and soft.
"Jamie, you're suffering from serious depression," she said gently. "Wouldn't it be wise - "
"No. I'm not depressed."
"Jamie, you have attempted suicide - "
"Yeah. And wouldn't you? I moved to this shithole, and was a complete outcast. Until I made two friends. And then one of them died. Hmm...I'm not very good luck, am I?"
"Don't use that sort of language with me," she said sternly. I was expecting her to be taken aback and for her reaction to be of soft, gentle language. Her voice was as hard as a rock.
"I can fucking talk how I like, thanks," I said smartly.
My eyes drifted over to my mum by the door. She looked close to tears.
"You will be seeing a psychiatrist for your condition, where it will then be decided if you need to be rehabilitated."
Did she think these words were a comfort to me? An asylum. Thats where they wanted me. Actually, I deserved it. For all the stupid things I had done. I was insane. I was terrified. I wasn't normal anymore. Actually, I never had been.
I looked to my mum in desperation. Her face was blank. Her eyes lowered to the ground.
"No!" I shrieked. "I am not going ANYWHERE!" I screamed, banging my fists down on the bed. "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"
A nurse hurried into the room, trying to restrain me from the doctor. I struggled continuously, and refused to stop screaming.
"I HATE MYSELF!" I screamed, kicking the doctor in the stomach as she tried to pin my legs down. "I HATE MY LIFE! I DON'T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE!"
I saw my mum leave the room, causing me to freeze. Before I knew it, a needle was going into my arm...
And then it all went black.