Monster.

I woke up completely disoriented and panicked. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t dead, or wasn’t I? All the white of the hospital looked stereotypically like heaven but I didn’t think there would be so much beeping in Paradise. It was extremely irritating and was starting to give me a headache. I struggled to sit up to take in my surroundings properly; I had wires coming out of every nook and cranny of my body – that’s when I knew I definitely wasn’t in heaven. As I finally managed to get myself into a somewhat comfortable position a small, redheaded nurse came rushing in. Those machines you see people hooked up to in hospital supposedly don’t actually beep unless something is wrong. She took one quick look at me sitting dazed on the bed and I could actually see her body sag in relief before the turned and dashed back through the door. I was too confused to be curious as to why she’d sped from the room. I still couldn’t figure out how I was here. Surely the amount of pills I’d taken was sufficient to kill someone. The bedside table and a table at the foot of the bed were covered with flowers and ‘Get Well Soon’ cards. ‘Hopefully I won’t be that lucky’ I thought to myself. It caught my attention that someone had left a vase of tulips beside me. Everyone knew I hated tulips; I was allergic to them. There was a card attached to the flowers and I picked it up to see who was ‘nice’ enough to bring me a vase of the worst flower in the world. ‘Get well soon babe, love Jonah ox’ was written on pale pink cardboard. Despite myself, I broke out into a fit of giggling. ‘Shows how much my lovely boyfriend knows about me’ I said to myself. A doctor running into my room broke my giggling fit. It’s not every day a coma patient wakes up and starts laughing. He looked bemused and gave me a small smile.
‘Ah, so you are awake then’, he said, ‘Nurse Halpern came and told me.’
The nurse quickly running out of the room now made a lot more sense to me, not that I’d even given her much thought.
‘I’m Dr. Stanton and I’m here to make sure you get better Ms, eh – ‘ he hastily consulted the chart in his hand, my chart. ‘Ms. Alexander’ he continued.
I finally gave this doctor my full attention. He was youngish, probably early thirties with a deep tan and short black hair. What kind of doctor didn’t know his own patients name? And if I was in hospital why wasn’t my mother treating me? She was a doctor after all.
‘Where’s my mother?’ I croaked out, my throat and mouth dry from a week of no use. He looked mildly irritated that I’d interrupted his rambling speech about why I was there. I didn’t need to hear it, I already knew; my suicide attempt had failed.
‘Your mother was understandably too upset to treat you Ms Alexander. Plus, you’re not in your mother’s hospital. You’re in the County General’s Psych Ward; not exactly your mother’s field of work.’ he told me.
That was true I supposed. She was a paediatrician not a psychiatrist. A twenty-year-old girl’s suicide attempt wasn’t really her area of expertise, even if it was her own daughter. I poured myself a glass of water from the jug on the bedside table. The water was room temperature but it felt amazing to my parched, achy throat.
‘I know that’ I said, my voice clearer after the water, ‘but why isn’t she here, I don’t know, crying at my bedside?’
The doctor looked slightly uncomfortable.
‘Ehm, well, I don’t know quite how to say this Ms. Alexander…’ he stuttered, ‘but both of your parents have said that will not see you until you have grown up and pulled yourself out of this. They claim that this was an attention seeking stunt to get their interest’.
He looked mortified at having to relay this message. I didn’t know what to say, I was speechless. What kind of parents doesn’t care that their only daughter tried to kill herself? My parents had always been distant sure but I never once imagined that this would be how they’d react to my suicide attempt. I expected them crying at my bedside, blaming themselves and questioning where they’d gone wrong. That was what I wanted. Yes, I suppose it was attention seeking to expect such things but I would have never tried to kill myself simply to get this reaction. Dr. Stanton was watching me trying to wrap my brain around this, waiting for a response no doubt. When he accepted he wasn’t going to get one he continued his formal speech.
‘Well then Ms. Alexander, I suppose all that’s left to say is that we’ll monitor you here for a few days to make sure your condition stays stable and then you will be moved to Belleview County Psychiatric Hospital for an evaluation. What happens next will be for the doctors there to decide. Do you have any questions?’
I was still trying to wrap my head around my parents. My mind was blank of everything else. I didn’t really care what was going to happen to me. I gave the doctor the smallest shake of my head, just to let him know I’d actually been listening to him.
‘No questions then?’ he asked, ‘okay, just press the buzzer beside your bed if you need anything. I’ll come by later to make sure you’re okay’.
With a small, sad smile he turned and left my room. It was only when he’d left that it hit me. The whole time the doctor had been here talking to me, I’d never once felt the urge to tear his flesh apart. Maybe my suicide attempt had cured me.

I slept through most of the next few days. I had no visitors except the nurses and Dr. Stanton. Either my friends hadn’t heard what happened or they just didn’t care. But if they didn’t care, then who had all the cards and flowers come from? A quick investigation told me that with the exception of Jonah’s tulips, they were all from hospital staff. This depressed me worse than the thought of anything to come. Surely Jonah had told our friends what had happened? Or was he too embarrassed to admit his girlfriend had attempted suicide and told them all I was still sick with the flu? I didn’t have much time to dwell on this; the drugs the nurses kept giving me made me feel like a vegetable. I spent three days mindlessly watching the TV in my room and sleeping. On the fourth day Dr. Stanton came to tell me I was being moved to the Psychiatric Hospital across town for my evaluation. I was too zoned out on medication to really care about anything he was saying so I just nodded my head and tried to look happy about it. This obviously wasn’t the reaction he was used to, as he looked slightly puzzled. The doctor had seemed to take a special interest in me during my stay in the hospital. He came to check on me at least twelve times a day and spoke to me in a much gentler tone than I’d ever heard a doctor use. A part of me liked to think it was because he liked me as a woman but a nasty voice in my head quickly shut up these sorts of thoughts. ‘He just feels sorry for you. You just tried to off yourself and no one cares. Not your boyfriend, your friends, and definitely not your parents’, it said cruelly. I’d been hearing this voice more and more. Every time I had a pleasant thought it’d jump in straight away with something vicious. Still, whether it was pity or not that brought him to my room I was going to miss Dr. Stanton. He had been the only one remotely nice to me here. Even the nurses who brought me my food and medication shied away from me if I tried talking to them. It was if they thought suicide attempts were some sort of contagious disease; if they got too close to me they’d end up killing themselves. ‘Maybe people in a mental hospital will be friendlier’, I thought to myself wryly.