That Hospital Smell

I struggle to open my eyes, but my eyelids feel as if they’ve been sewn together. Giving up I let them lie closed, what do I really want to see anyway? I try to engage my other senses...aren’t they meant to be heightened when you can’t use one or something... I can’t hear anything except a distant whirring, no idea what that is...some kind of machine, that much is obvious. But in this world that could be anything from a remote control car to a fridge. My sheets feel a little scratchy, that’s weird, my mum’s such a freak for that kind of thing...they’re usually wonderfully soft- not to mention expensive. Oh wait, I’ve missed the obvious...what’s that smell? Oh no. Please no. I wrench my eyes open, uncaring about the pain as the sleep rips my eyelashes out at the roots...glaring white from every direction the sterile landscape greets me. My worst nightmare a doctor in a white coat, almost camouflaged against the stark white, blinking back at me from the end of my bed. The pieces simultaneously click into place, the scratchy linen, too starchy to be the thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets my mother favours. The slight whirring emanating from numerous machines keeping patients suspended in a place between life and death. And of course the cloying, saccharine hint of disinfectant riding the air waves which had alerted me to the predicament I was in. I’m in hospital, my worst nightmare, and just like that everything comes back...I guess it makes sense that the paramedics brought me here, duh, why didn’t I think of that at the time? But of course I know why I didn’t consider this outcome...it’s because I saw this story playing out very differently; I thought my mother would be wearing black already.

"Rose."

I look up, briefly startled, that's right...you're still here. I look closer, all I saw before was the white coat...and it scared me more than just about anything could. Now I register the aging guy in front of me, silver at the temples with dark serious eyes that are searching my face..."So, Rose, do you want to tell me why you're here?" Typical. Psychologist, I should have guessed, he definitely looks the part. "As if you don't know" I mumble, in a way that surely comes across as sullen, but I just want the games to stop. He knows what led to me being here, at least medically anyway, why dance around the truth.

Ally? (SUI Trig)

Eyes darting around the bathroom...nothing in sight. I run water in the sink, clearing all the evidence and removing every trace, more out of habit than because I feel the need to hide, I’m not sure I care enough in this moment. I turn and move along the passage back into my room, pausing only at the window to notice that my mum’s car is gone- and no one else will be home for at least a couple of hours, my brother always has extracurricular stuff. He’s always been so much better than me, and now I’m glad. Reaching my room I close the door behind me and hit the button on my CD player, pumping out the new ministry of sound CD at full volume. I go back to my chest, breath catching in my throat as I see the bare spot where my jar would have been if I’d had the courage for this before, at least I know my mum hates me now. No remorse there. I try to convince myself I’m not trying to commit suicide...I’m just going for my blade same as usual, it was probably time for a new one anyway...who wants’ an infection right, it’s got nothing to do with how sharp it is. Surely the universe will forgive me if I accidentally go too far? Can’t believe I’m trying to rationalise this, but I am.

I locate the blade and climb onto my bed, feeling the beat of the music pulse through my veins as I struggle to keep my hands steady. I won’t have the courage for this more than once; blood has always triggered my urge to stem the flow, to fix whatever’s bleeding. I align the blade, for a second I almost laugh...how many times friends have joked with me “if you’re trying to kill yourself; it’s down the street not across the road”. Raising my hand, I bring the blade down onto exposed wrist, pulsing red. I slump back against the pillows; all I can see is red. Red staining my sheets, red ruining my school uniform, and red leaking onto the floor...but what does it matter? I try to sit up, I’ll have to fix this...the world spins and I fall back, everything fading black at the edges. I drift out of consciousness, my last movement to feebly pull the sheets over the top of me with my good hand...wouldn’t want to disappoint you mum, wouldn’t want James to find me...

“Rose!” the voice is distorted, wavering around me as I try to focus, “Rose, stay with me honey, I’m Alys” Something inside me responds, Alys? She’s important right? Ally! “Rose I’m a paramedic, you’re going to be fine but I need you to look at me ok?” No I groan in a soft voice, I shouldn’t have listened, of course it’s a paramedic... a mere coincidence in names doesn’t change that. What is this; this isn’t how it’s meant to be. Throbbing pain seems to have overtaken my left side and I feel appalling. Heavy head and nauseated...what’s going on? I thought I’d be gone by now. My body is jostled, lifted slightly, but I don’t care...I’m already fading.

Once more...and I'll love you (for now)

My legs start to tremble; I can feel the blood retreating from my extremities, leaving me cold and pale. I slowly tip over, unable to unlock my muscles even to save myself, the floor rushes towards me as I sag down onto it. Tears building behind my eyes, I try to blink the thin film away, will it away. I don’t cry. And yet, I can feel the tears quivering in my eyes, ready to fall, I roll over and wobble unsteadily to my feet...heading for the bathroom. As I step onto the cool white tiles I swing the door shut behind me, sealing myself in this glaringly white chamber, I walk to the sink and grip its edges staring into my reflection in the mirror above. Void eyes, wild and full of moisture, mouth pressed in a thin line, edges wavering with the attempt to force the emotion down. This kind of...uncontrollability isn’t practical.

I raise my hand until it’s almost touching the glass, and then direct it back towards me, all but two fingers pointed down. I bury them towards the back of my throat, feeling the spongy tissue as I force them further to reach the spot at which I hear the click at the back of my throat- and have to pull my fingers out as quickly as possible. Better, I feel more controlled already. Hearing the voices whisper soothingly...nearly enough, that’s nearly enough, I’ll love you if you can do it again. One more and you’ll be worth something.  I retch until the tears come to my eyes...but these aren’t weak tears, shed unwillingly out of frustration and upset at an immovable situation...no, these are practiced tears, tears that were entirely anticipated.

I sink down onto the cool tiles, resting my head against the bath, watching the tears drip down onto the school skirt I’m still wearing though it feels as if I’ve barely been there today.  I can feel myself breaking apart...the shreds of control I've managed to grasp at floating away from me. I stumble back to my feet, unable to sit still, unable to think...I know what I need...but my jar is gone. Mind racing into overdrive, searching for the solution, I begin to pace in an absent minded way.

Mortified

Somewhat unsure about this part, I think I may have spent too long on her mum yelling, probably fewer words would have sufficed, but I'll leave them there for now. RJxo

“How could you even think about doing this Rose? How could you even consider...after all your father and I have done for you. Haven’t we told you a hundred times how this is no way out! It’s cowardly Rose, and it’s selfish and deep down I’d like to think you knew that!! What did you think was going to happen?! How could you ever see this as a good way...what if your brother had found you! He’s only young...at any rate he’d probably be completely traumatised. Would you ruin his life!? Would you ruin ALL our lives? You’re such a selfish girl...I don’t know where you came from at all...” I stand silently, watching the ground as her tirade rolls over me; I am completely...mortified to be in this situation. Yes, mortified sounds exactly right, almost as if I’ve turned to granite where I stand, as if my family can walk past me in the coming days and hang their coats on my immobile form. I can hear the slight buzz of her words but my mind’s filtering them out, focusing instead on this compelling image of a granite gargoyle standing poised in the entryway... pondering how on earth my mother would explain that away, involuntarily the left side of my mouth jerks up in a tiny half smile. I hear the slight whistle of air and recognise my mistake almost instantly, her hand catches me across the face, jerking my head back slightly “What the hell do you think you’re smiling about?! Just, get out of my sight. I can’t look at you anymore.” That’s all I need, I run, cheek stinging for my bedroom.

I throw myself down onto the bed and turn my face to the side, “Hi Jaws” I whisper, “I can’t believe how quickly my day just turned”. Reaching up I sprinkle in a small amount of his goldfish flakes, waiting for him to dart to the surface, he seems a little slower than usual, but I’m probably just imagining it. I roll over onto my back and surprisingly feel my mind go heavy with sleep, conscious thought fading with a whisper. I awake only an hour later and almost straight away I begin feeling the emotions grow inside me, swelling up like one of those kids’ toys that inflate on contact with water. I don’t know how but it hadn’t hit me until now, and it already feels unreal, a dream or the memory of a dream on a murky surface. Maybe it didn’t happen at all; maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. I climb stiffly off my bed and kneel before my chest, swinging the heavy lid open; it seems cleaner- uh oh- I reach to the bottom, lifting a fleecy blanket I’ve had since I was tiny. Nothing. My fingers scrabble disbelievingly against the wooden base. It’s gone. It was real, my precious jar is in the hands of my mother...probably gone by now.

Freeze

By the time I retrace my steps through the graveyard and out between the old gates the sun is low in the sky, as I leave with a lighter heart and a pattern of grass imprinted upon my cheek. I enclose myself within the bubble car, reaching to turn on the music for the first time today, my Fine Young Cannibals CD finished the next one cues on- a dodgy mix Ally made me for my birthday last year. The opening of ‘Smack That’ fills my car, and before I know it I’m smiling, imagining us dancing around to this song on a dozen different occasions- each sillier than the last. This CD was titled ‘Top 20 dodgiest songs that are still super addictive’ and the girl had a point...this song is terrible...and yet, strangely compelling, it’s always a party hit. Maybe that’s the only time anyone can safely admit they like it. Whatever the case, I bounce home within the little car; my mind is still humming with the song as I step through the front door- only to be stopped in my tracks.

I freeze. Every trace of the warmth I’ve cultivated this afternoon vanishing as instantaneously as if a snowy drift had suddenly blown across the landscape of my life. My eyes are fixed on the one focal point. Seeing nothing but the colours. Oh the colours, my mother is framed by the light spilling from the kitchen behind her, and in her hands is my jar. In this instant I feel as if she is holding my soul or at the very least my future, my plan b.

“Care to explain this, Rose?” Her voice is hard; I almost don’t hear the tremor as her voice wavers over my name.  I gaze up at her; rooted to the spot when I so desperately want to run, I am but a hare trapped in the headlights that is her powerful gaze. “Wh-where did you get that?” is all I can manage to stammer out, it may be ludicrous but this is all my mind can focus on. Who or what has brought my world crashing down, my facade unravelling before my very eyes. “The cleaner found it today, she thought it would be nice to dust out that chest at the bottom of your bed since it never gets cleaned at all...naturally she called me the moment she unearthed this...what were you thinking Rose? What are you thinking?!” “I just...I just needed to know....be sure....just...in case...you know...I...wanted...I wasn’t trying to hurt you...” I realise I’m making no sense and trail off; leaving the way clear for the lecture I know is coming.

Medium

I press a wad of toilet paper to the straight red lines, shuddering as I wonder how unhygienic this is, I’ll have to clean them when I get home. A shower, some breathable plaster and a dab of Bactroban ought to assure that I won’t have to fess up due to something as uncontrollable as infection. Or face the thought of allowing an infection to spread. It’s miraculous I’ve never had an infection before, all things considered...I guess there are advantages to growing up in a medical household after all, I’ve always known how to treat my own minor injuries. I guess no parent who spends their working hours stitching up people who’ve had run ins with electric tools, other people, cars and so much worse, really has the patience to patch up a child with a skinned knee.

Eventually I emerge from the cubicle, washing my hands I glance up at the girl in the mirror, cheeks flushed and hair escaping her hasty ponytail she looks slightly excited. For a second she almost looks pretty, but then I glance back properly, staring her full in the face, and it’s just me- and I’m still ugly. I scrub at my fingernails to assure that they are completely clear of blood, it reminds me of last year when we studied Macbeth at school and Lady Macbeth was going insane trying to wash the blood from her hands, crying to herself oh will they ever be clean. Although she had murdered an innocent in cold blood I find myself identifying...will I ever truly be free of the blood stains on my hands and blade? I shake my head, watching my reflection blur slightly as I try to physically force these thoughts from my mind and push open the heavy swing door, forcing my way back out into a world I don’t even really want to be in.

I stoop to retrieve my pencil case, I didn’t even realise I’d dropped it on the way in here- a little too disassociated from my dash down here I suppose. As I walk along the now deserted pathways I am acutely aware of everything from the unsympathetic sun burning down on top of my hair and the slight breath of wind caressing my hypersensitive skin, to the rough material of my school skirt brushing against fresh cuts and the slight weight of a blade in my pocket.  I head for the student car park, at least in exams I don’t have to sit in classes pretending to care about what’s going on, trying to act like I’m not about to run for a bathroom to harm myself, or dissolve into tears thinking about Ally. This is better, as long as I turn up for my exams; no one cares where I am. Hell, I don’t even have to be accountable to my mother. As I reach my car it’s already resolving in my mind where I’m headed, I’ve thought about Ally and that’s it, no coming back from that. I might as well head to a place where I can recognise my grief. A place where if sorrow overwhelms you, no one thinks it’s weird. Where you can sit down to cry for an hour, and talk to someone who’s no longer sharing this world with you- and have it be wholly normal.

Twenty minutes later I pull in at the cemetery, as I tread down the path past the crumbling headstones and faded crosses, I try to imagine the people beneath the ground. You’d think it might be unsettling, thinking of all those bodies beneath me. But it actually feels less lonely. For a fleeting second I wish I could join them, the guilt catches me almost immediately, it’s practically sacrilege to think that here, Ally loved life more than anyone I’ve ever known, she believed it to be a gift and yet it was snatched away from her far too soon. While I, wishing for death almost every day, would live to a ripe old age if this universe has anything to do with it. Whoever’s watching over us sure has a taste for irony, vengeful bastard. What did I ever do? What did Ally ever do wrong..? I believe love- or more specifically loss- turns us all into believers, believers in something anyway, before her death I would have proudly counted myself as an atheist. And now here I sit, conversing with a girl who, if I was right before, is nothing but a breakdown of organic compounds. Despite the beliefs I’ve held for years about the rational nature of this world, I lie on the grass and talk to her more than I’ve spoken to anyone all week.

Scarlet tears

Another update, hope it's ok. Contains self harm so stay safe. Oh and guys I started a new blog at: http://www.r-jay-thegirlbehindthemask.blogspot.com/ just because I feel funny ranting about my feelings in the middle of my story, and 'Every Rose has it's thorn' has taken over her for the forseeable future. I realised I could have a second blog under the same name so why not :). Take care, RJx

Tapping my pen, I sit with my legs crossed, foot twitching in mid air, hitting against the desk leg. Yes, I’m one of those annoying people. When I’m in an exam, I fidget, a lot. Today’s exam is humanities...so easy, I’m not even doing any work at the moment and this subject is still blatantly obvious. It makes me wonder how people manage to fail?! I mean what do they do, draw our teacher pictures? I skim through the questions, yes it definitely all looks easy, but I can’t get my head in the game...come ON Rose, but no I’m drifting, watching out the window at the tiny grade three’s playing a game of something in physical education. I swear I was never that small, or that innocent, or that carefree. As if to emphasise my point my fidgeting causes my skirt to bump against my side, hard blade nudging into my leg, it’s surprisingly heavy for something so little...the weight of expectations I guess. Today it feels more compelling than ever...usually just being at school, well anywhere near people, is enough to make me disregard the urge. But today it’s persistent, stinging my mind over and over again with the same thoughts.

“Rose...write honey, you’re running out of time!” Oh crap, you know it’s bad when the teacher has to start reminding you to work during an exam, but I’m way to focused now, I can practically see those small bloody lines behind my eyelids, those small lines that will fix everything, halt the world and stop time rushing by me so fast I don’t even see it passing by- if only for a second. I glance at the clock, only twelve minutes left, whether I answer all these questions or not I’m out of here soon. I re-read the last question and begin scribbling a hasty answer to the vague statement about sustainable living, just as I finish the call comes “pens down...pens down...that means STOP writing Katie” echoes our teachers weary voice around the cavernous examination room. I’m out of the room the instant my paper is collected, beating a path down the stairs and around the corner to the toilets...no one questions this seemingly mad dash, I’ve been shut in an exam room for two hours after all. I slam my way into a cubicle, reaching into my pocket for the favourite blade I know is hidden inside. Sighing I watch the fluorescent lights glint off its bright and promising surface, now that I’m here I don’t actually need the instant gratification, I’m happy to watch it for a moment, pressed against my skin in a macabre portrait. But then the urge returns and I drag it raggedly across my skin, for a second I can’t see anything, and then the little beads of blood rise to the surface, spilling over the edges to seep down my leg- only to be caught on the waiting tissue before they can drip to the bathroom floor. My scarlet tears pool on the light tissue, replacing the true tears I seem unable to cry they slowly stain it red.