11 Days In Hell.

Day One:

I was in “P.E.” If sitting in a room hanging out with your friends is P.E. Well, everyone else was hanging out with their friends; I was sitting in the middle of the room by myself. You would think someone would’ve come sat with me, figuring my head was down and I was crying. You would think someone would’ve been concerned. Yeah, you would think. Life Lesson #1: No one has to care. I don’t know how long I was crying, majority of the period probably. The scary thing is that I don’t know why I was crying. All I remember is the pain I felt. It’s indescribable. It felt like a ghost was reaching for me, like there were demons surrounding me, like the gates of Hell were in my own heart. I couldn’t breathe very well. Time had stopped. I prayed and prayed to God to make time go faster. He might have been busy, or just didn’t care, but he didn’t answer me. So I sat there counting the dots in the carpet. My body started shaking and my chest felt like it was caving in. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and walked over to my “coach”, told him I was having female problems, and ran out. When in doubt, tell the man in charge you’re having female problems, works every time. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing but that bathroom stall, but the piece of metal in my pocket.
I ran in to the bathroom and slammed a stall door. My breathing was already getting a little better, the adrenaline was kicking in. The pencil sharpener blade in my pocket felt like it weighed 100 pounds. I knelt on the ground in front of the toilet, holding my arms out over the bowl. For a minute time stopped again, almost like God was giving me a chance to stop, to realize what was happening, to run away. Too bad I’m not a good listener. I slowly got the blade out and gently pressed it to the bluest vain. A rush shot through me, my pain nearly obliterated. Nearly wasn’t good enough. Taking a moment to soak in the last bits of pre-high, I jerked my hand. I didn’t feel anything, but when I opened my eyes I saw blood crawling out of my arm, dripping rhythmically into the water. When it landed it sort of bloomed like a rose. Expanded in swirling release. I realized I wasn’t breathing and exhaled. Nothing compared to this, a moment of no pain, no fear. Sweet adrenaline my drug of choice, taking away all my self-loathing. The closest to happy I could get. It went away too quickly.
I got on the toilet and pulled my pants down, there was no hesitation this time. I swiped the blade across my leg twice. It scared me, cause I usually don’t feel my cuts, but I felt this one, a lot. My thigh stung, with physical pain and shame. The adrenaline was still there, pulsing from the wound. But I didn’t like it. Everything was to clear, my thoughts racing to fast. I went back to class. They were outside. I sat in the hallway in front of the exit door and cried in agony. All the pain from before was back, 10-fold. It was so extreme I could feel it under my skin. Every inch of my body itched with it. Curled up in a ball I sobbed, I don’t know how long. Eventually I realized what I needed to do. I got up and high tailed it to the counselors office. I gave her the blade, and she got a tissue so she wouldn’t have to touch it with her skin. For a second it pissed me off, but I got over it. She was so shocked, she almost seemed scared. I think she was scared. While she was running around in a twitchy state of mania I just sat there. My emotions were gone. I felt numb. After a few minutes I finally said “Shouldn’t you call my mom or something?” So she did. When my parental figure got there the counselor walked me to the office.
She told me she was gonna help me. I was about a foot taller than her, I don’t know why but I found this hilarious. She seemed like such a child, so fragile. She didn’t know shit about my problems. At least she cared, and like I said, no one has to care. So she had a good soul, I’m grateful for her kindness.
What happened next changed my life.
My mother drove around for a while, she didn’t know what to do with me. We got a call from my therapist, and my mother pulled into a parking lot. There was a big ugly building there, and the back was surrounded by a barb wire fence. But you could tell by the design it was meant to keep something in, not out. I found that strange until I saw the word “hospital” on some sign. I asked my mom where we were and she didn’t say anything. But I knew. I remember screaming. Lots of screaming. Fighting, struggling, and finally being dragged through the doors. I begged and pleaded, but no one listened. They put me in a room, my dad brought me sonic, and I waited as they checked me into Hell on Earth.
They made it sound like fun, playtime with peers. I knew better. I’ve been through this whole thing before. They asked a lot of questions. My birthday, social security, favorite color, my gender preference, my masturbation patterns, and even if I was pregnant. I laughed, who would want to get me pregnant. Still I said no, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. It was setting in, and I was scared. She gave me a tissue and told me everything would be okay. They didn’t have tissues in our “Unit”, they were just show for parents so they would think that they’re child was gonna be happy here. Everyone wandered why the hell I was laughing, I said that they wouldn’t get it. They all seemed worried, looked at me like I was crazy. Now THAT pissed me off. They put me in a room with a fat girl. (No offense that’s just the only things I could tell about her in the dark.) I didn’t have any clothes, nothing. The made me make my bed crying, then I went to sleep, crying. I did a lot of crying in that god damn place. The walls were an ugly pukey orange, and my bed was rubber. Comfy. It was probably about 2 in the morning before I finally fell asleep.

To Be Continued…