Gerrishon Sirere |
I sat in a busy waiting room
I smiled apologetically at the nice middle-aged lady opposite me
As my arm bled through the layers of dressings
And I struggled to contain the flow of blood onto my hands, and the floor.
I smiled apologetically at the nice middle-aged lady opposite me
As my arm bled through the layers of dressings
And I struggled to contain the flow of blood onto my hands, and the floor.
I walked up to the reception desk
I waited politely for my turn, and requested some paper towels
To clean up the mess I had made
And to make sure those around me did not also have to suffer at the sight
I waited politely for my turn, and requested some paper towels
To clean up the mess I had made
And to make sure those around me did not also have to suffer at the sight
The doctors asked if I had wanted to die
I said I didn’t know, I just didn’t want to live
They asked if I wanted to stay in the hospital
I said I didn’t know, I just didn’t want to be anywhere at all.
They asked if I wanted some Valium
I said I wanted peace.
I wanted quiet.
I wanted it all to stop.
I said I didn’t know, I just didn’t want to live
They asked if I wanted to stay in the hospital
I said I didn’t know, I just didn’t want to be anywhere at all.
They asked if I wanted some Valium
I said I wanted peace.
I wanted quiet.
I wanted it all to stop.
They asked me what I thought was wrong
“Me”, I said “and everything I’ve ever done”
I paused... “and everything that was ever done to me”
“Me”, I said “and everything I’ve ever done”
I paused... “and everything that was ever done to me”
“Ah”, they said.
My friend held my hand while I told them all my hidden secrets
All the things that make me regret who I am
All the things I wish I could take back
All the times I was hurt, denied, ashamed.
All the reasons I thought my family and those who loved me would be better without me
I couldn’t pretend any more.
I told them all of it.
All the things that make me regret who I am
All the things I wish I could take back
All the times I was hurt, denied, ashamed.
All the reasons I thought my family and those who loved me would be better without me
I couldn’t pretend any more.
I told them all of it.
Stiches. Diazepam. Lukewarm tea. The smell of blood and tears and disinfectant.
I was allowed home.
The care team came out to me, first every day. Then every other day. Then a couple of times a week.
I talked. They listened.
I showered.
I dressed.
I talked. They listened.
I slept. And slept. And slept.
I talked. They listened.
The care team came out to me, first every day. Then every other day. Then a couple of times a week.
I talked. They listened.
I showered.
I dressed.
I talked. They listened.
I slept. And slept. And slept.
I talked. They listened.
And without even realising it, almost imperceptibly, I made progress.
I saw sunlight.
I saw colours.
I saw myself. Raw. Hurt. Mentally ill.
And I saw my recovery.
I saw sunlight.
I saw colours.
I saw myself. Raw. Hurt. Mentally ill.
And I saw my recovery.
©Polly Yates