These last few days have made me worse. I don’t want to get out of bed. It feels like my last safe place from the outside world. With the duvet over my head, I can imagine myself far away from here. Perhaps living on an undiscovered island where I’m the only inhabitant. I could do the whole Robinson Crusoe thing and find God.
Rubbing my tried eyes, the edges of my bandaged wrist scrap against my skin. Bound underneath is the growing scar of my second attempted. The doctor said it was a cry for help and my mother replied that she hadn’t done enough again. They’re both wrong and still believe the lies I’ve spun.
Curling into a ball, I pray for sleep. Time is meaningless to me, so I can just stay here. I don’t have to go to school any more as I was upsetting everyone. Going there and to the shops where my only reasons to leave the house. I thought that my wish to never leave my room again would make me feel better when it came true. However, its’ made me worse.
Cramp bites hard into my foot and forces me out of bed. I stand and rub my foot on the rough carpet. My eyes, now wide open glance around the childish room and to the window. The curtains are still drawn. I go over with the cramp fading and peer outside. Rain is splattering against the glass, making music for itself. The street below is empty. For a few moments, I imagine that I’m the last person on earth. Something like a plague has wiped everyone out. I survived because they forgot about me.
Lingering at the window, I start to get cold. I get back into bed and wrap myself up again. The sleep won’t come and instead the anger and bitterness strikes. A voice, which is very much like mine, starts to whisper negatively; what’s the point? You are worthless and you always have been and shall be. Look at the scars, you are a failure. I bet everyone knows it too. You should just do it. End your pathetic existence, END IT! Go on, no one will miss you and in fact they’ll feel better. They won’t have a carry the burden of you anymore. Go, go on, end it, END IT, END IT!
‘No!’ I scream and throw the duvet away, ‘I don’t want to! I don’t want this!’
Tears cloud my vision and run down my face. I sit on the floor and paw at the duvet. The voice starts repeating itself. I claw at my head and mutter the mantra, but I’m drowned out. I climb back on the bed, dragging the duvet with me. I make a nest and curl up. My face is wet and sticky. I sniff and then placing my hands together, I silently pray. Dear God, help me through this. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. Please take the pain and the bad voices away. I want to be normal.
I take deep breaths and empty my mind. I picture myself in a white room, wearing a white robe and being surrounded by light. I draw comfort from that and find my body relaxing. A voice, different from the others starts up and though I’m not sure if I’m imagining it or not, God might be talking to me; you are strong. You can fight against this and help will come. Look forwards.
Sleep arrives and swirls me off into dreamless peace. I don’t want to wake every again. However, I’m not lucky enough and soon my eyes are opening again. I rub them with the bandage and have to get up for the bathroom. I try to stay on automatic as I pee, then shower and dress. I go downstairs and put on my shoes. I’m not sure where I’m going. As I put on my coat, I realise that the voices seem to have stopped. I can’t trust them though and they hum at the back of my mind.
Outside, the rain and wind touch me as if they are blind and trying to remember of my face. I hurry down the street and towards the church. The tower and the Cross rise to the sky, calling me. Once there, I try one of the double doors and find it open. Inside smells like bees’ wax, damp and lilies. Pews line the way to an altar and candles are flickering off to the side. I sit down and for the first time in months feel a wave of relive wash over me.