When I woke up, the first thing I thought of was that the nap I took didn't do me any good. I was more drained of energy that I was before I took a nap.
Then it hit me. I remembered why I was napping. And I remembered what I had done to myself…
I looked down at my arms; they were covered in bandages. Down at my wrist an IV was hooked up, dripping in some clear fluids. My legs had bandages on them as well. I was about to take them off, to see what my scars looked like, but I was interrupted.
"So, you're finally awake, huh? You know, you have to leave those bandages on, or your cuts will get infected," some nurse told me. It wasn't Nurse Molly, and to tell you the truth, I didn't really care who she was.
"What happened?" I asked. After 'napping' (which I suppose was me fainting) I couldn't remember what had happened to me.
"You passed out when you lost too much blood. We gave you a transfusion. The doctor says you can get out of this hospital room and go back to the psych ward as soon as some guy named Doctor Steve checks you out. Don't ask me what he needs to check on. Since you're awake, I'm gonna page him to your room. The sooner I can get you out of here, the better. I've had to check on you almost every hour." With that, the nurse headed out of my room.
"Good riddance," I thought to myself. "Heartless bitch. I bet she gets along well with all of the patients." I toyed with the idea of removing my bandages again; I knew I could get an infection, but I'd put them back on right away. I just wanted to see the cuts. After arguing with myself in my head for a while, I decided I would remove the bandages, but only for a minute.
I peeled back the gauze on my arms and legs, and stared. They were scabbing over, and they looked really gross. Unlike the cuts I made at home with a knife, these took more strokes to make, and were a lot messier. I ran my fingers over the word 'alone' that I had carved in my thigh earlier.
Doctor Steve interrupted my thoughts. "Pretty nasty looking cuts, aren't they?" he asked me. I nodded.
"My other cuts didn't look this bad," I responded.
"That's because you made the other cuts with a sharper object. You just gouged lines in yourself this time with that clip. It was pretty ingenious of you, breaking that off. I thought we had removed most of the sharper objects from your room, but I missed that one. Of course, I knew I ran a huge risk with you. It was almost a guarantee you would try to hurt yourself again," he told me.
"Oh yeah? So I'm that predictable, huh? Well, so what? My parents put me here so I couldn't hurt myself anymore, and it didn't work. I'm not safe anywhere."
"You're right, you really aren't safe anywhere. If you really want to hurt yourself, I know you can find a way," he told me. "They only way you'll ever be safe is if you want to stop hurting yourself. And you don't, so there isn't a room I could put you in where you'd be completely safe. You could cause bruises in a completely empty room. I know you aren't safe. I explained that to your parents as well. What they really want me to do is to make you stop hurting yourself. They want me to convince you that hurting yourself isn't a good idea. And since I obviously can't do that here, I'm taking you back to the psych ward and putting you back in your room."
"Yeah, and what if I hurt myself again?" I challenged him.
"Then I'll keep putting you back in there. In all likelihood, you won't ever leave the psych ward until you stop hurting yourself. Of course, don't get any ideas about just stopping. I'm not stupid, and I can see though any attempts at faking. If you keep hurting yourself, like you're threatening to do, you could remain here indefinitely. I don't have a problem with you staying here; I get to go home every day. You, on the other hand, might get sick of this place, so I suggest you try to fix this problem."
"You make it sound like I'm a leaky faucet. I'm not a problem that that be fixed with a wrench. I don't even know what my problem is. I can't just fix it."
"Of course not. I'm going to try to help you, if you'd just give me a chance."
"Whatever. Can I go back to my room now?"
"Sure, I'll call a Nurse Molly and have her bring her down a wheelchair to take down there. I'll see you in my office in an hour. We'll have a talk then."
"Whatever," I responded, trying my best to sound totally disinterested. However, I was really really curious to see exactly how he planned to 'fix' me. Fifteen minutes later, Nurse Molly was in my room with a wheelchair, and she took me back down to psych.
Then it hit me. I remembered why I was napping. And I remembered what I had done to myself…
I looked down at my arms; they were covered in bandages. Down at my wrist an IV was hooked up, dripping in some clear fluids. My legs had bandages on them as well. I was about to take them off, to see what my scars looked like, but I was interrupted.
"So, you're finally awake, huh? You know, you have to leave those bandages on, or your cuts will get infected," some nurse told me. It wasn't Nurse Molly, and to tell you the truth, I didn't really care who she was.
"What happened?" I asked. After 'napping' (which I suppose was me fainting) I couldn't remember what had happened to me.
"You passed out when you lost too much blood. We gave you a transfusion. The doctor says you can get out of this hospital room and go back to the psych ward as soon as some guy named Doctor Steve checks you out. Don't ask me what he needs to check on. Since you're awake, I'm gonna page him to your room. The sooner I can get you out of here, the better. I've had to check on you almost every hour." With that, the nurse headed out of my room.
"Good riddance," I thought to myself. "Heartless bitch. I bet she gets along well with all of the patients." I toyed with the idea of removing my bandages again; I knew I could get an infection, but I'd put them back on right away. I just wanted to see the cuts. After arguing with myself in my head for a while, I decided I would remove the bandages, but only for a minute.
I peeled back the gauze on my arms and legs, and stared. They were scabbing over, and they looked really gross. Unlike the cuts I made at home with a knife, these took more strokes to make, and were a lot messier. I ran my fingers over the word 'alone' that I had carved in my thigh earlier.
Doctor Steve interrupted my thoughts. "Pretty nasty looking cuts, aren't they?" he asked me. I nodded.
"My other cuts didn't look this bad," I responded.
"That's because you made the other cuts with a sharper object. You just gouged lines in yourself this time with that clip. It was pretty ingenious of you, breaking that off. I thought we had removed most of the sharper objects from your room, but I missed that one. Of course, I knew I ran a huge risk with you. It was almost a guarantee you would try to hurt yourself again," he told me.
"Oh yeah? So I'm that predictable, huh? Well, so what? My parents put me here so I couldn't hurt myself anymore, and it didn't work. I'm not safe anywhere."
"You're right, you really aren't safe anywhere. If you really want to hurt yourself, I know you can find a way," he told me. "They only way you'll ever be safe is if you want to stop hurting yourself. And you don't, so there isn't a room I could put you in where you'd be completely safe. You could cause bruises in a completely empty room. I know you aren't safe. I explained that to your parents as well. What they really want me to do is to make you stop hurting yourself. They want me to convince you that hurting yourself isn't a good idea. And since I obviously can't do that here, I'm taking you back to the psych ward and putting you back in your room."
"Yeah, and what if I hurt myself again?" I challenged him.
"Then I'll keep putting you back in there. In all likelihood, you won't ever leave the psych ward until you stop hurting yourself. Of course, don't get any ideas about just stopping. I'm not stupid, and I can see though any attempts at faking. If you keep hurting yourself, like you're threatening to do, you could remain here indefinitely. I don't have a problem with you staying here; I get to go home every day. You, on the other hand, might get sick of this place, so I suggest you try to fix this problem."
"You make it sound like I'm a leaky faucet. I'm not a problem that that be fixed with a wrench. I don't even know what my problem is. I can't just fix it."
"Of course not. I'm going to try to help you, if you'd just give me a chance."
"Whatever. Can I go back to my room now?"
"Sure, I'll call a Nurse Molly and have her bring her down a wheelchair to take down there. I'll see you in my office in an hour. We'll have a talk then."
"Whatever," I responded, trying my best to sound totally disinterested. However, I was really really curious to see exactly how he planned to 'fix' me. Fifteen minutes later, Nurse Molly was in my room with a wheelchair, and she took me back down to psych.