Chapter 4 - TW - alcohol abuse and self harming
The icy air hit Rita's face as she made her way through the double doors and out of the hospital. Her recent weight-loss, not that she'd needed to lose any weight, contributed to the almost constant chilly feeling that rarely seemed to leave her. She wished she had a thicker winter coat and had remembered her scarf but yet again, she'd been running late this morning and had only just managed to make it to work on time as it was. In some ways, the cold icy air was a welcome relief and distraction from the challenges of the day. She took a few deep breaths as she left the warm air of the emergency department and moved in to the cold as she set about walking the relatively short distance back to her flat. As she walked, her mind replayed the last conversation she'd had with Connie, "Can I see you in my office first thing tomorrow –?". Rita knew it could only mean one thing, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to hear it.
Nursing was all she had after Mark had so publicly humiliated her and left her with nothing. She thought of how hard she'd worked to recover from the hurt and pain that he'd caused; the nights she'd spent sobbing all alone, the times she'd drunk so much she'd woken up not knowing how she'd got to bed and the multitude of times that she'd found everything just too much and been so overwhelmed that her only release was with a sharp blade and a bottle of wine.
She knew, deep down, that she wouldn't be able to bear it if Connie took all she had left away from her. It would break her. The rational part of her mind told her that if she were to resign and look for a job in another part of the country then she could have a fresh start. Whilst the irrational part of her told her that she was not good at anything and no one would ever want her anyway – regardless of the part of the country that she moved to. Throughout her walk home amid the falling snow, the internal battle played out within her mind. As she arrived home damp and with a slight covering of white snow, she craved nothing more than a large glass of wine in which to drown her sorrows. Her hands felt uncompliant due to the cold as she tried to turn the key in the lock. Frustration began to take over as she struggled to complete the simple action of unlocking her front door. Eventually, in the warm and welcoming space of her hallway, she shrugged off her wet leather jacket and kicked off her shoes. Her first thought was to have a drink. She entered the kitchen and took a wine glass from the shelf before taking a bottle from the fridge and filling the glass to the brim. She took a long sip, enjoying the feeling of the overwhelming desire that all the day's worries were about to be taken away as the cool liquid slipped down her throat.
As the evening wore on, she drank increasing amounts of her preferred wine. Lucky she lived near an off licence that usually had one of her favourite Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc on special offer. To be honest, even if they weren't a favourite, they would still be purchased if on offer. After all, it didn't really matter what the wine was – it was the quantity and cheap availability that mattered.
It was a bizarre feeling; the more she drank, the happier she felt. The more she drank; the more she liked herself. The more she drank; the better she felt she could cope with all the things that life threw at her. The more she drank; the more she thought that others might like her too. The more she drank; the more confident she felt.
It began to be a vicious circle. The more she drank, the more she liked herself. The more she drank, the more she felt confident. The more she drank, the more she thought others would like her. The more she drank, the less she hated herself. The more she drank, the more she thought about harming. The more she drank, the easier it became to make that first cut. The more she drank, the easier it became to dismiss the cuts; the more normal it felt. After all, she deserved to feel the pain. She deserved to be in discomfort. Connie hated her. She was a liability to the department.
As she sat on the sofa she sobbed. The tears came thick and fast as she thought about her relationship with Mark; the lies, the heartbreak, the guilt she felt. Trickles of bright red blood ran freely from the most recent incisions to her wrists and arms. She sobbed harder as she thought about her impending meeting with Connie in the morning. There was no way that the outcome of the meeting was going to be positive for her; Connie hated her with a passion that would make firing her the only option. Feeling slightly delirious and with her head spinning, she stumbled into the kitchen, using the door frame to support in staying upright.
She delved into the kitchen cupboards for the full bottle of vodka that she knew was there, along with a stash of near on 100 paracetamol tablets. With a slight trepidation she unscrewed the top of the bottle, and hastily took a large gulp before she had second thoughts. The clear liquid burned her throat but still she continued. This was as much a punishment as it was a pleasure. Gulp after gulp she took, pausing for breath every so often but not wavering from her aim.