Chapter Six

For the next two weeks, I'm confined to my bed, given numerous painkillers and antibiotics and checked over at least twice a day but my different doctors. Each one confirms that I'm healing well and that I should consider my self very lucky. Apparently had my head wound been any deeper or higher I might have ended up with brain damage or even died.

I still remain emotionless throughout. I can't seem to cry and I came to the conclusion that second night that there's no point releasing the floodgates. It's not going to help me. I fed up with being in bed and feeling helpless. But what's worse is the way they all seem to speak to me.

I'm damaged, yeah I get that and there's no way to fix it. Okay I accept that too, but they way they talk, it's like I'm never going to be able to do anything ever again. It was very upsetting to accept that my career choice is over, but I figured I'd be able to do something else with my life. But both my doctors and my parents are treating me like I'm going to have some mental breakdown.

I've never been very good at being ill. So yeah I guess I get a bit moody and depressed and I hated not being able to get up and do my own thing.

The Doctors thought it was a delayed shock reaction to the debilitating news of losing my sight. You know the drill; "She's angry that this happened to her self and wants to blame someone for it. She's just lashing out in fear."

I felt like a prisoner in my own body and I just wanted to scream and punch my way out of the cotton wool wrapping that was suffocating me. I had to have someone to do every little thing for me, because it was felt that I just simply couldn't cope, and I was hardly ever left alone. I wasn't even aloud to go to the toilet by my self.

My mum always insisted that someone go with me, just in case I couldn't find the loo roll and I broke down in tears or something. It was ridiculous. In the end I gave up trying to talk to them and I just let it happen. I lay in that hospital bed and let them take over my body, my mind and finally my soul. I gave up completely and with drew into my self further and further.

I stopped talking to my parents and my friends and even my doctors. In fact the only time I did speak was when Emma came to see me. She was my night time nurse and she never ever spoke down to me. She seemed to understand me and always shooed my parents away from my bedside, suggesting they go out for fresh air or to get something to eat, just so I could have a bit of time to my self.

Oh yeah I forgot to mention my Therapy sessions.

By the time those rolled around I was so deep in mollycoddling that I couldn't leave my room. I was so terrified of the world and what was out there I was convinced that if I left my room something else would get me. I realise now that the way I was feeling was due to everyone else's ideas and concerns and not something I had produced my self.

My brain by now didn't do its own thinking, every thought I had or idea was put there by someone else. In all sense I felt as if my opinion didn't matter any more. I ceased to be. I suppose I was waiting for something worse to happen. I didn't care any longer. I mean how sad is that; just to simply give up on life. Not sad as in the retarded sense of the word but sad as in sniff sniff cry your eyes out sad. I never imagined someone getting that low in life that they simply gave up on living but still remembered to breath just for something to do.

Anyway lets get rid of those morbid thoughts and get on with the story.

Eventually they sent a shrink to see me. Post-trauma analysis things were done and when she (Dr Wyllie) announced that I was suffering from post-traumatic shock related depression and that I should be put on anti-depressants and possibly on suicide watch. I really felt as low as I could possible feel.

But I knew they were wrong, I knew in my heart that wasn't how I felt. Oh, I felt did feel low but I felt as if I just got it together I knew I could snap out of it. But every time that little voice pushed me up there was always one pulling me down again. "What if they were right? What if I couldn't cope? I'd be dependant on someone else for the rest of my life?"……..

NO! There was no way that I was going out that way. I'd fought to hard for my chance to have a life away from my parents.

I sat up in bed suddenly and clenched my fists in the sheets. Fuck… was it only just now that I realised they were stealing my life!

They, whom I trusted and loved and who were supposed to love me; they were taking away my life. Piece by piece. I couldn't blame them for my accident but I sure as hell could blame them for the rest of my shitty life so far.

Two whole months I'd been chained up in this shitty place. Not been aloud outside or seen my friends and I'd been subjected to tests and … and … brain manipulation by all those bloody doctors and psychiatrists.

I wanted to scream and scream and scream and I did too. My face got redder and redder as I felt the tears of anger well up behind my eyes. But those tears would come later.

Leaning back my head I screamed the worst I ever had in my life. I shrieked and I yelled until I thought my lungs would burst.

I heard a smashing of glass in the hall followed by a curse and an alarm. Good they were calling for security, they would have to hold me back once I got my hands on those bloody doctors, especially that Smell Welly woman. I don't think I'd ever been more insulted than to be told I was suicidal.

A minute later mum and dad came running into the room along with a stern looking matron, two nurses, not Emma unfortunately, and two BIG orderlies. Everyone was shouting and trying to calm me and my parents down. Mum was crying, trying to get to me and the Matron was shooing them out of the door while yelling at one of the terrified nurses to get a hypo and a sedative.

I looked horrified at her and shook my head screaming no, no, no, no! But of course no one was listening to me.

I wanted OUT!

I wanted out of THAT bed.

Out of THAT room and OUT of THAT hospital!

The two orderlies were holding me down on the bed and one of the nurses was trying to sooth me. But I was inconsolable. I didn't want soothing, I wanted to scream. Damn it felt really good, to finally get all the cooped up, squashed down into-my-self feelings out of my head.

However, the staff didn't seem to understand my point of view. They filled a needle with some clear liquid and jabbed the entire thing into me.

I felt cool rushes swept into my body and I was lost.

I sank into the pillows and passed out. Into whatever reality my head was drug-fucked up to create.