Steel and glass

This post continues a series (first post, previous post) which discuss a suicide crisis which took place approximately a year ago, and my subsequent treatment. Partly it’s therapy for me. Partly it’s to demystify what for many people is an opaque and frightening subject, which I believe should be spoken about more, and with more frankness. But obviously this could work as a trigger. Tread with care.

He was gorgeous.

I don’t know which hospital I was eventually taken to. I remember the sunlight was too sharp, as if the world were steel; I remember worrying about what work were thinking; I remember exhaustion, and grief, and closing my eyes and finding how easy it was to fall into myself. All the time this static, barbed wire buzz in my mind, sometimes louder, sometimes softer. All the time, memories like rain on glass.

I was sectioned, but only to get me to the hospital. A handover took place; I found myself talking to an on duty psychiatrist and explaining, wearily explaining to her. I was so tired by that point, and I knew my fears and pains with a weathered intimacy and contempt. I’d been there so many times before; sat in a small hospital room, speaking my soul to a stranger.

I’ve learned – you do learn, eventually – not to trust myself too earnestly, learned to hold my beliefs lightly. I was asked what my intentions had been on the bridge; I was asked what my intentions were with the materials lying in my room. I was asked if I thought I should stay for a while in the hospital.

“I don’t know”

And I didn’t know. How could I? I’d set up a plan and then deviated from it radically. The moments before the bridge I’d been running, screaming down the street, mind white hot and chaos. Moments before that I’d been in the office, got up calmly from my desk and walked out the building. Smiled to the receptionist on the way out. I’d been a visitor on psych wards before and they’re not the most inviting places; I didn’t want to be admitted. But my head was full of barbed wire and sharp, perfect plans; I was tired, and confused.

“I think it might be helpful if you stayed with us a while”

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2 thoughts on “Steel and glass

  1. Pingback: Take my life | Explosions in Slow Motion

  2. Pingback: Holding on to breath | Explosions in Slow Motion

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