Scared

I get scared.

I get scared because right now my moods are wild, flying or falling. I get scared because sometimes it’s hard to know the difference between the two until I hit the ground.

I get scared because the sun’s so bright and the days so hot and my mood can get so bleak, and I get reminded of how fierce and frantic I was, walking to that bridge, a day just like today.

I get scared because I don’t know if I can trust myself, and I get angry that I can’t, because if you can’t trust yourself who can you trust?

I get scared because I don’t know how this ends.


 

“And how old are you now?”

I’m sat in the small side room in Tommy’s A&E. I’ve been here before – when Nicola sent me from work. The walls are cheap comprehensive school green, a notice board advertises drug and rape crisis helplines. The – nurse? Psychiatric nurse? Not a psychiatrist, I know that – I like him. He’s got a thick file on his lap, which I assume are my notes; I’m impressed by how much they’ve got on me, given I’ve barely seen them.

“29”

His brow furrows. “That’s… That’s not a great deal of time”

I’m tired. I came – caught the bus and dragged myself to hospital – because, lying in bed, suicidal thoughts had got too loud, too insistent. I knew I had to do something. “The next time you feel like that, come here. It’s just as easy as going to a bridge“. So I came here, to A&E. They got me shuffled off to the side room fairly quickly, then left to find my notes. By the time the nurse arrived, file in hand, I’d been there a couple of hours. I’m tired. I don’t want to kill myself any more; I just want to go to home.

Still. I like him. And just because I feel immediately safe from myself… Well. That doesn’t really change anything.

“Why 34?”

I shrug. Because by then I should know for sure if I’m a failure? Because by then I should be able to weigh the happiness and misery in my life, and come to a decision? Because, by then, the pain will have become too difficult to bear.

“Thing is, you say you’re now not feeling in immediate danger… But it’s not as if you’re turning up here every week. We last saw you two years ago. I don’t want you to slip through the net. 34…

“We’ll get in touch with your GP. You should probably go and get your medication looked at”

I leave, tired. Night bus home, work in the morning.


 

I walk through the bleaching sunshine, over the railway bridge. Standing on tiptoe, I look over high barriers.

About 4 storeys. Not enough.

I’m just checking, anyway. Not going to do anything. Just checking.

I’m 33. My moods are wild, and I get scared.

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10 thoughts on “Scared

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