Dear Jack

Chapter Six

Dear Jack,

This is my fake letter to you. I needed to write you another letter to get everything off my chest. I'm currently having a PTSD related panic attack and I've cut both my wrists and both my thighs and I'm still bleeding whilst writing this, so please don't freak out if you see blood on the page, that's just my pain being released from inside me. Unfortunately, its not enough so I think writing this letter to you will help me to drain more pain from my system.

I saw Rian today. Rian was my ex-boyfriend and I am his ex-punching bag. Yes, you heard that right. Rian used to abuse me, hence all my depression, anxiety, stress and PTSD. But that's a story for another time. Maybe I'll tell you our story in another fake letter to you.

But Rian has a new boyfriend now (not to get mixed up with my old best friend Ryan). His name is Zack, and to be honest I found him really quite attractive – now I'm writing this I think I even feel kinda jealous -. I was at work today and Zack had actually blindfolded Rian and surprised him in my café, announcing that he loves the place and wants to make it their 'spot'. Now by this point I could feel all my anxiety, nausea and tremors arise but I was strong enough to keep up a professional façade. I managed to tell myself that I was in charge being the barista and keep all my emotions at bay and told myself I can freak out about it later.

Well now I'm home, having the worst freakout I've had since leaving him but I feel shameful. Why does this one instance drive me absolutely insane? Why does he and thoughts about him still bother me over six months later? Why is the universe choosing my café, my safe spot, their spot? I can't help but feel so fucking stupid for still having these feelings. I should be over it. I've moved on. But I haven't. My therapist is going to be so disappointed in me. I've failed her. I've failed my mother. I've failed Tom. I've even failed you Jack. There are thousands of men like you out there risking your lives and I can't even keep my simple life together.

I'm glad I have this outlet and can write this fake letter to you like this. I don't know what is going to happen now though. I think I'll just try and slow my bleeding down and fall asleep but set an alarm early so I can wash my sheets of blood before my mother wakes up and finds out what I've done.

Thanks for not reading this letter Jack, I appreciate it.

Lots of love

Alex.

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I woke up in some of the most excruciating pain I've felt in a long time, particularly on my arms and thighs. The lights were bright and I could hear machines beeping in the background. As my blurry visioned cleared, I noticed a lot more. I noticed that I had a needle in the top of my hand. I was hooked up to what looked to be an IV bag or liquid antibiotics. I had that blood pressure band wrapped around my upper arm and the pulse thingy attached to my finger tip. I had bandages on both my arms with blood that managed to seep though. I assume the same thing was around my thighs. I noticed I was in a small, very empty room, with straps around my upper arms and ankles. I was tied to the bed.

I rolled my head and my mother was asleep at my bedside; her hand holding mine as her head lay beside me. She was crunched in the most uncomfortable position on what was probably the world's most uncomfortable chair again. She and I shared that uncomfortable chair when Tom was on life support.

I'd landed myself in hospital.

My mother woke quickly as she heard me shuffle to get comfortable. "Alex, honey, oh god I'm glad you're okay!". She stood above me and looked deeply into my eyes. I could see tears threatening to fall. She'd barely slept all night I could tell.

"I'm... I'm sorry Mum" I choked out. Only now I realized how dry my throat was and how thirsty I was.

My mother didn't hesitate to respond, it was almost as if she'd tried to stop me mid-sentence. "Alex honey its okay. You're okay... you're okay" she breathed out and let a tear fall. It was only in that moment I realized the gravity of what I'd done. My actions had convinced my mother that I'd attempted to kill myself. Her last son had also attempted on his life. But I know I didn't. I didn't want to die, I wasn't suicidal. I'm too much of a coward to die. But I could see how hurt she was.

"I didn't try to kill myself Mum. I love you" I said with my own tears threatening to fall. My mother stroked my hair out of my face – as mothers do - and looked at me in my eyes. Her eyes darted between each of mine. I assume searching for any signs of my lying or insincerity. I looked at her back, pleading within my mind to let her know that I was okay, that I didn't want to die. And I think she understood. She held my hand tighter and then leaned in for a gentle hug. I immediately tried to hug her back, but I couldn't. I held out my free hand and begged her to told it.

"I love you Alex, I'm so sorry" she whispers into my ear. I pulled back and asked her why she was sorry. She'd felt like she'd let me down, that she could have done everything more to help me. But I could tell that there was more swirling around in her mind. But I won't talk to her about it right now.

Mum and I sat in that bright white empty room in silence, but a comfortable silence. We held each other's hand and enjoyed each other's company. I still felt awful for doing this to her. But I couldn't help but wonder what actually got me here in the first place.

"Alex honey, are you awake?" my mother knocked on my door. "Alex I can hear your alarm but you aren't turning it off?" she knocks at my door a few more times before she enters.

The sight before her scared her to death, Her son Alex, her youngest son and her only son left on this earth, lying upon his bed of dried blood that had been dripping from his arm that hung over the bedside. She ran over to him, tears streaming down her face almost instantly. 'this was it' she'd thought. 'My baby boy is gone too'. She went up to Alex and rolled him over, discovering more cuts upon his other arm and both his upper thighs.

"Alex! Alex!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Alex wake up honey, please wake up" she shook me and stroked my face. Her eyes kept darting to all my cuts. Very few of them were still bleeding but most had stopped themselves, which I later learned stopped me from bleeding to death.

"Oh god Alex, stay with me, I'm going to call the paramedics! Oh Alex honey please wake up, please don't go" she pleaded to my unconscious body.

She immediately called emergency services and soon I was on my way to hospital, still unconscious and never reaching consciousness until I'd woken moments ago. My mother cried all the way to the hospital in the ambulance, no paramedic succeeding in consoling her. The paramedics had hooked me up to the heart monitor and confirmed I was still alive and my heart was still beating, although weak, due to the blood loss. I would later learn that I required a blood transfusion for my injuries.

We'd gotten to the hospital and I was taken through the ER to be treated whilst my mother was stopped at the door. She couldn't be with me. she told the nurses she was sure I'd attempted on my life because my older brother did a few months ago. The nurses immediately made arrangements for my mentally unstable self to stay in the psych ward wing of the hospital to be on watch and receive therapy for my illness. My mother was told that I would be staying a while in the ER.

In the end I'd received a ride to the hospital, a blood transfusion, and a total of 44 stitches between my arm and legs. My legs were the worst and required more stitches as I'd managed to open old wounds.

"Alex honey, I got you that fluffy blanket you liked from home. Would you like it?" I nodded aggressively. I loved this blanket. It was actually a throw rug that I use as a blanket because of how heavy and warm it is. I use it as a weighted blanket some nights when I am feeling anxious or just need the weight to help me sleep.

My mother also showed me some other things she'd brought from home for me too. "Oh Alex, that reminds me. I saw that you had written a letter to Jack, the army pen pal and I sent it off in the mail for you too. Writing to Jack might keep you occupied whilst you recover" she smiled.

"But mum, I'd already posted my letter the other da-... oh no".