Before and After Him

Ages: 19-21

• major trigger warnings for
-self hä*m
-r**pe
-ga** r**pe
-suci**dal tendencies
-Buli*m*a/ed
-And others

One.
Two.
Three.
I don't know what nurse Victoria (Vic) Smith expects from me.
"Breathe, Liv."
All I know is I want to smack the shit out of her.
"Breathe, Liv."
I almost do- that is, smack the shit out of her, not breathe.
I never breathe.
"That's it", she soothes, like she's trying to calm a baby.
I feel disoriented.
Crazy.
Dead.
But it doesn't matter, nothing does.
I pretend to calm down and all is as it was.

I've been in Fargo's ND General Hospital, bouncing back and forth like a rubber ball, between the eating disorder clinic and psych unit for almost a year.

I imagine hell is a better place than here.
I'm constantly monitored.
I have to eat everything on my plate.
I can't flush my own toilet.
Not too mention the mandatory group therapy.
Everything sucks.
This place is like a dark hole that sucks up all the light and leaves you in the dark, completely and utterly alone.

I wake up shaking.
The blankets are thin.
I'm always cold.
I think they purposely keep it that way, in a failed attempt to make us eat more so we gain weight and are than less cold.
So far, I haven't seen it work.
And the cold definitely doesn't make me want to eat more.

I have a roommate.
Her name is Maria.
Maria is a bitch.
She's loud and rowdy.
She's also insane.
I'm not joking.
She 'sees things.'
The last roommate she had, she tried and failed at stabbing.
I don't know what's worse, the fact that rommie tried to kill someone or the fact she didn't.

She should be in jail, for you know; attempted murder but no one cares about people who are seemed as condemned, no-, crazy.

The mentally ill and the physically ill who are physically sick because of mental illnesses are grouped together.
I don't fear her.
Being murdered doesn't seem that bad right now.
I guess you can add suicidal to my anorexia.
Maybe that explains why I've been in the psych ward for twenty eight days.
Actually, twenty eight out of three hundred and sixty five days isn't bad.
Just over five percent, closer to ten.
Mr. Warwick would be so proud.

Maria has her many problems besides her homicidal tendencies but worse of all, she doesn't keep to herself.
She's always up in my business.
I would take a wannabe Freddy Krueger over killer Barbie any day.

I push my fingers, two to be exact into my mouth.
I throw up.
Bliss.
Pure nothingness enraptures me.
I'm numb to the taste.
Than again I'm numb to everything.

"Liv", I look up, "is there anything you would like to share?"
I feel everyone's eyes on me and it takes me back to every class presentation I've ever done.
Silly me, just when I think this hell couldn't get any worse I'm proven wrong.
Funny really, if I've learned anything in my nineteen years it's that things can always get worse.

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
"Liv."
I look up.
I'm always looking up.
"Would you like to talk about what you did at group?"
"I wouldn't", she frowns which she has no right to do since she asked me.
"Liv."
I sigh, group therapy was bad but at least I didn't have to do anything.
I could just sit there, until day.
"You hit someone."
I don't understand what this shrink expects me to say.
I nod, because I did.
She sighs, "you haven't made much progress, if any."
Does she not realize that that's a failure on her end?
"It's been almost a year since you've got here and within that year you've refused to participate in group, you fight the staff on every little thing and you haven't opened up to anyone."
"I opened up to Maria", I say it because Maria is batshit and wouldn't be able to confirm or deny.
Shrink lady gives me a knowing look.
How I wish she was Beth.
Beth would fall for my shit.
Beth would let me off.