The Search for Super Glue

Chapter One - Admitted

I sat down on the vinyl covered foam mattress. It squeaked and rocked side to side. I bounced up and down with my hands twice before looking up at my parents.

"Do you want me to help make your bed, sweety?"

"No thanks, mom. I've got it."

"Okay, well I've put all your sheets down here," she pointed onto my metal bedside table, "I made sure to wash them and put extra fabric softener on them, so that they will be cozy."

"Thanks, mom."

It was my dad's turn to talk now.

"I saw down the passage that they have pay phones, here is some change so you can call at any time, okay? If you want to come home, just call." My mother gave him a side glance at this. I took the change from his sweaty hands. He always sweated when he was stressed.

"Thanks dad, but I'll be okay. Really. I think you guys should go, actually. I want to get settled."

My parents looked hurt and I instantly felt terrible. I didn't really want them to go. I wanted my mom to climb onto this sticky plastic and hold me tight and tell me that I'll get better. But I knew that this goodbye needed to come to an end. It was getting very difficult. I needed them to leave before I changed my mind.

"Alright, honey. We'll call you later, okay? Here, I've written down all of our numbers so that you can always contact us."

I knew all the numbers off by heart, but I smiled and took the piece of paper from her hands. She was shaking.

"Mom," I said, as I cupped her hands, "Go. I'll be fine. I promise. This is for the best. I love you. You too, dad." I said, turning to look at him. He had tears in his eyes.

"'Bye, sweety." The said it in unison and we all giggled.

They walked out the door. I could hear them walking down the passage and my mom was audibly whimpering. I wiped a tear that had secretly fallen down my cheek. I had to get up. I had to make my bed. I had to unpack my suitcase and put everything into my green metal locker. I had to be okay. I had to.

—-

I hadn't seen anyone in my ward yet. I figured that they were all at therapy, or walking around the grounds.

It only bothered me a little to be alone. I hadn't been alone in weeks, as my mom was always trailing after me. So to have a bit of quiet and alone time felt good. Even if it was in a sickly yellow room with four identical single beds, and four identical green lockers. The only interesting thing about this room was the writing on the walls, and the pictures the other patients had put up above their beds.

I got up off the bed and inched toward the wall closest to my bed and read.

Poems and lyrics and stories were scratched into the walls, or painted on, or written on with black permanent marker. Words of pain and hurt and anguish. Who are these people? Was all I could think to myself. I ran my fingers over a particularly moving sentence comparing love to rain. I heard someone from behind me clearing their throat. I quickly turned to see one of the sisters in a blue tunic with red trim.

"You better not be thinking of adding your own feelings onto these walls! Vandalism is illegal, even in here. If I catch you defacing this property, I'll make sure you do not see the outside world for a week."

Wow.

"Uhm ..no ..I was just looking" I whispered more to myself than to her.

"Come along then!" She said impatiently. Her voice was rough like the sound of a metal grinder. He eyes were sharp and strict. Her hair was braided back in a tight bun, not a single thread out of place. I immediately knew not to get on the bad side of this lady.

I followed her out of the room, looking back at the clothes I hadn't finished unpacking. The sister followed my eyes and simply said "We do not tolerate mess."

—-

I was standing naked in the nursing office, being inspected by the sisters and doctors. They had a chart with bizarre questions that I struggled answering. I never knew that I would have to share so much of myself so quickly.

"Please show us any places where you have cut yourself, burnt yourself or physically harmed yourself in anyway. Please do NOT lie as we will find out if you haven't told us that you have inflicted self pain." A sister with purple braids that were closer to dread locks said sharply. She had a kind glint in her eye, which didn't quite meet her voice. The left corner of her face was one large burn scar, wrinkled around her ear.

I pointed to the large scar on my right upper thigh, that traveled horizontally across the whole width of my leg. "I did this two months ago with a razor blade."

The sister wrote down where the cut was and when I did it.

I continued. "These three marks here are where I burnt myself with match sticks. It was about four days ago." I showed her the inside of my left wrist. I felt bad telling her I burnt myself on purpose when she had so obviously been burnt by accident.

I cringed and carried on. "I cut my wrists and my upper arm." I extended my arm and pointed to the marks that were now starting to scar. "I used to do these twice a week."

I continued to show her my scars and scabs and explain how, where and when I hurt myself. There was no judgement in her voice or eyes. It felt strange telling someone where I mutilated my body, but I knew it had to be done.

She let me get back dressed, and asked me to sit down. The kindness had reached her voice now.

"I am not a therapist, but I am here to help. If you ever, ever feel that you need to talk to someone when your therapist isn't here, I'm your gal." She gave me a little wink. I couldn't help but smile, showing teeth and all.

"What is your name?" I asked softly.

"Sarah. Sister Sarah."

"Hi, Sister Sarah. I'm Courtney."