The Hole Within

CHAPTER 26

One afternoon at lunch I was pulled out of the dining room. The detective was back. Sequestered in somebody's room he showed me a photo of lineup of men. I only had a vague memory of the man who molested me in that bed a lifetime ago. The detective told me to relax and go with my first instinct. I remember Renee's description of him and choose the picture that most resembled it. He nodded and asked me to come to the door with him. There, across the hall, was the man in handcuffs. He asked me if that was him. I confirmed it was. I felt slightly guilty as I had no real recollection of seeing his face. But the detective was pleased so I put it out of my mind. I knew they would not have him in handcuffs if he were not guilty. I was so .

In the hospital, after dinner was the worst. With nothing to do I would pace the halls like a caged animal. I would run my knuckles along the wall as I went. After an hour or so the walls showed the streak of red where my knuckles had been rubbed raw. I did my best to wipe off the blood so I would not get caught then I would switch sides and do it to the other hand. The Xanax was not nearly as effective at quelling my . The voices in my head would cry and rage at me. I was never alone inside my mind. They seem to overlap as they struggled to be heard. I wanted to smash my head against the wall that shut them up.

On a particularly bad evening my anxiety was in high gear. I wanted, no, I needed relief. I wanted to drink so badly so I could drown out the anxiety and the voices. I paced the halls faster and faster. Pressed my knuckles against the wall harder and harder, not caring that the streaks of blood lined my progress. It was as if my anxiety was feeding on itself. Building volume. I do not know why did it, I guess the pressure got to great. Did I actually think I was going to escape? I suddenly broke into a full run and headed for the locked steel doors. I hit the door so hard my body shuddered and bounced back, landing on the floor in front of the nurses' station. I got up and ran to the doors again, pounding uselessly on them with my bloodied fists. Recovering from their shock, several nurses and psych techs rush from the nurses' station and tried to pull me away. I was worked up into a fury, my hands and feet flailing as I kicked and punched at the door. Finally, they pulled me away and worked on restraining me. They tried taking me to the ground. It took two security guards coming from the locked doors to wrestle me down. I hit the floor with bone jarring force. The guards pinned my arms down, one on each side and a psych tech pinned one leg and a nurse pinned the other. I was screaming curses at them and bucking my body trying to get them off. I was filled with a new intense panic. I was being held down. Memories of being restrained and raped filled me. I did not even know where I was at that point. Someone had called over a nurse I was close to from the eating disorder unit.

Cindy sunk down next to me and tried to calm me. Alyson came out and suddenly I was four years old and being restrained. I was terrified. Cindy noticed the change and tried to appeal to my small self, with soothing words, hand stroking my tear-stained face. My body started to give in to the heavy exhaustion. I stopped bucking and laid there where Cindy smoothed my sweat soaked hair. A nurse appeared and with a syringe. One of my protector personalities, Heather, came out and begin to beg her not to use it. She was intent even though I was now docile, they rolled me onto my side and exposed my hip. She plunged the needle in. I do not know what they shot me with, a sedative? The dreaded Thorazine? I was helped up and Cindy worked on reinserting the NG tube which had come halfway out during the struggle. Security guard on either side of me, they escorted me to the padded isolation room with its bare mattress on the floor. The pillow was placed under my swimming head, a blanket draped over my spent body and they all retreated and shut and locked the door behind them. I spent that night and most of the next morning in a deeply drugged sleep. When I finally woke, my body cried out in agony from the struggle with the doors and being restrained. My bloody fists were bandaged. I had marks on my arms and wrists where hands held me down. By noon I was let out and was escorted once again to the eating disorder unit and the dining room for lunch. I write:

Tears

Behind a great

Wall

Of pain

Tears

Secured under a

Rock

Of abandonment

Tears

Locked forever in a

Jail

Of terror

Tears

Behind my smiling

Face.

Did the guy turn out to be the guy? If not, did they ever find him?

Xanex was not nearly effective as what? Rubbing your knuckles raw or a different drug?