Blood travels between my fingers and soaks into my palms as a sense of relief overwhelms me and I smile from joy, my head falling backwards and the worn eyelids come to a close. Waiting, normally I hate it but this is what I have been waiting for, the moment he accepts me into his arms. When a warm feeling surrounds me, I'm further relaxed, but it's quickly washed away by the door being flung open and paramedics rushing into the room. I'm mentally screaming for them to stop, stop helping me, I don't deserve it. Blood soaks their hands as they reach in and grasp onto my shirt, pulling me out of the water.
I'm well traversed with the procedure they have to go through, sitting in front of me and asking the same question. "How does this make you feel?" "What makes you feel better?" " What bothers you the most?" "Do you struggle to sleep?". Of course, this wouldn't help, not to me anyway. You just have to nod and answer in a way where they won't get suspicious, setting yourself up for being called an 'Attention seeker', and if you don't, then they will lock you up and treat you like dirt. They think they are helping but they aren't, they don't have a clue what's going on up there!
When the psychiatrist exits I lean back against the cold metal of the bed frame, closing my eyes and gripping the sheets. "next time"
