Shower sceneJanuary 7, 2017 at 6:23 am | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment
Tags: anxiety, child abuse, door, fear, hospital, lock, mental health, paranoia, psyche, PTSD, safety, security, terror
My room is next to the ward’s security portal.
At 2:00 am, I wake to what sounds like agitated people making repeated efforts to get in, out (or possibly both).
My door has no internal lock, so I lie in fear – hoping not to get caught in the moment.
At length, the situation seems to resolve.
Shortly after which, my door handle turns.
I can only hope it’s the night nurse, so pretend to be asleep.
The door cracks open and I feel eyes upon me.
If I overact, I may appear dead – thus triggering entry and further examination.
It’s a nuanced role.
After silicone seconds, the door closes and I breathe again.
I remain sporadically alert for the next three hours.
On a happier note, the hot water’s back on.
A welcome relief.
Alas, the shower curtain doesn’t fully circumscribe the recess.
Either an intruder can see me from the toilet,
or I can see myself in the mirror.
I debate which is worse.
Then I put a bet each way by standing closer to the curtain, with peripheral eyes on the most likely lines of attack.
The bathroom door has an internal ‘lock’ – but this can be overridden from the other side by a key, a coin or even a stout thumbnail.
Also, the door’s hinge pins can be removed by hand.
That said, my shower concludes without incident.
But when I pull back the curtain, I’m dismayed.
The slope of the tiled floor has failed to deter water from most of the bathroom.
I must soak the bath mat to clean it up.
This means the grumpy towel woman (the others aren’t) may have to replace the mat mid-morning.
And last time she stormed out (doubtless with her own travails) she took all my positive vibes with her.
To curtail a repeat, I’d hoped to make the bath mat last the week.
So I set it with the wish
that it’ll dry
I ask the day nurse about the night’s events.
She assures me only one person left the ward – at 11.30 pm – with no disturbance.
She suggests my proximity to the noisy security portal may have magnified things in my mind.
She seems genuine, and I want to believe her, but I’m reminded of a childhood riddle.
If she’s lying, I’m an acute observer, but may never get out of here.
If she’s truthing, I’m a great storyteller, but not ideally suited to the real world.
may never get out of here.
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Your smallest kindness will keep me going strong. With many thanks, Paul.