An old NaNo attempt by tylerdidit, reworked for a writing exercise with Alex16
I don’t like hospitals. They smell. All you can hear is people groaning and moaning about one thing or another. Nurses are like robots with needles.
I sit in the waiting room outside of the psych ward, the nurse on the reception opposite a familiar yet unknown face. She knows my name. I don’t know hers. She watches as I fidget, sit, stand, sit again, pace, lean on the wall, get a plastic cup of brown water that’s supposed to be coffee. I scratch at the bandages wrapped tightly around my arm. I’ve just come from the ER. Mom dragged me in when she found blood in the bathroom sink and demanded to see what I’d done to myself. It was one of the most humiliating things I’d ever experienced. Being forced to show something I’d managed to hide so well for so long, being dragged to the ER and having to explain to a nurse what I’d done. Watching as she’d stitched me up and done her best to repair the damage I’d done. The cuts still stung with the alcohol wipes. Bitch had used them like they were going out of fashion.
She’d noticed that I had a few collapsed veins and pursed her lips, writing something down on my form. Yes, I’m pretty fucked up. It all got so out of control so fast. I came out as bi when I was about thirteen and ever since school has been hell on earth. The kids at my school were, and stil are, total jerks about everything. I started smoking weed to keep myself calm during the day, and eventually it just all spiralled downwards when I discovered coke and smack.
Anyway, back to the point; some other nurse is making up a bed in the psych ward, because they wanted me to stay for a few nights. I guess they didn’t want me to run off and top myself, which was tempting, but I couldn’t see why they gave a shit. No one else does, really. Phil, maybe. He’s pretty much my only friend. I get the feeling mom cares, but she’s not very good at showing it.
Eventually I’m called in and shown to my bed and told that Campbell, my shrink, would be there in a bit.
"Hi, Damien," he says softly, as he walks in, sitting down beside me on my neatly made, sterile bed "what's wrong?"
"Everything. Life," I shrug, not taking my eyes off the grey lino beneath my feet.
“Well, it’s the end of the day for me, but I can spare you an hour, if you need to talk?”
I give him a wry smile. “Since when have I ever wanted to talk? I’m here because my mom wants me to be, like always.” He nods, standing again.
“I’ll be in at ten tomorrow morning. You’re booked in for half past.” I just nod dumbly, letting out a long sigh as I watch him leave the ward. I glance around, hoping to fuck that I’m not stuck with the really crazy ones that wake you up in the middle of the night with their screaming. It’s hard enough to sleep in places like this as it is.