Punctured, she remains bruised.
Looking left, the back of her hand
She begins, to remember that day.
It began with the box, old shoes
Nestled within, lay the excess meds.
It wasn't planned, she was certain.
Sitting on the bathroom floor, she opens
A cupboard where, the box kept
A thousand magic smarties, pink.
They were sugar coated, laughing
She thought about how, her heart
Her very soul, its sadness
So often wrapped a bow around,
Her hurt & pain, beneath the skin,
The surface, oh such depths of despair.
No one ever knew, the girl behind,
A red ruby lipped smile.
She took the box, a chipped mug
Drinking morning tea, phone quiet
This was 2010, pre iPhone for her
She simply text and dialled, hello.
Without any force, she started to count
One, two, three, as easy as,
This cup of tea beside her thigh,
No thoughts raced, no fixed grounding
Just the addiction to take one more.
And as the pills, rattled,
She began to feel the rattle within.
Handfuls, of the very drug
That was intended, to calm her
In these moments,
And yet,
She was calm, and she doesn't recall
A single tear.
Regular lunch break checks,
Mother and father calling,
A call to a psychiatrist, busy in clinic.
It wasn't a cry, it was to ask,
Why should I stop Jaya?
Mothers maybe know too much
And as quickly as I put,
The phone down, it rings.
By this point I'm sedated, uncompromising and incomprehensible,
I am told I slurred and denied all.
I recall a panicked voice and a mother,
Refusing to put the phone down.
I remember a bang on the front door.
I remember a black Ralph Lauren t'shirt,
My brothers.
And it's all I wore.
Knickers and a t'shirt.
I cowered in a corner of the hall,
Medics and police, and I'm terrified.
A blank search in my brain.
I go into a coma and my only memory is,
Waking in a distant place, plugged up
Machines and monitors beeping
And the soft gentle voice of,
My mother; Rachel!
Her hand so warm,
having held mine all the time,,
I took residence in this,
Hospital
Bed.

I'm alive.

© Sia Jane