JANUARY
As soon as I'm home from hospital, I unpack my suitcase and I text Andy.
I'm home! – Alex
Awesome! You up for company? – Andy
Not yet, but soon. Maybe over the weekend? – Alex
Any day, any time, I'll be there. You know that – Andy
Love you. Can't wait to hear about what you've been up to since I saw you last. – Alex
Same shit, different day for me. What about you? Still writing? Love you too – Andy
Yeah, it was part of my treatment plan, had to write my dreams and memories and everything. I'll have to show you a few, some of them are so fucked you'll love them, you twisted prick! – Alex
Sounds like my cup of tea, let me know when you want me over and I'll be over – Andy
******
"Shit, Lex. That's a lot of paper! Is that all just stuff you wrote in the hospital?" Andy asks me. I start shifting through them, deciding which ones he should read. "yep, I was a busy little psycho! Here, try this one" I hand him a sheet
I'm walking towards the pub, the same pub I saw Sam at on that night. Anna and mum are with me too, we're going to get my head shaved so that my hair doesn't blow across my face.
Then Sam appears and he has a gun. He drags mum and Anna away from me and locks them in a room with him. I know I need to go in and save my family from him. I'm begging for him to let them go and he's laughing and he says "you were my world, and you destroyed what we had. Maybe I should destroy your world, too." and he points the gun at Annas head.
I scream and beg him not to hurt her, but he laughs even more. I say the only thing I can think of to stop him hurting my sister: I tell him I love him and want to be with him. And then he looks me in the eye and says "now I can die happy" and puts the gun to his head and I don't want Anna to see this so I jump and shield her face and body from Sam as he pulls the trigger and there's blood and bits of his brain and skull on me and the blood has spattered across my face and I'm trying to scream but no sound comes out and I'm covered in him. And I can feel his blood running down my face and then I wake up and the sweat on my face feels like his blood did and I'm gagging and so I get up and scrub my face clean but I know I can't fall back asleep tonight because it isn't safe, so I get up and I pace the hall, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until the rest of the ward wakes up.
Andy looks up at me. "Jesus, that is beyond fucked up. I don't think I can read another one" I take a small sip of my tea, ignoring the fact that I haven't pre-washed this cup and I only washed my hands twice before getting the teabag. Progress is torture, it seems.
"yeah, hasn't been the most fun in the world. But it's made me realise that so much of this was caused by him. I just didn't realise at the time that everything reminded me of him"
"I still want to kill him, by the way" Andy tells me seriously.
I put my hand over his before I say "I know. Me too, sometimes. But I think I'm finally ready to do something about it. I'm going to the police. I'm not sure when, but soon, definitely within the next year. I don't know if I want to press charges for sure, but I at least want a record of what he did."
"thank fuck, Lex. That promise has been the hardest fucking promise I have ever had to keep. But I stuck to it, I didn't interfere in any of this. But now that you're doing something about it, you know I'm there every step of the way with you. No matter how bad it gets. Promise me, you'll keep me up to date on this, and you won't ever shut me out like the way you did before you went to hospital."
"I promise"
FEBRUARY
Almost every single day of my life post-hospital has been spent with Andy. We went to the park yesterday, but I realised I was too scared to go on the swings now. I'm scared of everything, I hate it.
I want to do something that used to seem normal before I lost my mind. Out of nowhere, I kiss Andy, just to prove to myself that I can still kiss people without getting too scared. I know Andy is shocked by my actions, but he kisses me back, tenderly, slowly and carefully but he pulls away after a few seconds, and says he's seeing someone.
I feel awful that I made him cheat on whoever it is that he's dating, but I don't mind that he is dating someone. I mainly kissed him to see if I still could, not because I have feelings for him. He's the one man I trust, who I know would stop if I asked him to stop. I never have to worry about Andy taking advantage of me.
I have an anxiety attack that night, and I'm sure it's because I let myself be too close to someone.
MARCH
Andy broke up with his girlfriend. He said he had feelings for someone else. I'm sure it isn't me, but just in case it is, I talk about how I've started seeing someone. This isn't true but at least I won't have to explain my thoughts and feelings I had before kissing him last month.
I don't want him to know I had an anxiety attack as a result, or that I had to take extra sedatives to calm down. He says he's really happy for me, but a few minutes later he says he has to go – he's catching up with Nathan.
MAY
I hang up the phone, crying. Jane had called to tell me that Charlie had killed himself. Friendships in hospital aren't encouraged for exactly this reason. However, the friendships we formed in hospital has also stopped many of us from doing what Charlie did.
That's the beauty of hospital friendships though, and why they're so enticing, I think. When you're in hospital, you're at rock bottom, as is everyone around you. You don't have the energy to pretend anymore – you're truly yourself; your broken, fucked-up self.
And these people, these other fucked-up, beautiful people see you at your worst, most crude form and they love you anyway. And you love them.
It's the one shred of beauty, the one piece of solace in an awful situation – you get reminded by these strangers – from different places, of different ages, suffering from different invisible tortures – that you are loved, regardless of your suffering.
And that's how you begin to rebuild. I haven't seen or spoken to the friends I made in there much since being discharged, but we all agreed to stick together and be there for one another, whenever we need it.
Why didn't Charlie say he needed it?
I don't speak to them much for a reason, despite the fierce love I have for them: they remind me of my darkest, lowest point and I'm sure I remind them of theirs. But every now and then, there's a group message of love and well wishes, or the dreaded phone call like the one I just had with Jane – informing us that we've lost another member of our fucked up group.
Well, we haven't lost them – they've lost themselves to their own darkness and took the only path they could think of to end the pain.
I think that's what healthy people don't realise: that every day, those of us that are afflicted by poor mental health need to wake up and choose to fight, choose to withstand, choose to survive.
That's the road less travelled by that Frost talks about – the road to survival, the road to happiness. But the less travelled road is often winding, and overgrown and relentlessly difficult in its accessibility. But it's like a dripping tap on stone over time – it takes so long to carve out, to gain ground in the less travelled path. But eventually, the stone will get carved by the persistently dripping tap, and the road less travelled becomes easier to venture down. It all depends on the amount of water dripping from the tap, of the strength of a persons mindset though, and more often than not, medication. You just need to remember that the tap will never stop dripping, it may take time, but the stone will always cede to the water.
My tears are like a dripping tap right now – they're falling, blotting the ink on the writing in front of me, making the words run until they're indecipherable.
I need Andy I think to myself.
JUNE
"Why do you always do that?" Andy asks me, as I'm tapping my wrist in a steady, pulse-like rhythm.
"Self-soothing technique. I don't know why it helps, but it does. Whenever I feel my anxiety going up and my heart starts racing, I tap to the beat of what a normal heat rate should be."
"Does it work?"
"Sometimes. It's something to focus on, at least."
"That means you can feel a panic attack coming on right now?"
I take a slow, deep breath before answering. "Yep, but I'm lucky this time – I felt it coming on early, so hopefully I can fight it before it takes over."
"What's caused it?"
"No fucking idea, to be honest. Happens all the time. It used to happen six or seven times a day, and each one would last at least two hours. I'm down to four a day now."
"Do they get easier to deal with? Like, do you get used to them?"
"Nope – but I'm getting better at knowing when they're coming, so that helps. I guess it's kind of like being electrocuted – even though you may get zapped a million times, your body will still react the same way, every time."
"What else helps? Can I do anything?"
I smile over at him through a shaky breath. I'm glad to see that seeing me in my weaker moments doesn't change the way he regards me. He doesn't look at me like I'm a pitiful, wounded animal. He looks at me like I'm brave. It gives me the confidence to answer him without holding back.
"Depends on what I think has caused it. If I haven't been able to eat, a bit of sugar helps. If I've eaten too much, pacing. If it's from a trigger – like a smell, or a situation or whatever – then grounding"
"What the fuck is grounding?"
"like, things that bring you back to reality. Focusing on things you can see, smell or hear. Writing lists or listening to music, using my lavender roller, speaking out loud, whatever makes me get back to being in the moment. It depends on the situation though, if I have a PTSD-type attack, I hate being touched. I just need to feel protected and safe – without someone touching me. When it's just an anxiety attack, I don't mind being touched."
"And this right now is the start of an anxiety attack? Not a PTSD thing?"
"Yep"
Andy takes my wrist and starts tapping it at the same speed I had been doing. He's frowning as he counts to himself, trying to keep steady pressure and timing. It feels nice, and it also frees my hand so that I can drum my fingers over my heart.
I manage to fight off the attack before it gets its claws in me – through soothing, and grounding, and Andys presence. It's a good feeling, knowing I'm strong enough to fight it off.
JULY
Andy's in his car, waiting for me outside the police station. I get in the car silently and take a deep breath. He can tell I have bad news.
"so, what happened?" he asks me.
I tell him everything, every single detail. I tell him that there's no real possibility of anything happening, if I choose to press charges. I tell him too much time has passed, there is no way to prove lack of consent. Without Sam admitting to what he did, I have no chance. I tell him I can still make an official statement, and the police will investigate and do as much as they can, but it can drag it all out and not many people in my position choose to relive it all.
Andy stays silent as I speak, then nods to himself and brings out a sheet of paper, hands it to me, and starts driving.
"what's this?" I ask him.
"this," he responds as he pulls onto the highway, "is where we're going next. I've been researching. It's a new system for this kind of thing, called restorative justice. Read it, and let me know your thoughts"
I read it as he drives, and the more I read, the more interested I am.
It ticks all of my boxes: non-confrontational, casual setting. No records kept, so both parties are more willing to discuss the events. Gives survivors a sense of closure, and allows them to move on. Early days, but great success rates and gaining in popularity. The founder of the program, Carolyn Worth, says it's 'an opportunity for the survivor/victim to seek justice and to regain control of their life.'
Andy parks the car and looks at me. "are we doing this?" he asks me.
"we're doing this."
AUGUST
Andy is pacing up and down my street with me. It's about three in the morning, and I'd woken myself with my own screams. I needed fresh air and I needed to pace, but I'm scared of the dark now.
To try and ease the panic, I'd run myself a bath and texted Andy. He immediately told me he'd come over. Thankfully he has a key – my knees are shaking so badly, I can't walk and I still can't manage to talk, only gasp and moan in terror.
He arrived to see me in a bath, steaming hot, but shivering so hard I looked like I was having a seizure. He asked if I was okay but I couldn't answer. He left for a minute and came back with a small glass of cordial.
The sugar feels like an antidote as I sip it, and soon I can speak. I'm still shaking though, and Andy grabs the lavender oil and dabs it on my collarbones and below my ears. He shakes a few drops into the bath for good measure, too.
When the shaking finally subsides, he dresses me and takes me outside. My fear of the dark is lessened a little when I see he's left his headlights on, illuminating the street for me. With Andy beside me and in the warm glow of his headlights, I manage to calm down as the sun starts to rise.
SEPTEMBER
I'm very slowly sipping a glass of wine. I've only just started drinking again, and I'm still finding the balance between 'relaxed and social' and 'unable to control myself'.
Feeling out of control still brings me a lot of anxiety, but refusing to drink at all is in a grey area of my PTSD – am I refusing to drink because it reminds me of that night?
I'm trying to force myself to get more and more used to doing things that I actively avoided due to PTSD, but alcohol is a strange one. My psych says as long as it's a reasonable amount, at reasonable regularity, it may be a step further in reclaiming some of my social interactions and behaviours. He also warned that I need to listen to my body, be aware of its limits, and be mindful that I can never treat it as a 'medication' to whatever feelings I experience.
Andy and Nathan are drinking three beers to my one glass of wine, and quickly getting drunk. I feel a bit tipsy too – my tolerance has become non-existent after so much time without alcohol. Andy and I are doing that thing where we're trying to look sober, but every time our eyes meet, we grin because we can both tell that the other is definitely not sober.
As we walk home, Nathan is trying to balance his umbrella on his head as he lights a cigarette. Once the cigarette is lit, the umbrella rolls off his head and hits the cigarette – snapping the cigarette and burning a small hole in the umbrella.
Nathan opens the umbrella to inspect the damage. It's not too bad – just a small hole near the very edge of the umbrella. Andy and I shrug at each other – no big deal, it still works just fine.
Nathan does not share our opinion. He screams in rage, slamming the umbrella against the ground over and over again, snapping and bending it until it's nothing more than a pile of warped metal and fabric.
Nathan screams that he's going to stab someone, and my blood runs cold.
Andy tells me to go home, to leave him with Nathan.
But I can't go home – I'm still too scared to go anywhere alone, I'm still scared of the night – that's why Andy was walking me home in the first place. Nathan is still screaming, and he kicks the umbrella away and starts punching a brick wall, over and over again. Andy's yelling for him to stop but Nathan either cannot or will not listen – he's like a feral animal.
I stumble backwards and watch in horror. Andy takes a few steps towards Nathan, then realises I'm still there and tells me again to go home.
Then realisation hits him, and I know he knows I can't do that, so he runs and drags this wild, raging Nathan and pushes him around the corner, out of my line of vision. I can still hear him screaming, can still hear the sickening sound of fists on solid brick, but I can no longer see him. It makes things a little better.
Andy walks slowly, carefully towards me. I take another step back. I start gagging. My heart is beating too fast, dangerously fast.
Am I having a heart attack?
Andy stops walking.
"Lex, it's me. It's Andy. You're okay. I'm going to come and stand with you, okay?"
I can hear his words and they make sense in my head but at the same time they don't. I don't know how to talk; I can't even remember how to nod my head. Andy takes a small step towards me, watching me carefully.
"Lex, I'm going to take another step towards you now. Look at me. You're okay."
Painstakingly, he closes the gap between us.
"Lex, I'm not going to touch you or hurt you. I'm going to face away from you, so you know I won't hurt you. I'm going to stand in front of you and I won't let anyone come near you, until you're okay. Once you're okay, you're going to tap me on the shoulder. Okay?"
Andy does exactly as promised – he stands a metre in front of me, arms spread wide, shielding me from the real and imagined horrors in front of me. The adrenaline coursing through my body is making me shake so much, I think my knees will give out.
No I tell myself. Take control of yourself.
Sweat forms on my brow as I force myself to take deep, slow breaths. I force myself to acknowledge that Andy is not a threat, Andy will never be a threat to me. If I'm with Andy, I am safe.
My vision starts to focus again, and I scan the street. No danger, no need to panic. Just breathe – in for three seconds, hold three seconds, out three seconds. Breathe in – four seconds, hold four seconds, out four seconds. I go from three to nine, and back down to three. I do this six times before I tap Andy on the shoulder.
He turns, slowly, arms still out.
"Can I hug you?" he asks, tears in his eyes.
I close the distance between us and fall into the safety of his arms and breathe in his cologne.
He takes me home, makes sure I take my meds, and sleeps on the couch.
A few hours later, I wake up to my own screams. You're okay, I tell myself. No one is here.
Only this time, someone is here. My heart stops. A man is leaning over me, their face in the shadows. I'm still dreaming. This is just a dream.
I take a deep breath, preparing to scream myself awake once more.
"Lex?"
I am awake. It's Andy. I burst into tears.
"Shit, Lex, I'm so sorry for scaring you. I was knocking on the door but you were still screaming and I thought someone was in here and I –"
He stops talking when he sees my arms reach out towards him, and he leans forward and hugs me tightly. I pull him, so he's laying beside me.
"Stay with me?" I ask him.
"Of course." He replies.
"Promise?"
"I promise."