Room

By Daisy Lawrence

I am lying face down and upside down on this narrow bed, the first time I have moved from a tight foetus position in hours, possibly all day. My feet are tucked under the pillow, my hand trails on the floor and from this new viewpoint out of the corner of my eye I see her. Well I say her, but I have no idea really if it is, just an instinct to think of it as her. She is moving quite slowly which is a surprise as I always thought they sort of scuttled, you know quickly, but this a sedate yet deliberate march from where? I don’t know, possibly under the bed, anyway she continues to the far corner of the room and then stops. I daren’t look away in case I lose sight of her. Surely, she will disappear the second I blink and then I will be alone again.

What seems like hours pass, she must be sleeping, how fascinating to stay so still for so long. I really need a wee but manage to make the urge go away for quite a long time. I wonder why she has chosen this corner, has she felt me watching and frozen in fear? Oh, I do hope not. I slowly stretch a leg in the air, someone puts their head round the door to inform me that I will miss lunch if I don’t go “like now ok”, but I can’t eat anyway. I manage to get away with pushing half a Weetabix round a bowl at breakfast and then hide at the other mealtimes as best as I can. They’re onto me now though so someone sits with me to ensure I at least eat something, and they come into my room with the meds and check I’ve swallowed. Years ago, at a different hospital I used to save them under my tongue and hide them in my pillowcase. Then I took about three weeks’ worth in one go but the only effect was that I felt a bit queasy which was disappointing, I expected something a lot more dramatic than that.

So anyway, by now I urgently have to go to the bathroom so unless I piss the bed (which by the way I have done before but I’m not quite in that truly desperate state right now) I’m going to have to move. I send a silent plea, please, please, a thousand times please, stay where you are. After a super quick piss without bothering to wipe I creep back into the room, slowly lower myself back onto the bed and MIRACLE she is still there. Now I’m worried, is she dead? I tip toe to the corner, the floor is not all that clean, it is quite dusty in the spot she’s chosen, but as I lean over to what, check she’s breathing? She’s only about the size of a tea bag, do they even have nostrils or mouths I wonder. Oh shit! She moves, I’m gonna lose her but no it’s ok she just climbs up the chair leg under the window and as I shift slightly to keep her in my line of vision I suddenly see in a shaft of sunlight a web, diagonally woven making a triangle from the underside of the chair. You really wouldn’t know it was there unless you were looking. It’s all the clichés minus the shining dew or raindrop. Intricate, delicate, strong, perfect, and quite marvellous.

This is the first thing I have marvelled at in an exceptionally long time, months, and months in fact. Maybe there is hope for me after all, a normal human feeling poking through the grimy, grey mind fog. I sit on the floor and keep watch over her, I fancy that we are communicating deep secrets to each other. I wonder are they nocturnal as she seems happy just hanging there. Then I get fearful, what if she gets sucked up in a hoover or trodden on. I can’t open the window in my room obviously so I can’t save her that way. I will be brave for her, I decide that possibly tomorrow I can try to ask for an escorted walk outside in the garden, surely a natural death would be better than something awful happening in this nuthouse. I take my pillow and blanket and sleep on the floor that night. We are friends, I know she understands.

Painted a grubby green, single bed, a chair

This place was built to keep us safe, to contain pain

You can only let it out in digestible chunks

For available staff.

There’s quite a pretty view, lake, ducks, weeping willow

Just don’t look inside my head

Healing? Don’t make me laugh, anyway the budget wouldn’t stretch

To that kind of visionary aim.

My own terror mingles with all manner of psychosis

Bits of it stuck to the ceiling and

Lots hiding under the bed

But there you go that’s NHS cleaning.

I’m never sure whose nightmares wake me up screaming

There are an infinite number, all vying for attention.

But rules are rules and I’m already on the max amount

Of milligrams.

I spend my days watching the small spider in the corner

As she calmly goes about her business

Spinning, miraculously creating

I trust her, I tell her everything.