Arcadian Lady

Nonsensical Narcissism.


About Me

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London, United Kingdom
Arrogant and self obsessed. I talk a lot but not about anything that matters. Sometimes I wish I was dead.

Friday 30 April 2010

Waking Up




This is a short story I wrote for class. Hope you like it.

‘I will act as I have been known to act. To sing the tune or dance with the monkey. There’s something on my back. It leans, distant but familiar, and mutters seductively into my ears. You want this. He’s right, I do.

More than a desire, a need, a must.

There is little choice in this for me now.’

She could feel her tainted blood coursing through her body. Her pulse was in her ears, her heart in her mouth. The corners of reality were beginning to blur and soon and it would be too late. Her hands shook as she reached for the book. This notebook seemed especially appropriate, the stories of times before were woven throughout its pages. Every beginning-and-middle-and-end story from primary school to every self indulgent sonnet could be found here and now it was to see the end; the last mark of her life, her final indentation on this earth: “forget me”. She wanted to write WAKE ME UP! MAKE ME BETTER! But those words never came. Instead the pen seemed to sculpt letters into the page with little input from her head. The words would change nothing but she wanted to say goodbye.

You have to know this wasn’t about you. You couldn’t have done anything, nor did I want you to. I knew you were there, but I didn’t talk. Don’t blame yourself. I know you tried your best, you all did. This world just wasn’t made for me. It was made for you. Enjoy it. –Ella.

The fog cleared to bleeping monitors and wrist straps but the crippling disappointment of her own failure weighed heavier than any hospital restraint.

She looked down in vague confusion at the fabric wrapped around her wrists. Its off-white contrasted with the clinically whitewashed walls giving them an indistinctly dirty look. Suddenly she wanted them off, to stop them touching her. Yanking her arms away and sitting up she attracted to attention of a woman who was standing three beds away.

“Let me go” she said through gritted teeth, still straining at the dirty beige fabric. “Why am I tied up?”

“Please stop pulling at the straps. I’m Janet, the staff-nurse for this ward. The doctor will be here soon and then he’ll decide what happens next.”

“I want to go home please.”

“The doctor will decide that dear”.

“Decide what? I’m going home.”

Staff-nurse Janet wandered off vaguely into the next room.

“I wouldn’t bother, you know” said a voice from behind a curtain to her left.

“What?” She was distracted, still trying to undo the grimy strips binding her to the little metal cot.

“Pulling at the straps. Unless you’ve got a blade they won’t undo. Everyone tries, and some of them are an awful lot stronger than you!” The voice, and its owner came around from behind the curtain. “Hello, I’m Sally, so, what are you in for?” The small blonde girl jumped onto her bed and sat cross legged, looking sympathetically at Ella’s wrists. “Don’t worry, they tie everyone up at the beginning. They’ll let you go, just don’t say anything silly to the doctor.”

“She’s not a wrist cutter, or they’d be ankle straps. Maybe an OD? There’s no bruising so she’s not tried to hang herself.”

Another girl had wandered into her cubicle, smiled at Sally and stared at Ella quietly judging.

“Or if she did try a hanging it wasn’t very seriously! This is Sarah by the way, she’s the other side of you.”

“Why aren’t you both tied to your beds?”

But Sarah had gone.

“I was, but I’ve been here weeks now. They can’t keep you down that long! Oh and don’t mind about Sarah, she gets a little protective over who I talk to!” Sally laughed and Ella wondered if she was a little unhinged. Then panic swirled through her senses. WEEKS! She couldn’t be kept here weeks could she? She tasted metal as the beginnings of a panic attack assaulted her body. Her hands shook while the rushing of her own distress sounded in her ears.

“You alright?” Sally looked concerned but slightly amused all the same. “Don’t panic, everyone gets worried at the start but its ok. They’ll fix you.”

“Fix me? I just want to go home”.

“No you don’t. You’re just scared. What you wanted is to die, remember? That’s why you’re here. Why did you want that?”

“None of your business.” Ella sniffed and turned away

“Well I’ll find out anyway. Its group time at 4. You either wanted to go to a different place, or for all the shit to stop right?”

“Yeah...”

“Well then! This is the perfect place for you! It’s different and they’ll put you on meds to stop the shit. Bingo!”

“You seem awfully well informed. How many times have you been here?”

“Plenty!” Sally laughed again but this time Ella looked closer under the laugh there was just a hint of something deeper, something more. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Ella. What happened to you then?” Ella was interested now, she didn’t feel sorry for Sally exactly, but she was fascinated by her.

“Uh, you first! We’ve already established no wrist or throat action. Sarah reckons OD. SARAH?” Sally raised her voice slightly, looking in the direction Sarah had wandered off. Ella looked around looking surprised. “It’s ok, she’s only sitting outside, listening.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, she gets...protective.” Jesus, she thought. What kind of a freakshow was this place?! “Sarah? What do you reckon the OD was?”

“Painkillers” came the reply. Her wispy voice snaked in from under the curtain.

“Five?” asked Sally.

“Yeah alright.” Then silence. Sarah had gone back to listening silently to their conversation.

“Ok...I’m gonna go for sleeping pills. What was it?”

“What are you talking about?” Ella had stopped following this conversation once she’d imagined Sarah crouched just behind the curtain. Both her and Sally were dressed differently to Ella. Not pyjamas exactly, but definitely indoor clothing. Tracksuit bottoms with bed socks and big cardigans. Suddenly Ella felt naked. The NHS issue paper gown wasn’t exactly modest.

Back at the conversation Sally was getting impatient to know if she’s won the bet.

“It was painkillers” She admitted, reluctantly.

“Oooh, gutted!” Sally exclaimed. “Ok, Sarah? Double or quits on what type?”

“Paracetemol” came the reply. Quietly confident.

“She’s usually right, I don’t know why I challenge her! I’ll go for codine.” She looked expectantly at Ella who was beginning to feel like a fairground attraction.

“Paracetemol”

“I should have known! You’re such a rookie! They always go for the obvious. Damn it. Alright Sarah” Sally looked back at the curtain, “I owe you ten”.

“What do you use money for in here? The gift shop?!”

“Not money silly. Ten cigarettes, not ten pounds!”

“Sarah, off the floor, c’mon. What have I told you about listening to Sally’s conversations? Janet had come back into the room, she pulled back the green plastic sheets, more like shower than hospital curtains. “Sally, back to your bed now. The doctor’s here to see Elena.”

“It’s Ella. That’s what people call me.”

“Ok dear. Sally? Scram!”

Sally jumped off Ella’s bed and popped behind the curtain to Ella’s right: “Later Ella”.

The doctor stepped next to the bed and Ella began to panic. What should she say? Sally had told her not to be stupid. But what was stupid?

“There’s nothing to worry about, just tell me what happened before you came here.”

“I didn’t come here, I was taken-“

“Ok, ok” the doctor soothed, “Before you were found. Do you remember? What happened?”

“Oh, you know...” She said vaguely.

“Yes, I do know, but I need to hear it from you. The sooner you cooperate the sooner we can sort this out.”

“Nothing happened” She lied. “It was an accident...”

He arms and legs bore the marks of years of abuse but that night she had chopped into her legs thinking it would be the last time. Ella felt like crying as she began to remember exactly how she had felt that night. Her memory was fuzzy but the emotions she’d felt came crashing back and punched her in the chest. There were meant to be no mistakes. She’d counted out the pills on the desk. Two, four, six. Lining them up in mouthfuls. One hundred and twenty two, one hundred and twenty four. Enough. That was meant to be enough. It had been a hysterical last minute decision, not even thinking to leave a note until after her head begun to swim. Her head had swum as tears and blood dripped. Her wounds already clotting as the blackness descended.

There was silence in the cubicle. The doctor looked at her expectantly. She could only manage three words. A question she needed to ask but she was unsure whether she could handle the answer.

“Who found me?”

She’d known it wasn’t foolproof. It wasn’t definite. But she’d felt a prevailing hope. Ella hadn’t wanted to wake up. The disappointment crashed over her like waves crushing the smallest sailing boat. She’d meant for this to be for real. The lock on the door, the sharper blade and over a hundred liver destroying tablets were intended to be the end. Instead, the axe of her terrors merely scraped along the surface of her dreams. The terror of living had triumphed. The dream had been to die, just to slip away into the darkness.

She knew what she wanted to be in this world, she knew it was the only way she could be happy. She wanted to be dead.

“Ella? Ella? Wake up!” She could just about hear the outlines of words through the darkness which was beginning to swell in her mind. The blackness pressed inwards as Ella lost consciousness.

‘This desire will be my downfall. As this urge comes from deep within myself I suppose I will unstoppably cause my own demise.’

Thursday 29 April 2010

Would you rather have mouths instead of hands or a hand instead of a face? Lots of Love Aisling....I mean, Anonymous.

If I had mouths instead of hands, what would my face look like?
Would I have mouths? That would be pretty awesome, I reckon I'll go with that. Yumm.
Good question Aisli- sorry, Anon ;)
xx

Ask me bonkers stuff. Whatever you likes.

Wednesday 28 April 2010

No new poems on the site. Hurry up, am waiting! Not a question but what the fuck!

I'M really sorry, I've just felt kind of stunted at them moment. The black cloud of depression has really hit. If I don't die I'll try and write you something.

Ask me bonkers stuff. Whatever you likes.

Friday 26 March 2010

Sunday 31 January 2010

Love Hates Fear


Love is a demon possession of the soul.
It flails, twisting and writhing
While inside I’m screaming and dying.

Love is a chemical imbalance in the brain.
It confuses, unsettled and fizzing
While my insides are bubbling and whizzing.

Love is a mystery to everyone here.
It flutters, glittering, twirling
While inside my senses are swirling.

Hate is an entirely human emotion.
It seizes, furious and gripping
While inside the bile is diving and dipping.

Hate is able to break your world.
It swells, spreading and filling
While inside I’m punching and killing.

Hate finds trouble in peacetime.
It grows, jealous and loud
While inside I swallow and don’t make a sound.

Fear is a psychological burn.
It’s silent, restraining but physically weak
While inside I’m smaller and emotionally meek.

Fear is a medical condition.
It’s present, anaesthetized but grave
While inside I can feel strong and brave.

Feel is both fleeting and final.
It crumbles, all bravery is eaten
While inside I’m bold, I won’t be beaten.

Sunday 3 January 2010

The Edge of Sanity


Sleep through the sun but wake up to the moon

Life cycle full cycle 30 degree wash-

Right foot, left shoe, laces tied inside out

Screaming kisses and hatred hugs.


On the verge, the edge or the cliff

Jumping off the cliff

Dying, diving, swimming, drowning.


Barrel? Barrage? Bucket?

More contradictions than are counted.

Rhyming, whining, scheming.

Myself and others, falling leaning-

Drop?


Burying head- sand or duvet?

Tiny stresses and massive moans.


Bath or shower, get dressed, stay dressed.

Not sexy. No sex. Just love? All love.

Sadness, isolated, thrilled and excitable.


Mixing a life, a cake, a soup.

Veg, flour, eggs and emotion,

Emotional eggs? Fragility ensues

Through life and the universe, as tears

Splash.

Wednesday 30 December 2009

Wristbands


For SI awareness:

Hiding cuts with recovery wrist bands,
Covering all flesh from shoulder to knee.
We wonder if this secret can be kept forever,
Living in fear that someone might see

While at the same time crying out,
Wanting love and support through the pain.
But no one would believe us, or no one would care
So we cut and we hide- all over again.

When you see somebody in the August sun,
Long sleeves and jeans covering skin-
Spare a just a moment to remember:
We are more than our scarres, we are what's within.

Lovely People

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