There's is one word that is guaranteed to make me violent. People here don't believe me when I tell them exactly how UNviolent I am- I was a literal and total pacifist this time a year ago- because when I'm drunk I suddenly become this northern stereotype and start punching people. Thing is, at home I would never do owt like that and here it's all in jest, I am just a total twat when I'm drunk. And sober, really. Shhh.
I don't especially want to go into the story of what happened to me on Thursday night, because for you to understand it you really have to know certain things about me that I'm not actually so keen to write about in my blog. You thought I had no limits, right? Sorry to shatter your allusions, but truly I do, they're just further than most people's and this may be where the line is drawn. Basically, a lot of tiny events added up on the night to send me over the edge, events that would BOTHER anybody else and piss them off and maybe even ruin their night, but what would be forgotten by morning.
But for me, these events added up to leave me being collected from my mate's flat at 5am Friday morning, after having an ambulance and two police cars called out. Events that left me hand-cuffed to a hospital bed and with two policemen constantly with me so I couldn't escape. If you are ever in a hospital and you see a terrified looking girl in that situation, don't you dare judge her. Don't you dare. Even if she is drunk. Even if she is trying to escape and begging for her release- not everybody with the police is a criminal, some people are the opposite. Some people are ill. But that's not what I wanted to write about.
Even when you think you know somebody, you don't. I know everybody says that- don't think you know me- but it's honestly true. Think about me and how much you know about me. You know (or maybe you don't exactly, but no doubt you could work it out) the illnesses that clog up my medical notes. You may know all the stories about my past; I am NOT ashamed of my history and I am NOT going to hide it, the stories from my past go a way to explaining who I am now and sometimes I think people need to hear them. Maybe, maybe, you actually know how I feel about my body, how it's so much more complicated than me thinking I'm fat- how sometimes I'm afraid of how my body ISN'T hideous and my terror of it being attractive. You know who my best friends are and that I write. And so, what? You think that is all? You think stories, a few feelings and possibly the fact that your mate saw me drunk in the laundrette is who I am? You think that that diagnoses and a written mark on the internet make up a human being? Let me tell you, they don't.
I bet you didn't know that it's not milk, but being sectioned that is my biggest fear. I'm sure you can guess why, given what happened in June and everything. But I bet you didn't know that when faced with that, when a medical professional threatens me with that, I will get very, very violent as my mind tries to think of a way of getting out, so that I can kill myself before that happens. That there is not a single thing I wouldn't do to avoid that, because if they section me my prospects suddenly end and everything I have worked for will be a waste. And so, any medics out there... when you get called to a girl having a severe panic attack, don't threat her with section, just because she has a complicated background. Don't mention the S word. THERE IS NO NEED. Watch your words, you might as well call me fat, for the reaction you will get.
I'd say probably the worst part of the whole thing was being such a bloody disaster in front of a girl I have known less than a fortnight. This is EXACTLY what I was saying in my last post, I can trust people entirely to look after me, but I hadn't realised how much I resent having to. Not them, obviously- I have massive respect for Willis and I am so ashamed and embarrassed over the whole thing, because no nineteen year old should be forced to watch a girl she's known 10 days in that situation. It's heavy, it's very heavy. Me, I look at it like physical illness- if Willis had a hypo (if she was diabetic, obviously), I would look after her. But the type of thing that happened on Thursday is not pretty and it's not... Oh, I don't know. I'm babbling. I just feel like I should constantly be apologising and I hate being so dependant. I hate not being in control. I hate the feeling that people are already obliged to stand by me because I'm so bloody mental.
I also hate that there are already rumours going about about what happened on Thursday, but we'll save that for another entry.