I've been trying to think how to structure this one, because it's quite a... I'm not sure. I'm not sure how I feel about it or where to even start to answer that, to crack my indomitable defenses. The bones? A night that has happened a hundred times. Drunk. Unconscious. An ambulance. Feral fear. Police, for the primitive. And then, from there... they, well. They weren't all that nice. I am not, oh God believe me I'm not, a spoilt brat. I wish I was. The nuthut refused to take me (too mental for the mental ward, of that I am proud) and so I ended up in a cell, under yet another Section 136. Cuffs, restraints, constant supervision. Released only due to my expert workings of the system, the scripted words I know will prevent a longer lasting 'detainment under the Mental Health Act' than just a Section 136. And even then, I had to fight hard for this freedom; each word deliberate, each response measured.
Every time somebody asks me how I feel about it, mostly I just say sore. And I do, I am sore. My arms are so swollen from 18 hours cuffed behind my back that I have permanent pins and needles in my hands, and I can't lift my hands higher than my head or to do up my bra strap or anything. I can't drink without a straw because I can't tip the glass. My legs, restrained for hours, so many hours, are black and blue and keep mutinying and refusing to hold me. I'm stiff, so stiff; I feel about 80.
You know, I think that sums it up; how do I feel? I feel 80. Mentally, physically. I feel like I've lived too much and then not much at all, like 80 years in a single room, with just a small window out into the world. Watching, always watching. I've seen too much and I know too much and I have so much horror within me. I was asked by a social worker yesterday, not long before I was released, whether I was always so chirpy, whether I felt negatively about the night- how could a person in my situation be so happy. Isn't that funny? Sweet. I don't know whether I'm happy or not, the outside seems to suck all the sunshine, I'm...
The bones, the bones. Thinking about it's draining me, I'm sorry I really do have a lot more to say, I know this, the story and all the garbled half sentences, isn't at all interesting but I have so much to say that I need to type out. Some bad, some surreal, some genuinely funny. But this is harder to write than I thought it'd be and I think I need to leave this here. So think of this as half a two parter and I'll think, hope, that the night itself wasn't.