Bleeding for Mercy

A rivulet of blood turned into a stream and then a puddle on the floor of my room. I knew I had gone deeper then I'd meant to, and I didn't care that much. There was a messy criss-cross of cuts and slashes all over her forearms, where only minutes earlier there had been pale unblemished skin. Making no attempt to hide my arms, or the blood, I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes. Behind my lids I saw swirls of colors.1

I could hear someone coming up the stairs through the closed door of my room. my door was supposed to be open at all times. It was one of the rules that the treatment facility heavily enforced. I was sick of all the rules. 2

Through the wood of the door I could hear the footsteps coming closer and closer to the second floor landing that my room was acoss from. I knew that as soon as the footsteps reached the landing I would be discovered by who ever the footsteps belonged to.3

The blood wasn't slowing, and there was a lot of it all over my arms, the floor, and the bed. I made no attempt to hide the razor that I wasn't even supposed to have. 4

My secret hope was that staff would see the cuts and understand that I wasn't ready to go home yet. Yes. You heard me right. I didn't want to go home. Staff at the treatment facility knew that I didn't want to go home, but they thought it was just me being overly nervous. After all one of my many diagnosis was 'Generalized Anxiety Disorder' so it made sense that I was scared. Of course the real reason I didn't want to go home had to do with my mom.5

Most people think of dad's as being the abusers. In my family it was my mom. She called me names, swore at me, and hit and kicked me a lot. In public she acted like the perfect mom. In family therapy sessions she talked a lot about how concerned she was for me, and how she couldn't wait for me to be ready to come home. Everyone thought my mom was this amazing person. Believe me, she's not.6

I told all the staff the truth, but they never believe the mentally ill kid. I must be lying to them. They were planning on sending me home anyway.7

The footsteps reached the landing. When I heard them speed up and come towards my room. I knew I was about to be discovered. My heart began to ram against my ribs. 8

There were three sharp raps on my door.9

"Yes?" I called out. My voice sounded strained and scared. I couldn't control the tremble in it.10

"You need to open your door Jillian. You know the rules."11

Standing up I walked toward the door leaving a trail of blood behind me and the razor still in plain view on the bed. My hands slipped around on the knob becuase they were covered in dark red blood.12

"I can't get it open." I told the staff on the other side. 13

"Stop playing games with me," the staff snapped.14

"I really can't open it." I tried not to cry as I spoke.15

The door swung open and the staff named Kathryn stood in front of me. Her hand twitched at her side as her eyes took in the bloody room and the depth of the cuts on my forearm. Neither of us spoke for a very long thirty seconds. 16

Finally Kathryn opened her mouth and called down the stairs.17

"Somebody get Dave up here immediately."18

Dave was the unit manager. He was in charge of all the girls that lived in my particular house. My heart was slamming around even harder.19

Dave ran up the stairs and was panting when he got to my room. He took in the scene and then immediately went into action.20

"Kathryn, go downstairs and call 911, then call the on-call therapist and let them know what's going on. I'll stay with Jillian and call if I need help with her."21

I just stood there silently. Dave took another long look at me.22

"Why did you do this?" he asked23

Without thinking twice I spit out the words I'd rehearsed over and over in my head. 24

"I just want to die. I'd rather die then go home."25

My statement was the truth.