The hall of fame (and other bodily functions)
I was the rain beating up against the window of sunshine that woke me up
the next day. Yet another reminder of how truly stupid and redundant the names
for all of the rooms were. Needless to say there wasn’t one called pissing it down or hell on earth, neither had the room tranquillity been renamed death as I had previously suggested to
one of the staff who gave me a good telling off.
With a sigh I pulled myself to a seating position and swore at the rain
for waking me up early. Something about apple gate house just seemed to have
bad luck with the weather, it didn’t feel all that long ago that the sun
dancing over my face had done the same thing but the raging summer had
defiantly packed its bags now, Christmas was coming and all the things that
went with it. The happiness, the belief that for one day there could be peace
on earth and of course we were all told
to spare a thought for those who were less fortunate, people in third world countries, the children dying
from dirty water and the mother who can’t get to a hospital. Children under our
vary noses that were hurt at the hands of abusive parents but in reality no one
really ever thought of any of that. Fairy lights had a habit of camouflaging
pain, or at least as humans we all knew when a fake smile had to be applied in
a double layer. Even my mother would try at Christmas. Would buy luxury food and
some presents and even for a few minutes thought Jesus was going to be her
savour before she found that vodka tasted sweeter and took less belief.
Sighing to myself and trying to tell myself that things could change I wrapped
my bright pink Hello kitty dressing
gown that Esmee had bought me from my DLA money around me, scribbled a note to
the staff the I had gotten up early so was going to steal a shower so they didn’t
freak out when they came to wake me up and found I wasn’t there, then made my
way to the bathroom.
The second floor bathroom coincidently also contained the guest book, or
more accurately the guest wall. For some
reason in this most unlikely of places staff had dedicated one of the sunshine
yellow walls as a mural of past “gaters” to sign their names with permanent
marker when they left and if they wished to write something small and positive or
inspirational about their recovery it was welcomed. It was the wall of fame for
the ones who survived. If you managed to have your name written on it, it meant
your psychiatrist had signed on the dotted line and you had your ticket out of
there. If you had failed, if you left in
a hurry … or in a casket, your name was erased from the buildings memory. Suicides
were not rewarded, not even if before the last brutal act you had been fighting
the losing battle for years. You would be denied the tiny place on the sunshine
walls of the second floor bathroom. There was where you could be immortalised for
a life time if you were good and strong but let’s face it, it was hardly Hollywood’s
walk of fame. If you earned a place on that wall, you were still in the gutter.
