Internal Lies

by Megan Mason

  ‘I dare you to.’ He said

  ‘No!’ Kat screamed. She woke herself at 4.30 AM exactly, screeching a horrific sound that would pierce the ears of a deaf person. The dream had been so lucid that Kat rapidly scoped the room for her pursuer only to realize that she was lying in her bed safely tucked under the duvet. The dreams were occurring more frequently now and Kat was beginning to fear sleep. Sleep, one of the most vital things to maintain good health was now acting out an unhealthy drama in her mind. Her mother ignored her this time, Kat wouldn’t talk to her about her issues. Although, her mother worried gravely as Kat seemed to be getting worse. The clock was ticking a deathly sound, time was running out. The desperation grew each moment stronger and stronger as Kat felt the need to end it. She needed something to numb the pain, something that would end it permanently. But there was nothing. Her breathing hastened as she remembered and her vision began to blur from the lack of oxygen. She quickly ran into the bathroom, lifting the toilet seat up she hurled greatly into the bowl. What was happening to her? Kat had never felt so unwell. The only issue she had was the fact that she’d been raped. Raped. An action that was so crude it turned her stomach as she hurled again. Kat’s pallor paled as she limped herself onto the floor in a fetal position clutching at her stomach. The pain was dreadful, she could hear banging in her mind so loud that her head throbbed. Throbbed like a pulse thumped after running. She washed her face with cold water and headed back to bed.

  Kat had begun to view things differently. The world seemed black and red. Her skin felt like ice and there was no way she could warm herself. After showers and baths, she still didn’t feel clean. Tragically scarred for life. His filthy lies of having ‘sources’, of knowing things, of if she were to tell anyone… was all an act of manipulation. Yet… Kat couldn’t see this. She felt it to be true. Since being off work she had received text messages from him questioning her whereabouts and whether they were still friends. Why had she given him her contact details? She feared the worst. She feared he’d knock at her door. She feared for her life if she were to fight him… if she were to take control. After all, it was all a game of domination. He hadn’t really cared about her feelings. He hadn’t cared about her mental state, about her depression that she’d just so happened to confide in him about. He’d said ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ He wasn’t sorry at all. Harry lacked sympathy, empathy and most of all compassion. He was working in the wrong industry, he’d better suit a politician or in laboring, something that didn’t involve people's lives where they would depend on him to be courteous and helpful.

  The sun beamed in her face as she lay on the grass caressing the daisies. She wore a blue sundress and her hair flounced over her shoulders in loose curls. The meadow was occupied by sparrows and the birds sung their morning song. His fingers traced her jaw delicately. She was mesmerized by his beauty. He nibbled her ear, as she felt the shock she jumped out of the hypnosis. Suddenly… she realized that she was trapped and unable to move. Kat was back in the linen cupboard pinned against the wooden frame that held towels, sheets, duvet covers, pillowcases and toiletries. She lay on the floor where he took her over and over again. It never stopped.

  The torrential rain hammered on the window that afternoon and the thunder crackled through the clouds as lightning jolted the earth alive. A week had passed were Kat had not moved from her bed. The thought of stepping foot outdoors was more terrifying than death. The thought of attending work was even more frightening than going outdoors. Fatigue engulfed her. Her passiveness about the situation with Harry corrupted her more than the incident. Why had she not fought harder? Days passed. Weeks. Months. It was time before Kat found something for the pain. She wrote a letter and left it aside on her bed. She sat cross-legged on the floor. Then she swallowed one, two, three… thirty Paracetamol. And that was the last thing she remembered.

  Dear Mum,

  I can’t go on. Not like this. Life is too painful. I’m so sorry to cause you such grief but please look after Molly, Arnold, and yourself most importantly. I thank you for everything you’ve done for me, and all that you sacrificed to give me this life. But this emptiness, this torture, this pain is all too much to bare. Don’t cry over me. I want you to remember the good times and cherish them. None of this is because of you. Please don’t ever think that.

  I love you.

  Kat xx

  Her mum found her on the floor of her bedroom. It took a moment for Laura to react. She noticed two empty blister packs of Paracetamol broken at all points. She checked to see if Kat was responsive. No response. Laura squealed, ‘KAT! NO!’ Checking her pulse, she felt a small beat once every three seconds, Kat was bradycardic. Luckily though, she wasn’t dead… at least not yet.

  Laura quickly swiped her mobile out of her pocket and dialed 999. ‘Hello! My daughter is unresponsive!’ She exclaimed urgently.

  ‘Okay is the patient breathing’, the man on the phone queried.

  ‘YES! You need to hurry though her pulse is weak!’

  ‘Yes, yes… is the patient responsive?’

  ‘NO!’ Laura was getting rather agitated now.

  ‘Okay, and what appears to be the problem?’

  ‘My daughter has taken an overdose.’ Laura mumbled sadly.

  ‘Sorry can you repeat that?’

  ‘MY DAUGHTER TOOK AN OVERDOSE!’

  ‘Please calm down madam, the paramedics are on their way.’ Laura hung up the phone. She rechecked her daughter’s pulse and tapped her face, pulling her eyelids open. ‘Please wake up, please’, she cried. ‘I never thought it was this bad!’

  In a matter of minutes, the ambulance arrived. Kat was transferred onto a stretcher where they shined a torch in her eyes to check for the nervous system's response. The response was minimal if any, a very slight constriction in the pupils was barely visible. The team quickly transferred her down the stairs and into the van, blurring the sirens as they drove to accident and emergency. By this point, Laura was distraught. She wailed over her daughter, pleading ‘Please be okay, pleeeaaseee. You have to be okay!’. She had noticed the note that Kat had left. As she read it the tears began to flow silently down her pale cheeks. Of course, she had already guessed Kat’s plan when she found her with the empty packets. Yet now she had full evidence of the source. She was facing the truth head on. Her stomach flipped as she felt nauseous. She had never prepared for anything like this. She had always thought that Kat was stronger than this.

  A girl appeared before Kat’s eyes. She didn’t speak a word, just simply glared at her as if she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The girl looked about fifteen and seemed to have an aura so bright it was almost blinding however, Kat was comforted by this. The girl wore a white dress and a white lily flower crown around her forehead, over her pretty dark blonde locks. Behind her appeared a feathered mess that when she turned to walk away, it showed that they were sprouting out of her back. An angel?

  Kat had stopped breathing by the time the paramedics had reached the trauma unit. She was wheeled into resuscitation department hastily. The crash team began thirty chest compressions followed by two rescue breaths. They repeated this. Again. And again. And again. The doctor injected adrenaline. They were losing hope. Final attempt…

  Suddenly, there was a gasp as Kat drew a breath, the heart rate monitor immediately sounded to give warning that the emergency care had been successful. Still… they didn’t have much time to act before she would be gone forever.

  Laura had been asked to wait in the lobby. She paced the sixteen square metre floor anxiously. She knew Kat’s condition was critical yet she wasn’t aware that her daughter had just passed and been resuscitated back to life. Without her knowledge, it would be hours before someone would provide her information regarding Kat’s condition. The lobby was plain and without a cafeteria nearby. Laura attempted sitting, standing, lying but nothing seemed to ease her restlessness. Would her daughter live? The walls were blue and the ceiling blocks of white squares showing
age as some were jostled out of place. Purple signs hung from them directing people to AMU, X-ray, Trauma, Critical Care and ICU. Nurses and doctors rushed back and forth, some were documenting, others rushing patients through on trolleys. Paramedics stood waiting eagerly for their own patients to be admitted in order to relieve them of their duty. Healthcare assistants chatted as they stocked a trolley with sheets, pads, and toiletries. The chairs were linked together and made from iron. They were cold to sit on as Laura would shiver each time she sat. How much longer would they be?

  Laura began to phase out into a world of her own, remembering Kat as a small child playing with her mother’s hair. She remembered how Kat used to say ‘when I grow up mummy, I want to be a hairdresser!’. Only to discover that Kat decided to work in the healthcare industry instead. Kat had loved to spend her time in creative ways. She’d always enjoyed drawing, painting, stringing beads, and collaging. The girl had also loved to bake. She would bake cakes with her grandma every Saturday at the age of ten. Age eleven, she became interested in dance where she won two trophies at competitions held in their local church. Kat also had passion for music where she expressed herself through popular ballads up until age thirteen when she started to enjoy bands like Paramore, Flyleaf and Evanescence as she felt her emotions divulging as she sang along.

  Kat had hated high school as opposed to being excited about it in primary. However, the girl experienced some intense bullying where bottles were thrown as the boys yelled ‘GOTH!’ and ‘EMO!’. Of course, Kat had enjoyed dressing in black and white to express her love for the scene and emo fashion but never had she fit the stereotypical lifestyle of an ‘emo’. Kat did not feel suicidal at thirteen. In fact, she fell for a boy in her class who was her best friend. She loved him. He had light brown locks, blue eyes and was a little short. His slim frame would carry a band t-shirt and stonewashed jeans. He valued Kat greatly although, she never knew it. Sometimes, he would act as if he couldn’t care less and other times he would talk to her for days on end, sharing music, watching episodes of South Park and laughing at other people they attended school with.

  The team of nurses and doctors inserted a small tube through Kat’s mouth down the esophagus and into her stomach. They began to aspirate her stomach, removing the toxic substances from which she’d deliberately taken, curing the damage that had been self-inflicted.

  The tears rolled down Laura’s cheeks as she re-read the words of the note that Kat had left. She prayed that her daughter would survive and hoped that God would have mercy. Laura wasn’t particularly religious however, at times like these she would turn to faith as a coping mechanism. It had been hours before the doctor came out of the treatment room to speak with Laura. Yet, for her it had felt like a life time had passed. ‘I believe Katrina Dine is your daughter?’ Queried the doctor who held a piece of paper in front of him. His purple scrubs flowed off his slim frame and his shoes were splattered with some sort of liquid. ‘Yes, yes, how is she?’ Persisted Laura eagerly.

  ‘She will be fine however, we did have to resuscitate her and perform a gastric lavage… a procedure also known as stomach pumping.’

  Laura stared into the empty space in astonishment, grief, and relief. The team had brought Kat back to life. Laura was lost for words. They had saved her daughter’s life. ‘Oh my word! … Thank you so much doctor!’ exclaimed Laura. She suddenly felt lightheaded.

  ‘No thanks needed. Although, considering the damage was intense we would like to keep her in for monitoring her organ functions. She is very lucky not to have brain damage due to the lack of oxygen from resuscitation. She was…’ the doctor hesitated, ‘gone for a while. In fact approximately for ten minutes. We worry that the drug overdose may have caused Katrina some liver problems. We also believe that this may have been an attempted suicide from your description of the nature, and it would be best that we refer Katrina to our Crisis Team.’

  ‘Of course doctor’, sighed Laura.

  ‘However…’, the doctor hesitated for a moment, ‘we may have to perform surgery and remove part of her stomach. The damage has been severe and of course, she must remain on medication for a long period of time as the overdose seems to have caused long term damage to both her esophagus and sphincter where she may begin to suffer acid reflux. Therefore, omeprazole shall be prescribed immediately. We are concerned though about prescribing medication in fear that she may overdose in the future…’

  ‘I fear that too.’

  ‘However, we are doing the best we can for your daughter Ms Dine. We believe the crisis team can really help her with depression. The plan is to give a week's prescription at a time to ensure that she is not within reach of overdosing as extensively as she has done.’

  ‘By God I hope so! When can I see her?’

  ‘I’m afraid first we need to operate. However, most importantly, due to you being her next of kin, we need your consent to go ahead.’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘Please… sign this document to give your consent’. Laura posed her signature rapidly, thanking the doctor as she returned the form.

  Kat was rushed to theatre on the trolley that she had been transferred on into A&E. They injected her with general anaesthetic and began to cut away the section of the stomach that had been eroded by the overdose.

  Recovery

  The place of death

  The place of birth

  Designated heroes, enemies too

  A place where one would see their worth

  Flashing lights

  Heartbreaking news

  Saving lives

  Positive reviews

  Holding on

  For extra hope

  If it wasn’t for him

  She’d continue to mope

  Nurses and doctors

  Wearing thin

  A matter of time

  Before she would win

  I opened my eyes to find myself bound by bedside rails, a light shone brightly in my eyes from the nurse’s torch, and a cord attached to the back of my hand as if I was a machine. The curtains were tied back so the nurses could monitor my progress and the table to my left carried a jug of water with a plastic beaker. The bed to my right was empty and the one to my left a woman cried. My head was phased and my abdomen burned. I felt nauseous and weak; tired and drained. I had no idea if it was day or night, how I got here or the events that led to my awakening. How had I survived? Could this be afterlife?

  ‘Oh good, you’re awake’, smiled the nurse who was holding the torch. ‘Nerve response levels are good and we just need to collect some blood to test your haemoglobin levels’.

  I grimaced.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry Katrina, everything will be okay, you are a very lucky girl. You have gone through a lot!’, the nurse tied a tourniquet around my biceps and began to prod the antecubital fossa of my arm. She placed on a pair of sterile gloves and began to insert a long sharp needle into my arm where she had previously poked. I squinted my eyes and turned my head the opposite way with fear that it would go wrong. It was over before I knew it, the nurse had been right, it was okay. As the nurse turned on her heel and walked away I began to process what she had said, I had been ‘lucky’. What did this mean? I was afraid to ask.

  My head pulsated as I took a sip of water. I craved a cigarette majorly. Yet, going out wasn’t an option. I was bed bound and had to accept it, I had become dependent like my residents had depended on me to assist them.

  My Mum had come to visit. She told me the story. How I’d taken an overdose. She found me having come home from the shops with the empty blister packs and checked my pulse and responsiveness. She told me how she called an ambulance and I was rushed to A&E where I was resuscitated. According to the nursing staff, I had died for approximately ten minutes. I was informed how I’d had my stomach pumped and part of the stomach removed. How I’m required to take omeprazole, see the crisis team, and remain in hospital for monitoring purposes whilst being referred for physiotherapy to get me walking indep
endently again. Why did I have to be resuscitated? Why didn’t they leave me dead? I would’ve been happier. I remember the girl with the wings and the glare she gave to me. Had I crossed a line? Suddenly, I felt I didn’t belong anywhere. That home did not exist and that I would be living and dying as an outsider forever.

  As she told me this her eyes watered. She told me how she’d been worried sick, how she feared I’d never wake up. She questioned me extensively on what had driven me to do such a thing. I never replied. I simply frowned as a tear rolled down my own cheek. My Mother hugged me tightly, telling me how glad she was that I was alive and okay, how I am her special little girl, and that she never wants to go through such turmoil again or have to come to terms with burying her own daughter. I never told her what had driven me. Me and my Mum weren’t very close. When I’d confided in her about my brother Damien, she accused me of exaggerating matters. Told me I had a false sense of reality. She protected him over me.

  I suddenly remembered the letter that I’d written. My Mum however didn’t mention it. I wondered what her reaction had been, how she’d felt. I couldn’t bare to think through it, couldn’t bare the thought that I may have broken her heart. The fact she hadn’t mentioned it spoke for itself, as usually she was quick to question me on everything. The letter that meant more than I could say. The letter that importantly prepared me for the end. It had all failed.

  He lay in the bed to my right, glaring at me. A man I didn’t even know. His eyes wore black rings around them - panda looking, darkness surrounding the pupils, his hair black and long, shoulder length to be precise, his nails were yellow and extended like talons. A sight to see.