(Scene : a plain white room. There is a woman sitting in the corner. At first she has her back to us but turns round as she starts to speak)

Let's play a little game. I'll tell you a story; describe exactly what it's like and watch your reactions to see how close to the bone I can cut. I can find out just from the expressions on your face whether you have suffered too....... Or whether you inflict torture on others. Would you like to play? But of course, you have no choice. Curiosity compels you now. Don't squirm, you give yourself away too easily. Are you sitting uncomfortably? Then I'll begin.

It has been a day pretty much like any other for you. Yet again you've been told how ugly you are, how stupid you are. Again and again you have heard these things, little things which grow into something you can no longer contain.

You lie in bed, in the dark, thinking about your day and the tears flow and the darkness closes in and you are the only person in the whole universe who feels that way. No-one else has suffered in the same way because no-one else can be you and there is no-one to talk to because no-one understands. So you lie there, drowning your pillow in liquefied pain. The loneliness is stifling and the pills are only an arm's length away. You pick them up and immediately forget why. Your mind has gone blank except for a dim but persistent sensation of pain. Nothing matters anymore except for the bottle of pills in your hand and the pain that won't go away.

You take four tablets and the pain is still there. You take ten and it dulls, just a little. Twenty? Thirty? More? Who cares? You've lost count anyway. Slowly, so slowly, someone pours paint everywhere and the world becomes very bright. Then all the colours run and turn to mud.

Next comes fear to turn you from your purpose. Now here come the tears again, and now a call for help because you fear death even more than you fear life.

The help which arrives is a false prophet come to give Lazarus back to the living. But you're not sure if the living want Lazarus back at all, and still they will not talk to you. They slap your face, call you a "stupid bitch" and say "it's not clever, so don't go round telling people. What will the neighbours think?"

You lie in the cold, unfriendly hospital bed. Alone again. Oh, the irony of it! Every now and then some well meaning fool will shake their heads and ask "why?", then walk away without really wanting an answer. You cry again at what they put you through to bestow upon you existence and because you can feel the needle from the drip in the back of your hand. It scratches that the inside of your vein like a bad memory on the windows of your soul. Then, they make you promise not to do it again - and send you home.

Home. Where it all started. Just because you scared them with a suicide attempt doesn't mean they won't continue to make your life a misery once it's "all blown over". A few months later you try it again. Same method. The only reason it didn't work before was because you chickened out. Well, that's not going to happen this time, no way.

They find you, still shoving the painkillers into your mouth.

They weren't lying at the hospital. The tube they shove down your throat is bigger than the last time. This time you actually get to see the shrink. You listen to her repeat "why?" Over and over until you can't bear the mantra any more. You would have thought they could at least pretend to be interested. You tell them what they want to hear and - they send you home.

Slight change of plan. Razor blades on the wrists. God, it hurt. And blood spreads so much. You think you'll drown in it before you bleed to death.

They sew you back together like a rag doll that's burst it's seams. But this time they make a connection and don't send you home. They keep you in another part of the hospital and they take away your shoelaces "just in case". But where there's a will there's a way. And after every failure they take away another little luxury. Visitors, sweets, privacy. You're onto the last stage. Next time they've said they'll take away your mind with E.C.T. You feel a little burst of excitement at the thought of the electrodes. The ultimate painkiller.

Oh, I forgot. We were playing a game weren't we? Well, wasn't that fun? Please come and see me again sometime. I don't get many visitors these days.

Copyright © Jo Blair