I open my mouth wide, my tonsils touch the air and I scream but nothing comes out. I awake with a jolt into a heavy haze like coming up for air from a deep deep ocean. My head pounds, thump, thump, thump. Where am I? I have no recollection of this place. A room swims into focus. I’m on a high hard bed with white bars behind my head, pressing. Did these bars give me my pounding head or something else? A honeycomb patterned bedspread in a cornflower blue is covering my body. The loose ends are wound tightly around my body. My body? I want to move, I try to move but nothing happens.
My mouth is tight and full of sand. Sharp stinging pains shout out from my throat. I taste chalk. My skin itches like the trample of insects’ feet. I need to wash. I have to wash. I shift but no further. It doesn’t feel like my body. My head rushes like a burst stream headlong into emotions. But my body, this body is heavy, too heavy for mine.
When I was a little girl, littler than now, I used to imagine myself out of my body. When things got too bad, when I felt the cold, damp earth underneath. The cold slowly seeped through the skin to nest in the bones. Then my mind rushed out of the boat shed and slammed the door shut tight.
Now, my weary head searches for answers, why am I here? The search finds no good reasons or memories. No mummy or daddy hugging on me with love. No sisters or brothers to play with. Just passed from one ready made family to another. Until no one wanted a too grown up child, so they kept me in the care home. And used me. The thirst for love, for company, always there but no amount of water could ever quench. Even though my mind dived into the fast flowing river.
Here, I lie on this hard bed as silent tears collect in my ears. It’s not enough water. I have to cry these little girl tears.
I open my mouth wide, my tonsils touch the air and I scream.