SUNDAY JULY 16TH - SUNDAY JULY 23RD
I've debated large and wide whether to discuss open and honestly online the details that depict last Sunday's events. This will be the most open and honest I have ever bared my soul online, I feel as though I'm almost exposing myself naked to the world to critise. With a heavy heart and much debate between my new found bubble of friends here I decided to proceed. Last Sunday I was incredibly weak still, I've been incredibly weak since week one when I caught malaria and Lyme disease so it's been nothing new. Totally bored of lying in bed all day and getting myself in a panic over the projects I have building up back in England I decided I would attempt to go to the pool with everyone. I bought along Jim Morrisons biography 'No One Gets Out Alive.' and decided as I was medicated up to my eyeballs it was best to watch the water from afar with an occasional splash once the sun bared to hot to my exposed skin. Everyone was drinking. Everyone was laughing. Everyone was playing ball in the pool. I continued to read. I got distracted. I had a drink. I was in the pool. Now I wasn't being stupid but the phrase 'one little drink never harmed anyone' is a big fat fucking lie - as we all know it to be. A senior member of staff came down, it was reported he 'couldn't keep his eyes off me'. I feel sick even writing that as I lay here in my sweaty static hospital bed. A short time later it was time to leave because I signed my soul away to take my summer away and let incompetent people treat me like a child. I just broke. I long for warm summer nights and endless acts of debauchery. I ached to key coke on the beach whilst family's look on disapprovingly shoving uncooked sausages in their meat gristled gobs from their poorly lit bbqs. Forgive me for breaking but nothing beats an English summer. I cry a little - I was ever so slightly tipsy with the cocktail of heavy medication and a large beer. The staff member pulls me aside from the group who are about to embark on their journey home and tells me he would like to talk. I tell him I just want to feel free for one night and drink and feel human. Silly fucking me. How on earth did I think some dive of a bar (and trust me I like shit hole joints but this truly defines 'dive') was going to give me the nostalgia - the missing gap of my summers in Brighton. Was I going to feel the same as watching the sun rise on the beach surrounded by all my friends downing endless cans of strongbow, was I going to feel the sweaty skin of five of my best mates whilst we bathe coked out of our minds at five am? Was I going to feel the pure love as my ex boyfriend holds me pilled out of our mind in bed thinking The Mighty Boosh is the funniest thing that ever existed and waking my mum to tell her of our life drawing models rancid and humerus body parts? The long and short of it is HELL NO. So fuck it anyway I’ve gone off on a beautiful tangent - fuck I miss him.
By now the staff member has told everyone to leave me be, he gets me another beer. Apparently I make several calls home crying my eyes out. How I cannot wait for that phone bill. My brother tells me something which I honestly cannot remember but I do remember being on the phone to him and my phone records solidly confirm there was conversation for over two minutes. The next part is hazy at best. I said I wanted to dance. He takes me to a club. I request Cam'rons Hey Ma & Ja Rule but they only have the latter. I dance in jovial. I remember him kissing me and I hadn't kissed anyone in a month. I was probably horny as hell so I went along with it, maybe I even started, who knows? I honestly can't tell you. Which as my friends know is not like me. I remember all your fucking gory details and we will howl about them in the afternoon following. So this for me is out of character. I don't remember a lot and the next part for me is distressing. I remember making out in the cab ride home - I just vomited whilst writing this - and him putting his hand on my bikini bottoms I can't remember if he put his hand down my pants I don't think he did but I honestly can't be sure. I remember him telling me this was bad and made me promise I wouldn't tell anybody about this. I remember giving him my word, of which I now revoke. The thing is the next thing I remember is I was running. I mean I was running really fast. I didn't know where I was but I was weaving in and out of houses trying to find my way out of the maze. I remember seeing faces and then it goes dark. It goes totally pitch black. Then I wake up and it's Monday.
I had a feeling something terrible had happened the night before. A tummy full of anxiousness and the stale stench of vodka on my breathe set president to clarify my bad feeling.
My room mate fills in some of the blanks. I got home in the cab screaming and crying and as soon as the door opened I made a bolt for it screaming that I didn't feel safe. This still distresses me. I have no recollection of this. What happened in that taxi? Apparently I was screaming out for my mum, my ex boyfriend, my dog because they made me feel safe. My mum, unknown to me had been present on the phone all along. She said she had never heard me so distressed - my mother has held me in her arms after a suicide attempt landed me in hospital last august. So she knows when I'm distressed. She was terrified for me. Apparently I ripped my hair out and smashed my head into walls. My counter part finally managed to carry me home, after hours of running and finally exhausting myself, admitted defeat and collapsing on the floor. I felt worried and scared but I didn't have time to push my mind to remember because that creep was there in my room at eight thirty am.
He was asking if I was okay and telling me that I was going to be sent home for putting everyone in danger and being so stupid to drink on medication. In danger' I thought? I didn't spend a penny last night and you were the one plying me with booze, causing me to break curfew and abusing your position of power. My room mate felt he had an ulterior motive as she felt he liked me and that I should make it clear I remembered what happened in the taxi. I did. He brushed it off and when I said he was drinking too he informed me he wasn't drunk. THIS turned my stomach. It confirmed he had taken advantage. I couldn't string a sentence together whilst he stuck his rancid fucking tongue down my throat. The thing is by the time the manager had come to my host home there had been a story set in place on his behalf which went along the lines of 'she refused to come home, so I took her for dinner, as soon as she got back to the host home she was suddenly very drunk and ran away and tried to kill herself putting everyone at danger'. Fucking imbecile. If I wanted to lull myself I would of done it. You never bought me dinner, you bought me vodka and put your uninvited hands all over me, I was on the phone to my mother in the taxi screaming and crying and she told me to go to a place where I felt safe. I was intoxicated and I had no idea what was happening so I just ran and ran.
I felt like the stupid white western girl that had gotten wasted. Maybe I had led him on... but I was intoxicated and I swear to you, who ever you may be reading this now, I would never ever kiss him in my right mind. I would never kiss him sober.
I hope you find the forgiveness you require in your phony 'god' who poses more false than my recent purchase of a faux Cucci tracksuit because I, for one. Will never. Forgive you.
He hangs around whilst I'm told I must go to hospital for a check up - my third trip and they will decide if I'm to be sent home from there. For putting everyone ‘at risk’ last night with my actions, though I covered up his bullshit lie and said I was spiked to cover his back. These words fell from my lips in an irrational act of panic. What is clear is that I am on a drinking ban if I am to stay which in total honesty I'm cool with, I can't put my safety at risk like that at those who so easily take advantage of it.
I'm not putting the blame entirely on him either please understand that, nor am I falling into the role of the victim. Just know none of these events would of happened had I been in control of my actions. I also don't understand why I should be 'silenced' and made to keep a promise that so rightly should be broken. If a woman or man is not in their right mind they are NOT in a consensual state. You are a staff member, even if you are of similar age, you have been entrusted with the care of me, plying a heavily medicated body with booze is a recipe for disaster. Even if I'm begging for a drink which puts me very much in the wrong I'll be the first to admit play your role and take me the fuck home.
Anyway whatever fuck that loser, in a matter of hours or a matter of weeks he will be a distant memory of mine. I don't need liars in my life, I'm adamant of that and he lied to the upmost. So in hospital I am told I have gastritis and kidney issues, I honestly didn't listen as I started feeling really guilty about the previous night. Was this my fault? Was I bad person and deserve for this to happen? I couldn't get the thought of him off my skin. I got told I was allowed to stay but now I wasn't even sure I wanted to. I spoke with my mother on the phone that night and she told me I sounded like a totally different person in the dawn of a new day and she thought it best I come home and the staff could not provide for my safety. I was also advised although I'm head strong if this were to happen to a eighteen year old they probably wouldn't cope. I guess writing this is my way of telling people. I still haven't informed anyone because they were all in on it covering up his lies, backing his 'story' so who is there to tell? This is fucked but in cases like this it always is. There is always injustice. I decide to stay for a bit. There's things I just haven't seen through yet that I would forever regret if I left early and surely if I left early it means he won right?
My room mate has been struck dow with flu, it’s pretty evident in a short amount of time I’ll be struck down by it too. I’ve reached my favorite day, in my ever joyous place and I instantaneously puke hard. So much so the whole room evacuates outside of the toilet. I don’t know I am anxious. I can feel his and everyones eyes burning into my back. Theres a presentation on not acceptation drinks from strangers - it is passively aggressively directed at me. But it wasn’t from a stranger was it? It was someone who was in a position to uphold a code of conduct for my well being and whilst I was sobbing my eyes out he was plying and poisoning my liver with bottle after bottle of vodka. I’m depressed at best and boozing is my formula to forget. Fuck, I’m sweating buckets in here. I don’t know what to do, I honestly do not feel safe amongst the staff but unless I pay for my own flight home - I’m stuck here until September 3rd. My friend who is the country on totally different purposes is desperately trying to persuade me to meet him so he can take care of me. This place is so fucking shady hat if I disappear off the program they’ll be sure to report me to the police which is pure hypocrisy as I would feel safer away from the staff. It’s just so hard as I am so weak I can’t make proper judgement. I’m not scared as I’m an adult. I just desperately want to be with my friend who I feel as my best interest at heart. Because this charity sure as shit doesn’t - they are safeguarding themselves. I end up walking out as it’s too much and confiding in someone I was talking to about my sexual assault last summer... This also lands me to feel weird because I want so desperately to talk to him about how scared / unwell and unsafe I feel but I don’t want him to think I am weak or judge me. I also remember when I finally plucked up the courage to tell him about the events of last summer and how insensitive he was, how he made me ‘pinky promise‘ that I ‘didn’t lead him on‘ and went on to leave his Facebook up one day when he went to work stupidly on a conversation he was having about the matter with his best friend. They were pretty much mocking me, saying he would have to go all P.I about the situation because he didn’t quite trust it. Why Jodie? Why did you stay with him after that? He’d also refused to come home with me the first night after I told him due to an induced panic attack that came on at a party because he wanted to stick around with these absolute non descript nobodies to sniff Ketamine off some shitty table till the mid hours of the afternoon. It was already seven a.m at this point and all I had asked was for him if we could go home so he could hold me and make me feel safe... It’s clearer now than ever that he never really did ever care for me, only as and when it suited him. Anyway another tangent leading me astray... My friend reassures me this was not my fault although I shouldn’t of even had a drink when I was on such heavy medication of which I am totally liable and understand that was a total dick move. She thinks he likes me which he confused the situation for but told me he totally took advantage of the situation. This is so fucked. I honestly don’t know how to feel. I feel like bad dramatic shit always happens to me (usually in intoxicated situations). Hell it’s why he chose to split. I am not very good at handling it. The italian blood in me leaves me hot headed, confrontational, I see things through to the bitter end and I always (usually) win. But here I am out here to out run this drama, so why has it followed me here? Is it just me? Is this my fault?
They are insisting on doing another fucking ‘energizer‘, it’s a solid no from me, I’m afraid and the rest of my table to. I am not a god damn six year old, do you want me to shit in my hand and clap like the total imbecile you make me to feel I am here. As my father says ‘this is just a middle class PR stunt’. Touché father, you wise wonderful man.
At least I wore my hair down today so I can look semi interested with slight observant glazed over eyes, blasting Manchester Orchestra in my ears to the lesser of anybodies knowledge.
Throughout the course of the day my health declines into a deep decent. I even bought a fresh pack of smokes for lunch but I can’t fathom the thought of even flicking the lighter to inhale that sweet tropical cancer. I make a quick bid to run to freedom - or rather to my curfew infused prison walls. The attempt was a total disaster. I arrive at my bedroom door, sweat dripping down my ass from my new faux Cucci viscose tracksuit to find it locked. I have to retreat back to a sweating hell of a journey to the class room again. I vomit.
The ‘retreat‘ takes twenty minutes door to door. I retrieve the key and try to make way but I’m stopped by the guy who I instruct to leave me alone. He says please. I say no. I still don’t know how to process the whole situation with him and with my health in such a state of despair I need to solely focus on getting bette, any other stress is not invited. I almost collapse outside the gates. Someone who I’ll be honest I haven’t given the time of day, lifts me and insists on caring for me right till my doorstep. His generosity and kindness overwhelms me and makes me almost want to weep. Why am i still such a judgmental bitch? We engage in conversations such as our dreams and mindsets and current life. I realise I am so lucky to live the life i’ve been dealt and how much I take it for granted. We speak of expression and he confides in me that he cries himself to sleep most nights but appears to always be happy as he lives every day as though it were to be his last. I realise I am supposed to call an ex lover of mine tonight - I want his moral support and thoughts on recent situations. I opt to leave my phone switched off. For I am armed to the brim with Codeine and Vallium so maybe, just maybe tonight, I’ll sleep sound as a baby. I do.
Its now Thursday, it’s five thirty a.m and I am glued firmly to the toilet seat staring at a dead cockroach whilst pissing blood out my ass. I’m trying not to freak out as everyone is fast asleep and my room mate is also bed ridden with malaria and didn’t get back from hospital till late. A mosquito is maneuvering itself around my eye line try to suck away at the blood in my cheeks. The toilet probably smells like a total treat for the little blood sucker. I personally am trying not to vomit at the stench as the bin is already full and I’ll end up throwing up into my crotch. This scene is already unpleasant enough. I’ve been sat here for forty five minutes. I want so desperately to smoke and go back to sleep.
I have to take a cab back to hospital only this time I am hospitalised. I am in Asbury hospital and I have been admitted for only knows how long. I’m so weak I’m put on a drip. Pumped full of meds and force fed three meals a day. When the nurse attempts to put in the my IV I feel as though my flesh is being torn apart. I scream. I kick. I cry. Morphine is injected. I’m out cold.
The evening was the worst, my canula should not cause me so much pain, I should not be in such excruciating pain with every injection of god knows what chemical they flood through my blood stream. I message him. I need him. He’s there. But not quite ‘there’. I guess he never was and never will be. I would do anything right now for him to be holding me, making me feel loved and safe.
It’s almost midnight. The agony strikes back. Something is really, really wrong but they won’t listen. I puke buckets in pain. They keep pushing the poison further in, my veins are burning now. I’m kicking. I’m screaming. I’m thrashing. I’m terrified. I sob so much the cries themselves become a deathly silence.
I scream for my mother, my ex lover once again. Staff from my program are called along with a friend who lives close by. My drip must be injected into a new vein as this one is reacting badly.
It begins. My toes curl and I begin to convulse. I am biting the pillow. I thrash so hard the canula almost rips apart my flesh. I have to be held down to ensure this won’t happen. My friend later reported it was like seeing me be tortured. She admitted later the scenes she saw were so distressing that she later went home and cried.
It’s five fifty five a.m, the nurse is making a b line for my infectious hand. She injects me slowly. This helps ever so slightly. I still scream and convulse. I beg for the doctor. He instructs straight away for the IV to be taken out. For my veins are becoming infected and run the risk of collapse. My left arm is immobile. I worry I will never regain the use of it. I text him. He does not reply.
The days drag then in turn drift into nights, each visitor is slowly becoming another face. None of which are his. I am refused pain killers. I’m in a real dilemma given the events of the week whether to leave or not. My parents and my friends are begging for me to seek UK treatment. It is exceptional testament to my character that I am still here. I proved to myself what I needed yet I feel I may lie in disappointment if I am to return back to my English bed. At least they mopped the blood from the floor and changed my bloody sheets.
My host mother brings me dinner, she has to change me and cut my food as I am unable to do either for myself. She is wonderful. I am a mess. I sneak out for a smoke.
My canula is removed and I am told I will be discharged in the morning as I will be taking my medication orally.
The next day I go back to my host home. I sleep. He still is yet to reply.
My room mate has been struck dow with flu, it’s pretty evident in a short amount of time I’ll be struck down by it too. I’ve reached my favorite day, in my ever joyous place and I instantaneously puke hard. So much so the whole room evacuates outside of the toilet. I don’t know I am anxious. I can feel his and everyones eyes burning into my back. Theres a presentation on not acceptation drinks from strangers - it is passively aggressively directed at me. But it wasn’t from a stranger was it? It was someone who was in a position to uphold a code of conduct for my well being and whilst I was sobbing my eyes out he was plying and poisoning my liver with bottle after bottle of vodka. I’m depressed at best and boozing is my formula to forget. Fuck, I’m sweating buckets in here. I don’t know what to do, I honestly do not feel safe amongst the staff but unless I pay for my own flight home - I’m stuck here until September 3rd. My friend who is the country on totally different purposes is desperately trying to persuade me to meet him so he can take care of me. This place is so fucking shady hat if I disappear off the program they’ll be sure to report me to the police which is pure hypocrisy as I would feel safer away from the staff. It’s just so hard as I am so weak I can’t make proper judgement. I’m not scared as I’m an adult. I just desperately want to be with my friend who I feel as my best interest at heart. Because this charity sure as shit doesn’t - they are safeguarding themselves. I end up walking out as it’s too much and confiding in someone I was talking to about my sexual assault last summer... This also lands me to feel weird because I want so desperately to talk to him about how scared / unwell and unsafe I feel but I don’t want him to think I am weak or judge me. I also remember when I finally plucked up the courage to tell him about the events of last summer and how insensitive he was, how he made me ‘pinky promise‘ that I ‘didn’t lead him on‘ and went on to leave his Facebook up one day when he went to work stupidly on a conversation he was having about the matter with his best friend. They were pretty much mocking me, saying he would have to go all P.I about the situation because he didn’t quite trust it. Why Jodie? Why did you stay with him after that? He’d also refused to come home with me the first night after I told him due to an induced panic attack that came on at a party because he wanted to stick around with these absolute non descript nobodies to sniff Ketamine off some shitty table till the mid hours of the afternoon. It was already seven a.m at this point and all I had asked was for him if we could go home so he could hold me and make me feel safe... It’s clearer now than ever that he never really did ever care for me, only as and when it suited him. Anyway another tangent leading me astray... My friend reassures me this was not my fault although I shouldn’t of even had a drink when I was on such heavy medication of which I am totally liable and understand that was a total dick move. She thinks he likes me which he confused the situation for but told me he totally took advantage of the situation. This is so fucked. I honestly don’t know how to feel. I feel like bad dramatic shit always happens to me (usually in intoxicated situations). Hell it’s why he chose to split. I am not very good at handling it. The italian blood in me leaves me hot headed, confrontational, I see things through to the bitter end and I always (usually) win. But here I am out here to out run this drama, so why has it followed me here? Is it just me? Is this my fault?
They are insisting on doing another fucking ‘energizer‘, it’s a solid no from me, I’m afraid and the rest of my table to. I am not a god damn six year old, do you want me to shit in my hand and clap like the total imbecile you make me to feel I am here. As my father says ‘this is just a middle class PR stunt’. Touché father, you wise wonderful man.
At least I wore my hair down today so I can look semi interested with slight observant glazed over eyes, blasting Manchester Orchestra in my ears to the lesser of anybodies knowledge.
Throughout the course of the day my health declines into a deep decent. I even bought a fresh pack of smokes for lunch but I can’t fathom the thought of even flicking the lighter to inhale that sweet tropical cancer. I make a quick bid to run to freedom - or rather to my curfew infused prison walls. The attempt was a total disaster. I arrive at my bedroom door, sweat dripping down my ass from my new faux Cucci viscose tracksuit to find it locked. I have to retreat back to a sweating hell of a journey to the class room again. I vomit.
The ‘retreat‘ takes twenty minutes door to door. I retrieve the key and try to make way but I’m stopped by the guy who I instruct to leave me alone. He says please. I say no. I still don’t know how to process the whole situation with him and with my health in such a state of despair I need to solely focus on getting bette, any other stress is not invited. I almost collapse outside the gates. Someone who I’ll be honest I haven’t given the time of day, lifts me and insists on caring for me right till my doorstep. His generosity and kindness overwhelms me and makes me almost want to weep. Why am i still such a judgmental bitch? We engage in conversations such as our dreams and mindsets and current life. I realise I am so lucky to live the life i’ve been dealt and how much I take it for granted. We speak of expression and he confides in me that he cries himself to sleep most nights but appears to always be happy as he lives every day as though it were to be his last. I realise I am supposed to call an ex lover of mine tonight - I want his moral support and thoughts on recent situations. I opt to leave my phone switched off. For I am armed to the brim with Codeine and Vallium so maybe, just maybe tonight, I’ll sleep sound as a baby. I do.
Its now Thursday, it’s five thirty a.m and I am glued firmly to the toilet seat staring at a dead cockroach whilst pissing blood out my ass. I’m trying not to freak out as everyone is fast asleep and my room mate is also bed ridden with malaria and didn’t get back from hospital till late. A mosquito is maneuvering itself around my eye line try to suck away at the blood in my cheeks. The toilet probably smells like a total treat for the little blood sucker. I personally am trying not to vomit at the stench as the bin is already full and I’ll end up throwing up into my crotch. This scene is already unpleasant enough. I’ve been sat here for forty five minutes. I want so desperately to smoke and go back to sleep.
I have to take a cab back to hospital only this time I am hospitalised. I am in Asbury hospital and I have been admitted for only knows how long. I’m so weak I’m put on a drip. Pumped full of meds and force fed three meals a day. When the nurse attempts to put in the my IV I feel as though my flesh is being torn apart. I scream. I kick. I cry. Morphine is injected. I’m out cold.
The evening was the worst, my canula should not cause me so much pain, I should not be in such excruciating pain with every injection of god knows what chemical they flood through my blood stream. I message him. I need him. He’s there. But not quite ‘there’. I guess he never was and never will be. I would do anything right now for him to be holding me, making me feel loved and safe.
It’s almost midnight. The agony strikes back. Something is really, really wrong but they won’t listen. I puke buckets in pain. They keep pushing the poison further in, my veins are burning now. I’m kicking. I’m screaming. I’m thrashing. I’m terrified. I sob so much the cries themselves become a deathly silence.
I scream for my mother, my ex lover once again. Staff from my program are called along with a friend who lives close by. My drip must be injected into a new vein as this one is reacting badly.
It begins. My toes curl and I begin to convulse. I am biting the pillow. I thrash so hard the canula almost rips apart my flesh. I have to be held down to ensure this won’t happen. My friend later reported it was like seeing me be tortured. She admitted later the scenes she saw were so distressing that she later went home and cried.
It’s five fifty five a.m, the nurse is making a b line for my infectious hand. She injects me slowly. This helps ever so slightly. I still scream and convulse. I beg for the doctor. He instructs straight away for the IV to be taken out. For my veins are becoming infected and run the risk of collapse. My left arm is immobile. I worry I will never regain the use of it. I text him. He does not reply.
The days drag then in turn drift into nights, each visitor is slowly becoming another face. None of which are his. I am refused pain killers. I’m in a real dilemma given the events of the week whether to leave or not. My parents and my friends are begging for me to seek UK treatment. It is exceptional testament to my character that I am still here. I proved to myself what I needed yet I feel I may lie in disappointment if I am to return back to my English bed. At least they mopped the blood from the floor and changed my bloody sheets.
My host mother brings me dinner, she has to change me and cut my food as I am unable to do either for myself. She is wonderful. I am a mess. I sneak out for a smoke.
My canula is removed and I am told I will be discharged in the morning as I will be taking my medication orally.
The next day I go back to my host home. I sleep. He still is yet to reply.