Mental confinement

2020.11.05, by Anatolij
Filed under Brutality, Journal, Personal, PTSD

Ansel and I fought again. I think we’ve spent far too much time indoors decorating the apartment and not enough time outside with each other. The heat, and the reduced exercise is also getting to me… My nutrition has suffered, it’s a sign of my anxiety. I don’t know how Ant can cope. Whenever it is day and I walk near the front door I remember when the police raided our house. I remember everyone in the hospital who let us down when she tried to commit suicide, I remember all of us being mocked by the hospital staff because we weren’t straight, or cisgender, I remember the nurses who

She absolutely cannot afford to do that again. No one at the hospital will help her, truly. Even the people we work with are…

Sparring doesn’t help. Sparring with Ansel doesn’t help. He’s not the one I want to fight, I know he’s on my side, no matter how many times we break up, he’s not the one who hurt me, or the rest of us, we simply disagree—what’s it like, to be surrounded by enemies? Ansel was lucky. At his time, in his life he was able to fight back… Encouraged to… Lethally so! I envy that. I truly do. I’m not allowed to beat up the nurses at the hospital who hurt my sister… There was someone in my department, who pointed out, rightfully and worryingly—they can’t do that. If the nurses keep tormenting people who are already in mental anguish, they’re just asking for violence. Why do we keep having shootings? Nova has… had, violent tendencies. Had this occurred a year earlier then it’s quite possible he would’ve… retaliated.

I remember how dark and damaged Ansel used to be, fresh out of his injury and betrayal. There was something liberating about that. Having no obligations to the society and comrades who abandoned you like that. You were willing to die without a heartbeat’s hesitation but to be betrayed and utterly disregarded like that… And all your injuries, and the chronic pain after… Nova was the same way, but he was cold, not hot, like Ansel. Did time heal those scars? A baked pie here, a chicken soup there, and a little music, and a little gymwork… A time under the stars… Was that all it took? I don’t know why, because the people around them, who hurt them, haven’t changed for the better, have not made up for it. Ever. How do you heal?

How do you give up vengeance? If it were an enemy from the start, it’s easy! Of course they’re going to hurt you, it’s like getting mad at a bear for mauling you. That’s irrational, it’s expected they will, of course they’re a bear. But how do you live after a betrayal from people who are supposed to have your back, that cost you your brain matter? I don’t know how to do that…

These nurses are so highly paid. The least they could do is be decent to my sister—or even ignore her, as she wasn’t their patient. Why did they have to go out of their way and attempt to dig through her social media? Because being transgender? That was an acceptable reason? If she was there because she tried to die, what good does it do anyone to mock her emergency contacts?! I absolutely hate that ward and I hope everyone who works there dies horrifically. They don’t know what chronic pain is like. Boil the veins of anyone who mocks her for being in pain.

If I ever see another cop at the door I don’t know what I’m going to do. For a girl who’s unrelated—not even five of their feet tall—unarmed—why? They didn’t even have a warrant for her phone, how is it legal for them to take it?!