''Jesus Christ, not again..''

She's sitting at the edge of my bed. She passes me my oxygen mask. I breathe in the air. I put all of my concentration in to the long inhales and exhales I'm being forced to take.




''How many times am I going to have to tell you, Seb? These bad nights of yours are becoming more frequent. You need to take your meds after breakfast, after lunch, after tea, and before bed. Or I'll have to swap you to 24/7 supervision, you know that.''

She's talking at me. I know she is talking at me because I can see her lips moving and she's looking at me. Right in to my eyes. I can't say I can hear her properly though. All I'm hearing is moans and groans. A sort of mumble. I wish she'd stop. She knows how uncomfortable it makes me.

I took another breath.




I point to the clock on my bed-side cabinet. She passes it to me. 5.24 am. Perfect. I have 6 minutes left of breathing before my time runs out. Sleeping's not the next option, evidently. I look in to her eyes. She ain't ever putting me on 24 hour supervision. Never.

She's concerned.

I don't know why she is, this is her job after all. She thinks I'm insane. I'm not, but that's my label, and she worries because of it. I don't think she's got any faith in me that I'll be getting out of this place any time soon. I look at her again.

''You worry far too much. You worry more than me. You know I've been getting better.''

''No but-''

I interrupt her.

''No but... Yes.''

The lines on her fore-head begin to crease. For fuck's sake.

''Fine. Just watch me. Come in here all you like. Force them down my throat. Do whatever, just quit that expression on your face.''

I've been talking for too long, I know it. I look at the clock. 5.32am. Oh SHIT. She talked me over the limit. SHE DID THIS ON FUCKING PURPOSE.

She can see I'm starting to freak out. So much so that she immediately grabs my mask that I've now thrown on to the floor, and practically shoves it in my face. She waves it around like a fucking fairy.

''Seriously. Fuck you.''

I sprint out of my room and in to the bathroom before she, or anyone, can stop me. I quickly lock the door behind me and stack the washing basket and everything else I could behind the door.

They're not getting me out of here any time soon.

The voices in my head are shouting at me. They're telling me this is my fault. They're telling me I deserve to die.

Everything is too much.

But I guess they're right, the voices.

I should have just looked at the damn clock. I won't ever go over-time again.

Until my death-bed at least.