Bloody Hell: British Cussing Applied in the Literal Sense

Posted: December 23, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , ,

Saturday night, 3 AM: I curl up on the floor covered in blood.

Friday night: I stayed at my brother’s apartment since I seemed unwelcome in my own home. However, I never intended to stay there past a few days. I needed to be with my sister and try to tame my bipolar mother the Bear. My mother’s twisted opinions don’t dictate my choices.

Saturday morning: I was about three inches away from tearing off my brother’s girlfriend’s head. I mean come on! I’m not a barbie doll for her entertainment. Damn Yankee. My patience had run thin between the girl time and the incessant calls from my rabid Bear. I knew things were getting bad at home.Even though my sister wasn’t home most of the time since it was a weekend, I wanted to be there to protect her. She’s my babygirl. There was talk of having Christmas at their apartment since I wasn’t welcome home and my brother refused to go home. The smell of cat pee might bother our sister but I could honestly care less. As long as we had a somewhat peaceful Christmas.

Saturday night, 5 PM: Called my dad and got the scoop. Horrible news back in H-Town. Spent some time with my brother once he got off work because to be honest I had no idea when I might see him again.  After a quick good bye, I hopped in the car and drove frantically off into the night.

I have to admit… my speed would have gotten me a felony at some points. The entire three hour drive, I fought back my tears and sang at the top of my lungs, beating in volume all the artists pounding out of my speakers. Being alone in a car, racing back to pain and a broken home, the world felt so cold and lonely. The knowledge that other people were enjoying the season and preparing for more Christmas joy only made me feel lonelier.

Photo Dec 15, 8 02 55 PM

I was and still am trapped in an endless cycle of desperation. I knew perfectly well what would be waiting for me at the end of the road. In a way, I was used to it. It’s my life.

Saturday night, 10 PM: I pulled into my driveway and went up to our other car. My babygirl peacefully slept, curled up in the drivers seat, too scared to go inside alone. So instead, she waited hours for me to arrive. I coaxed her out and settled her upstairs. She was angry, having already seen the damage. She sat there ranting about how stupid the bear was, claiming that the Mess just proved her idiocy. She ranted about how the neighbors were texting her being nosy. For the record, there is a difference between texting ‘Are you okay?’ and ‘What happened?’ when you see police and ambulances outside someone’s house. Neither get you answers, but one at least shows honest concern.

Once she was calm, I crept down the stairs to brave the master bedroom. I opened the door and nearly puked.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. Everything gleamed with red: the blankets, the floor, the walls, a pencil, and even some shoes. I sat there, lonelier than ever, staring at my mother’s latest suicide attempt.

This is honestly one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, but I didn’t want my father to have to when he was home from the hospital. I have cleaned up after my mother all the time: broken dishes, broken walls, broken furniture, minor blood from minor cuts…but in the past my mother only attempted suicide through overdosing (not including one gun incident). This time she stabbed herself. Imagine walking into a room and seeing the blood of one of the people you love most…everywhere. Like it’s an omnipresent being, staring down on you from all directions. All I could think as I stared was how is she alive?

I started with the bed. I moved her bloody, torn jeans out of the way and I grabbed a couple blankets curled up on the corner of the bed, thinking at first glance that they looked fairly clean. Oh how wrong I was. As I uncrumpled the white blanket, the color red assaulted me making me freeze and squeeze my eyes shut to get myself back under control. With each bit of blanket I revealed, there was more glistening blood. It’s not that somewhat inoffensive brown color that dried bloodstains get, but a color so bright that you could almost see it gushing out of a body.

I poured liquid detergent on the largest blood stains to try and break up the organic matter and worked it in with my fingers. Once I felt the wet of the blood and the warmth of the chemical reaction taking place with the detergent, I made a choking gurgling noise that even surprised me before stumbling out of the laundry room and back into the bedroom. Feeling the blood made it so much more real. It took me several minutes to get my emotions back in check. But I went back and dutifully fought back tears while working in the detergent. I couldn’t cry. I had to go upstairs when I was done and be emotional support for my sister.

After managing to get one load of laundry going, I got started on the carpet. There were no huge bloodstains anywhere but there were drops EVERYWHERE. I used the liquid detergent to break up the blood because I couldn’t find carpet cleaner. I maniacally scrubbed at each blood spot, in disgust, because no matter where I was working, some part of me was touching more blood. Rinse and repeat.

Saturday night, 3 AM: I curl up on the floor covered in my mother’s blood…finally done.

One of the larger stains.

One of the larger stains.

One of the first blankets. The blue is detergent.

One of the first blankets. The blue is detergent.

Photo Dec 15, 10 51 56 PM

Photo Dec 15, 10 52 48 PM

Photo Dec 15, 10 52 53 PM

Photo Dec 15, 10 53 11 PMPhoto Dec 15, 10 52 08 PMPhoto Dec 15, 10 52 16 PM

Photo Dec 15, 10 52 27 PMPhoto Dec 15, 10 52 35 PM

The clean up

The clean up process at it’s cleanest.

I started at 10:30 and didn’t finish until 3AM. By the end my arms were darkened with blood. I washed my hands and arms at least half a dozen times. I washed the blood away, but could still feel it.

It wasn’t the size of the blood stains (the largest was about the length of my fore arm and the width of my head and there were only around 8 large ones) but it was the sheer numbers that overwhelmed me. Every time I thought I was close to the end… I found more. I peeled back each layer of the bed only to find a stain just as large as the one above it. I thought it would never end.

I drank a little tequila to help take off the edge. Then crawled up the stairs to my sister.

It was just another Saturday night.

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