by Fiona

The devil climbs out of the dirty plughole as I clean my teeth, slithers inside my mouth and down my throat. Now my whole body itches and my nails scratch red raw skin down my arms; I can feel him moving just under the surface and I'm filled with horror. I call the nurse, tell her I need more tranquillizers, tell her it's coming back again. She is large and immovable, at ease in this ward full of crazy people, she knows who she is and why she is here - I do not. She tells me to lie down and try to relax and I shake with fear; this woman stands between me and oblivion and I hate her. Psychotic it says in my notes.


Fiona is a mother of two girls under four. She writes while the dishes and laundry pile up around her ears.