Losing It by Sandy McKay Read Free Book Online

Well, that’s how it feels. Like my insides have frozen and everything’ s ground to a halt. It all takes so much effort. Even thinking is exhausting. It’s hard to explain but it’s like part of me has shrivelled up inside.
    The last few days have been crap. I’m just lying here doing nothing, like a blob of yuck. Like a cup of cold sick. ‘A cup of cold sick.’ Where have I heard that line before? Does it sound familiar to you?
    Two days later:
    The cleaning lady came yesterday and there was an incident. She must have finally noticed Charlotte because suddenly she had the vacuum cleaner pipe hurled way up in the air and I had to act fast to stop poor Charlotte from being sucked into oblivion. Luckily, I got there just in time.
    Then two nurses came and put me back in bed and it took me ages to explain and, well…
    Please tell me I’m not losing it, Issy.

    Dear Jo,
     
    You are not losing it. You are going to be fine. A cup of cold sick! Yes! I do remember that line:
    Mouldy, mouldy custard in a green snot pie,
    Mix it all together with a dead dog’s eye.
    Mash it up with mustard and spread it on thick
    Then wash it all down with a cup of cold sick.
    I have this vague memory of chanting it for skipping. You are I were coring and poor Matt was trying to jump the rope. He was hopeless. Remember? Boys are such crap skippers.
    Dear Issy,
     
    I’ve been on special bed rest for ten days with no privileges at all, which includes washing my hair. I won’t bore you with the details but if it hadn’t been for Dot talking to me I’d have gone completely round the twist. The ‘good’ news is I’ve managed to put on two kilos, which has made everyone happy except me. I feel so revolting. Like a tub of lard.
    Caroline reckons as long as we leave this place looking like over-inflated beach balls they’ll be happy. I think she’sright. But how can putting on ten kilos make anyone happy?
    She gave me some Ketostix the other day. I’d never heard of them before. They come in a box and have these little coloured bits on the end like a match and you dip them in your pee to see if they change colour. If they turn purple it’s good because that means your body is getting energy from its own fat. If they stay pink then your body is getting energy from food so you won’t lose weight. I’ve been purple for two days now.
    Missing you heaps, Issy.
    Luv,
    Jo
     
    P.S. There’s a very strange girl in room 22, along the corridor. I’ve seen her around but we’ve never spoken. She’s usually in a wheelchair and she dresses like a Goth – black hair, black lips, nails, the works. And bare feet. Always bare feet. Very witchy-poo.
    Anyway, this morning she’s sitting in the lounge smoking a cigarette. Leon and I are playing Trivial Pursuit at the table. It is definitely against the rules to light up in the lounge. There are notices everywhere. You have to go right outside to smoke. So one of the nurses tells her to put out the cigarette. But she acts like she doesn’t hear, staring ahead like she’s in a trance. The nurse tells her again but she takes no notice. So then, the nurse takes the cigarette and stubs it out in a saucer. This girl doesn’t batan eye, even when the nurse wheels her out of the room. But as she’s going out the door she yells something out. Something weird.
    Leon says her name’s Francine Colson and she’s been in here for ages, only she’s grown stranger and stranger. She got kicked out of group therapy a few weeks ago. I can’t imagine why anyone would get kicked out of group therapy but Leon says she’s got some pretty nutty ideas and she was always trying to stuff things up for the counsellor . Anyway, I was thinking ‘Francine Colson’ – why did that name sound familiar? And then I realised. Her initials are F.C. and she writes all this weird poetry.
    One of F.C.’s poems:
    ‘L et me be weightless and airy and light, and maybe
    I’ll find peace tonight .’
    Or this one:
    The Shape of