Author's note: As previously stated at the end of Ch. 3, my memories are a bit fuzzy from the medications I was on. Here's what I remember about our group sessions.
After Eric and I moved to the second wing, we became more involved in these get togethers. They fell into one of two categories.
1. Therapy: In here we sat in a circle, our hearts open and bleeding on the floor in front of a woman with judgmental eyes and a clipboard. There was this other patient who would make every person's story about her, so no one else got a word in edgewise. These were all but pointless.
2. Counseling: They were led by the woman from the last chapter and she brought much needed empathy to the (mostly) cold and sterile staff. These were the only hours in the hospital which did me any good.
During my first session with the new group, our counselor gave us a sheet of paper with a very basic ladder. She told us to write the first thing that brought us here on the bottom rung, the second on the middle and the third on the top. After we did this, she asked us to stand up and read what we wrote. I sat back and listened as my fellow patients bared their souls and flaws to each other, while finding acceptance. None of us were really crazy, just broken. If you're broken you can always be fixed. I stood up confidently and read my three darkest secrets out loud in front of strangers. I consider this to be my first open mic.
"My name is Davlin Stewart. I'm here because: 1. My ex girlfriend gave me genital herpes. 2. I still see her everyday at work. 3. I don't know how to cope with that or anything else that's happened to me anymore."
Then I sat down and everyone stared at me. Then they nodded, subtly telling me it was going to be ok. When walking to my room afterward I was stopped by John, a big intimidating looking guy who ended up being a teddy bear.
"Davlin. I just wanted to tell you that I respect what you did in there. I don't think I would have been able to say that in front of everyone."
"It happened." I told him. "I'm tired of holding it inside."
He nodded. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"Thank you and I'm sorry for what you've had to go through, too. I guess I just realized that all of us have problems we don't know how to deal with. Mine are no more serious than anyone else's, just different."
"I think you're right. How old are you?"
"22."
"Huh."
During the second she took us outside, which you really come to appreciate being trapped inside there for a few days. I remember the green of the trees being brighter than anything I'd ever seen. The air tasted clean and its warmth thawed me from the frigid recycled stuff which filled the hospital. I was pretty drugged up that day and that's all I remember.
The third and final one was my favorite time spent there. It was on my fourth day, also the day before my release. Our counselor handed us a blank piece of paper along with crayon filled tins and told us to draw pictures of our families. She then said,
"Is it ok with everyone if I play some music?" My head perked up. "I was told I couldn't play anything with too much energy, but it's better than nothing."
She popped a blank CD into a boombox, hit play and we set off to work as the music washed over us. The first couple of tracks were classical pieces and moved me in a way the genre never had before. I fell into an artistic rhythm and began drawing my family. First was my dad, aunt Betty, little brothers and my mom. They all looked sad and it wasn't a conscious effort to make them that way. When I was halfway through drawing mom, a familiar, haunting melody poured from the speakers. I dropped my crayon and jaw as I listened to "Black Orchid" by Blue October, tears streaming down my face. I looked at our counselor and mouthed the words, "thank you", and she nodded in return.
A little later during the session she asked about the people I chose to draw. I told her about them and that's something I will keep to myself. She then points something out I had missed completely.
"Why aren't you in the picture?"
"Huh?"
"You didn't draw yourself with them. That says a lot about what you think about yourself."
"Like what?"
"It's not my place to tell you that; have to figure it out for yourself."
I sat for a moment and seriously felt the weight of her words. "I don't feel connected to anyone."
"That's a start." Now, louder and to the group, "Ok, that's all of our time for today. Thank you everyone and keep your heads up." Nothing she said sounded anything other than sincere.
I approached her on my way out. "You have no idea how much you playing that song meant to me. You're the only person here who's listened to me and this is the first time I've felt anything other than fucked up since I've gotten here. Thank you."
Then I walked away, smiling for the next few hours until the song faded in a pharmaceutical haze.
Showing posts with label My Time In A Mental Hospital. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Time In A Mental Hospital. Show all posts
My time in the mental hospital Part 3: An unexpected friend.
I awoke on the first morning groggy with an odd taste in my mouth. Even though there was no one to impress, I still went through my daily routine to make sure I looked good. Once dressed I walked down the hallway to the front desk.
"So, what've we got goin on today?" I asked the woman there who was more preoccupied with the paperwork in front of her instead of the stellar conversation I brought to the table.
"You're about to go to breakfast. Then meds. Then group."
"I was wondering if I could also book a massage in my room for 3 o'clock."
She stared at me, completely unamused.
"Right. Ok. I'm gonna go smoke now." I said to her as I turned to walk towards The Box. The whole way there I stared at the ground to avoid eye contact with everyone else.
Luckily this time I was in there alone and allowed my guard to drop slightly. I became fully immersed in the stories on the walls. My personal favorite was, "God's last name isn't damnit!" Unfortunately, due to my intense concentration I didn't notice Joseph was right behind me until he spoke.
"Good morning."
"Jesus!" I screamed as I spun around to put my back against the wall as well as put more distance between him and myself.
"Don't take my name in vain. Can I have a cigarette, please?" His face never changed as he spoke.
"Sure, here." I could foresee this being a problem, with me only having brought three packs.
I disposed of my smoke before it was finished, went inside and a few minutes later they took us to the kitchen for breakfast. I had cereal, soggy bacon and powdered eggs shaped to give the impression of being real and scrambled. I sat down at the table, joined by a huge mentally disabled man with tourette's syndrome to my left, the naked crazy lady to my right and joker and another religious fanatic directly in front of me.
The food was abhorrent. The eggs disintegrated when I poked them with my fork and the bacon (one of my favorite foods) left much to be desired. From that moment on, I ate a lot of cereal.
The conversation at my table was deafening as well as incoherent. Everyone was shouting to themselves and not taking in anything said by another person. Joseph was sent back to our wing due to a violent outburst and we followed not long after.
I noticed during breakfast and when I drank some water later that the awful, metallic taste from earlier in the morning had only intensified. As I pondered this mystery I noticed the patients forming a line and, since I had nothing better to do, hopped in along with them. When I reached the end I found myself to a window similar to one you'd find at at drive through.
"Name?" The woman I'd previously chatted up at the desk asked me through the glass.
"What's this line for?" I asked.
She sighed deeply. "This is where you get your meds. You need to come here twice a day and take them."
"Ok. What are they?"
"Let me check. What's your name?"
"Wait a minute. You're in charge of medications and you don't know our names? You're surrounded by mental patients. Joseph over there said he was Jesus this morning."
"Look, if you keep talking to me like that you're going to be in here a lot longer than you'd like. What's your name?"
"I'm Dav-lin Stew-art." I told her while drawing out each syllable, just to piss her off.
She then handed me a Dixie cup with three pills and another one filled with water. I gagged while consuming the contents of each.
Once that unpleasantness was over I went with my fellow crazies to my first group session. The counselor was a beautiful woman a few years older than myself and she left me transfixed. Since this kind of group wasn't the type who could articulate their feelings with fully constructed sentences, she opted instead for a very simplistic board game. She led conversation casually as we all struggled to get through it together.
"How do you feel being in here?" She asked me when it was my turn.
"I'm 22 years old," I replied while shaking the dice in my hand, "and I'm so emotionally screwed up I had to check myself into a mental hospital." I rolled the dice. "If I'm being honest. I'm not really sure what to feel right now."
"What's the hardest thing about it?
"I miss my music so bad it hurts."
Her eyes flashed with understanding. "If you could hear any band right now, who would it be?"
"Right now? Blue October, hands down."
Thirty minutes later group ended and we went back to our wing. This time, when we returned there was a scared kid sitting alone at one of the tables. His eyes darted in our direction and studied us all. He was terrified. I went over to him and sat down.
"Hey, man. My name's Davlin. Rough morning?"
"Hi. Eric. I'm freaking out."
"What happened?"
"My mom, man. She pushes me too hard in school. Like, it's crazy. I just want to be able to live my own life, but she won't let me. This morning I took 8 Tylenol in front of her. I just wanted to scare her; to show her how she makes me feel."
"Then what happened?"
"She called the paramedics, who gave me a charcoal pill and sent me here. My mouth still tastes like shit"
"That fucking sucks, man. How old are you?"
"19."
To make him feel better, I told him this story:
“There was this one day a couple of years ago I was feeling really depressed. I was watching TV feeling sad and bored when I picked up my belt. It was one of those that had leather threaded together, to allow you to put the notch anywhere you wanted. So, I wrapped it around my neck and buckled it as tight as it would go. I then just sat there for a couple of minutes. It was more uncomfortable than anything, so I got bored with it and gave up. After a couple of hours I went over to my girlfriend’s place and she asked what was wrong with my neck. The belt had burst all the blood vessels around my throat and you could see the perfect outline of the leather threads. I still don’t remember how I explained that one.”
“Hahaha...You did that? That was dumb.”
“Oh, really? I’m gonna get shit from you, Mr. 8 Tylenol?”
After that, we became inseparable in there. Unfortunately, this is also when the pills I ingested earlier started taking effect, causing the memories of the rest of my stay to splinter.
"So, what've we got goin on today?" I asked the woman there who was more preoccupied with the paperwork in front of her instead of the stellar conversation I brought to the table.
"You're about to go to breakfast. Then meds. Then group."
"I was wondering if I could also book a massage in my room for 3 o'clock."
She stared at me, completely unamused.
"Right. Ok. I'm gonna go smoke now." I said to her as I turned to walk towards The Box. The whole way there I stared at the ground to avoid eye contact with everyone else.
Luckily this time I was in there alone and allowed my guard to drop slightly. I became fully immersed in the stories on the walls. My personal favorite was, "God's last name isn't damnit!" Unfortunately, due to my intense concentration I didn't notice Joseph was right behind me until he spoke.
"Good morning."
"Jesus!" I screamed as I spun around to put my back against the wall as well as put more distance between him and myself.
"Don't take my name in vain. Can I have a cigarette, please?" His face never changed as he spoke.
"Sure, here." I could foresee this being a problem, with me only having brought three packs.
I disposed of my smoke before it was finished, went inside and a few minutes later they took us to the kitchen for breakfast. I had cereal, soggy bacon and powdered eggs shaped to give the impression of being real and scrambled. I sat down at the table, joined by a huge mentally disabled man with tourette's syndrome to my left, the naked crazy lady to my right and joker and another religious fanatic directly in front of me.
The food was abhorrent. The eggs disintegrated when I poked them with my fork and the bacon (one of my favorite foods) left much to be desired. From that moment on, I ate a lot of cereal.
The conversation at my table was deafening as well as incoherent. Everyone was shouting to themselves and not taking in anything said by another person. Joseph was sent back to our wing due to a violent outburst and we followed not long after.
I noticed during breakfast and when I drank some water later that the awful, metallic taste from earlier in the morning had only intensified. As I pondered this mystery I noticed the patients forming a line and, since I had nothing better to do, hopped in along with them. When I reached the end I found myself to a window similar to one you'd find at at drive through.
"Name?" The woman I'd previously chatted up at the desk asked me through the glass.
"What's this line for?" I asked.
She sighed deeply. "This is where you get your meds. You need to come here twice a day and take them."
"Ok. What are they?"
"Let me check. What's your name?"
"Wait a minute. You're in charge of medications and you don't know our names? You're surrounded by mental patients. Joseph over there said he was Jesus this morning."
"Look, if you keep talking to me like that you're going to be in here a lot longer than you'd like. What's your name?"
"I'm Dav-lin Stew-art." I told her while drawing out each syllable, just to piss her off.
She then handed me a Dixie cup with three pills and another one filled with water. I gagged while consuming the contents of each.
Once that unpleasantness was over I went with my fellow crazies to my first group session. The counselor was a beautiful woman a few years older than myself and she left me transfixed. Since this kind of group wasn't the type who could articulate their feelings with fully constructed sentences, she opted instead for a very simplistic board game. She led conversation casually as we all struggled to get through it together.
"How do you feel being in here?" She asked me when it was my turn.
"I'm 22 years old," I replied while shaking the dice in my hand, "and I'm so emotionally screwed up I had to check myself into a mental hospital." I rolled the dice. "If I'm being honest. I'm not really sure what to feel right now."
"What's the hardest thing about it?
"I miss my music so bad it hurts."
Her eyes flashed with understanding. "If you could hear any band right now, who would it be?"
"Right now? Blue October, hands down."
Thirty minutes later group ended and we went back to our wing. This time, when we returned there was a scared kid sitting alone at one of the tables. His eyes darted in our direction and studied us all. He was terrified. I went over to him and sat down.
"Hey, man. My name's Davlin. Rough morning?"
"Hi. Eric. I'm freaking out."
"What happened?"
"My mom, man. She pushes me too hard in school. Like, it's crazy. I just want to be able to live my own life, but she won't let me. This morning I took 8 Tylenol in front of her. I just wanted to scare her; to show her how she makes me feel."
"Then what happened?"
"She called the paramedics, who gave me a charcoal pill and sent me here. My mouth still tastes like shit"
"That fucking sucks, man. How old are you?"
"19."
To make him feel better, I told him this story:
“There was this one day a couple of years ago I was feeling really depressed. I was watching TV feeling sad and bored when I picked up my belt. It was one of those that had leather threaded together, to allow you to put the notch anywhere you wanted. So, I wrapped it around my neck and buckled it as tight as it would go. I then just sat there for a couple of minutes. It was more uncomfortable than anything, so I got bored with it and gave up. After a couple of hours I went over to my girlfriend’s place and she asked what was wrong with my neck. The belt had burst all the blood vessels around my throat and you could see the perfect outline of the leather threads. I still don’t remember how I explained that one.”
“Hahaha...You did that? That was dumb.”
“Oh, really? I’m gonna get shit from you, Mr. 8 Tylenol?”
After that, we became inseparable in there. Unfortunately, this is also when the pills I ingested earlier started taking effect, causing the memories of the rest of my stay to splinter.
My time in the mental hospital: Part 2 The first night
With one hand holding the waist of my pants and the other holding a small duffel bag, I took small, awkward steps steps through the empty halls. The orderly leading me explained the situation regarding my placement and tried to prepare me for how to handle the things I was going to see. He was a young guy and he was quiet when he spoke.
"You'll be out of this wing soon, couple of days tops. Just keep your head down and try not to excite anyone."
"Duly noted."
The door to my wing opened and there while there were no patients in sight, I could hear them wailing in the back. We approached the front desk which was connected to the normal wing. I looked to my right to see an older woman with matted hair standing in the hallway and pressing her face into the wall.
The orderly takes my duffel bag for inspection and I was taken to a room for a proper medical screening. They asked me why I was there and I told them about the breakup. How seeing her everyday tore me up inside, but didn't affect her in the slightest. I would have rather she hated me, because it was her apathy that was doing me in.
"Uh-huh." Was his response.
Then I just started throwing out more random traumatic memories, things I torture myself with every single day.
"Uh-huh." Was his response.
After I made the cute female nurse leave, I asked him about an embarrassing health issue. His eyes visibly clicked with recognition as the final piece of the puzzle slid into place and he understood why I was there.
"Now, I can't help you with that. But, I don't think you're crazy. Depressed, sure, but you're not insane. You are, however, about to see crazy."
I go back to the front desk and I ask if I can go smoke. Thankfully, they say it's OK and point to the door. The smoke room was a big wooden box with benches built along the walls. Also on the walls, were years of mad ramblings carved into their surface which you could get lost in for hours.
The first time I entered the box I was not alone, there were two other guys there with me. One was a cheerful middle age white guy who said, "They, call me joker, or smiley. Cos, I'm always smilin'. He wasn't lying, cat always had a smile carved onto his face. His eyes never smiled with his lips, they hid much more malevolent emotions.
The second was an emaciated black man in his thirties. He introduced himself by many names, one of which was Joseph. He was a prophet who spoke to Jesus Christ.
I lit my cig and savored the first drag before asking, "Whatcha guys doin'?"
Joseph looked at me, "We're reading the word of God. You're a believer aren't you?"
"You know," I squeaked, "religion is very complicated. There are lot of things you have to really think about."
"Not it isn't." Joseph's eyes flashed with wrath, "You're either with us, or with them." He points to the nursing station. "They get bled like pigs."
"Oh, um...I love Jesus. So much."
"Good." Joker finally chimed in. "Cos, see we can't read so good and you talk like you can. Come sit next to us and read the word of God."
"Yes. Great idea." I wasn't relieved by Joseph's approval.
I sat down in between them and a bible was thrust into my lap. I don't remember what I read to them, but I do remember thinking the experience was the personification of my feelings regarding organized religion, particularly Christianity.
The orderly who brought me in came outside right when the guys were telling me their deranged take on the passage I'd just read.
"We need you back inside."
"Thank you so much, man. I was getting worried." I said once the door was closed behind us.
"That was about to turn into a situation. Those two are the two most dangerous patients here. Don't turn your back on them."
"Joseph said people will be bled like pigs."
"Yeah, he says that."
He informs me my bag has passed inspection, my door is to remain open at all times, the rooms are monitored and I will be given a pill to help me sleep. He doesn't tell me what it is and I don't ask.
"What do you want to drink?" he asks. "We've got apple juice, orange juice, milk, chocolate milk..."
"Chocolate milk!" I say with the enthusiasm of a five year old.
He gives me two, which is more than I want, but I pop the pill and chug em both down because I doubt I'll have a minifridge in my room. Once I'm nauseous from the mixture of too much dairy and old Mexican food, he tells me where to find my room.
As I walk the halls I don't dare look into any of the open rooms, for fear at what I might find. I finally reach mine and when I cross its threshold I get a horrifying view of the woman from the hallway staring at me while completely naked. An involuntary burp filled my mouth with a concoction of fajitas, chocolate milk and vomit.
"This is my room!" She tells me as she stomps her foot.
"Okie-dokie." Was all I could come up with before I left.
I tell the orderly, "There's a naked woman in my room. This is the first time in my life I'm not stoked to say that sentence."
"Oh, um...ok. Take the one across from her, I'm pretty sure it's empty."
"Awesome, thanks."
My new room was empty, but being forced to sleep with the door open meant it didn't make me feel any more reassured. I put my clothes in the cubby hole they gave me and brought my personal effects and put them in the nightstand by my bed. These effects included, one notebook and one pen. Both were given to me by the doctor.
The only luxury I truly missed was my music, so I spent the next 30 minutes writing lyrics to my favorite songs so I wouldn't forget them.
I glanced up and spotted a black box with a red light in the upper right hand corner. "That's odd," I thought. I then looked around to find them in every corner. This is when I remember what the orderly said,
"...all of the rooms are monitored..."
Fuck. This meant I wasn't even going to have the one natural stress reliever I've used every day since I was 13. (Grow up, I'm just talking about jacking off)
I sighed deeply, and turned out the light. The bed was uncomfortable, fitted with rubber sheets and one pillow and blanket which were almost paper thin. I used the pillow to block out the cacophony from the rooms outside. While it did manage to soften the noise from the external voices, the internal ones were turned up to 11.
"WHYAMIHEREWILLTHISMAKEHERLOVEMEYOUBROKEYOURMOTHERSHEARTSHEBROKEMINEFIRSTWEALWAYSKNEWITWOULDCOMETOTHISGOD WHY HAVEN'T THE SLEEPING PILLS KICKED I-"
When I awoke it was still dark out and something felt wrong. I was groggy from the pill I took and reached my hand under the blanket and it came back wet. The meds put me down so hard I pissed the bed. I walked to the front desk and stood there for a few moments, because I forgot why I went.
"Yes?" my best friend the male orderly asked with nervous eyes.
"mmlosthm"
"You're lost?"
"No! I lost something. Can you help me find it?"
"Well, what'd you lose?"
"My fuckin' dignity, have you seen it?"
"What?"
"Never mind. Can I have some clean sheets, please?"
His expression was quizzical, but he obliged. I went back and passed out again, unaware of what the next day would bring.
"You'll be out of this wing soon, couple of days tops. Just keep your head down and try not to excite anyone."
"Duly noted."
The door to my wing opened and there while there were no patients in sight, I could hear them wailing in the back. We approached the front desk which was connected to the normal wing. I looked to my right to see an older woman with matted hair standing in the hallway and pressing her face into the wall.
The orderly takes my duffel bag for inspection and I was taken to a room for a proper medical screening. They asked me why I was there and I told them about the breakup. How seeing her everyday tore me up inside, but didn't affect her in the slightest. I would have rather she hated me, because it was her apathy that was doing me in.
"Uh-huh." Was his response.
Then I just started throwing out more random traumatic memories, things I torture myself with every single day.
"Uh-huh." Was his response.
After I made the cute female nurse leave, I asked him about an embarrassing health issue. His eyes visibly clicked with recognition as the final piece of the puzzle slid into place and he understood why I was there.
"Now, I can't help you with that. But, I don't think you're crazy. Depressed, sure, but you're not insane. You are, however, about to see crazy."
I go back to the front desk and I ask if I can go smoke. Thankfully, they say it's OK and point to the door. The smoke room was a big wooden box with benches built along the walls. Also on the walls, were years of mad ramblings carved into their surface which you could get lost in for hours.
The first time I entered the box I was not alone, there were two other guys there with me. One was a cheerful middle age white guy who said, "They, call me joker, or smiley. Cos, I'm always smilin'. He wasn't lying, cat always had a smile carved onto his face. His eyes never smiled with his lips, they hid much more malevolent emotions.
The second was an emaciated black man in his thirties. He introduced himself by many names, one of which was Joseph. He was a prophet who spoke to Jesus Christ.
I lit my cig and savored the first drag before asking, "Whatcha guys doin'?"
Joseph looked at me, "We're reading the word of God. You're a believer aren't you?"
"You know," I squeaked, "religion is very complicated. There are lot of things you have to really think about."
"Not it isn't." Joseph's eyes flashed with wrath, "You're either with us, or with them." He points to the nursing station. "They get bled like pigs."
"Oh, um...I love Jesus. So much."
"Good." Joker finally chimed in. "Cos, see we can't read so good and you talk like you can. Come sit next to us and read the word of God."
"Yes. Great idea." I wasn't relieved by Joseph's approval.
I sat down in between them and a bible was thrust into my lap. I don't remember what I read to them, but I do remember thinking the experience was the personification of my feelings regarding organized religion, particularly Christianity.
The orderly who brought me in came outside right when the guys were telling me their deranged take on the passage I'd just read.
"We need you back inside."
"Thank you so much, man. I was getting worried." I said once the door was closed behind us.
"That was about to turn into a situation. Those two are the two most dangerous patients here. Don't turn your back on them."
"Joseph said people will be bled like pigs."
"Yeah, he says that."
He informs me my bag has passed inspection, my door is to remain open at all times, the rooms are monitored and I will be given a pill to help me sleep. He doesn't tell me what it is and I don't ask.
"What do you want to drink?" he asks. "We've got apple juice, orange juice, milk, chocolate milk..."
"Chocolate milk!" I say with the enthusiasm of a five year old.
He gives me two, which is more than I want, but I pop the pill and chug em both down because I doubt I'll have a minifridge in my room. Once I'm nauseous from the mixture of too much dairy and old Mexican food, he tells me where to find my room.
As I walk the halls I don't dare look into any of the open rooms, for fear at what I might find. I finally reach mine and when I cross its threshold I get a horrifying view of the woman from the hallway staring at me while completely naked. An involuntary burp filled my mouth with a concoction of fajitas, chocolate milk and vomit.
"This is my room!" She tells me as she stomps her foot.
"Okie-dokie." Was all I could come up with before I left.
I tell the orderly, "There's a naked woman in my room. This is the first time in my life I'm not stoked to say that sentence."
"Oh, um...ok. Take the one across from her, I'm pretty sure it's empty."
"Awesome, thanks."
My new room was empty, but being forced to sleep with the door open meant it didn't make me feel any more reassured. I put my clothes in the cubby hole they gave me and brought my personal effects and put them in the nightstand by my bed. These effects included, one notebook and one pen. Both were given to me by the doctor.
The only luxury I truly missed was my music, so I spent the next 30 minutes writing lyrics to my favorite songs so I wouldn't forget them.
I glanced up and spotted a black box with a red light in the upper right hand corner. "That's odd," I thought. I then looked around to find them in every corner. This is when I remember what the orderly said,
"...all of the rooms are monitored..."
Fuck. This meant I wasn't even going to have the one natural stress reliever I've used every day since I was 13. (Grow up, I'm just talking about jacking off)
I sighed deeply, and turned out the light. The bed was uncomfortable, fitted with rubber sheets and one pillow and blanket which were almost paper thin. I used the pillow to block out the cacophony from the rooms outside. While it did manage to soften the noise from the external voices, the internal ones were turned up to 11.
"WHYAMIHEREWILLTHISMAKEHERLOVEMEYOUBROKEYOURMOTHERSHEARTSHEBROKEMINEFIRSTWEALWAYSKNEWITWOULDCOMETOTHISGOD WHY HAVEN'T THE SLEEPING PILLS KICKED I-"
When I awoke it was still dark out and something felt wrong. I was groggy from the pill I took and reached my hand under the blanket and it came back wet. The meds put me down so hard I pissed the bed. I walked to the front desk and stood there for a few moments, because I forgot why I went.
"Yes?" my best friend the male orderly asked with nervous eyes.
"mmlosthm"
"You're lost?"
"No! I lost something. Can you help me find it?"
"Well, what'd you lose?"
"My fuckin' dignity, have you seen it?"
"What?"
"Never mind. Can I have some clean sheets, please?"
His expression was quizzical, but he obliged. I went back and passed out again, unaware of what the next day would bring.
My time in the mental hospital: Part 1
There are painful things about my past which people in my personal life know about, but won't let me discuss. I can't talk about them because of how it makes them feel. This means I have to kill myself by keeping it all inside. I'm not going to live like that anymore. Here's a story I've been needing to tell for 2 and a half years.
A couple of weeks before my 23rd birthday, I was in a bad way. I was allowing Allison to string me along, seeing horrible doctors and hearing a voice which told me to kill myself. Due to a lack of another viable option I decided to check myself into a mental hospital.
The only people I told before I left were a lady in HR and my boss. My boss also had a big mouth, I later found out.
I drove my car to my mom's house and waited for her to get home to take me up there. I just remember sitting in her living room. Everything was quiet except for the sounds of my sister swimming in the backyard and the obnoxious wind chime by the back door. My hands shook as I put my headphones on and listened to "HRSA" by Blue October. Then I wept.
Mom got home and the next thing I remember is pumping gas for her. Then us eating in painful silence where I couldn't bring myself to look at her.
After that, we got to the hospital and they gave me paperwork to fill out and hand back. My mom tried to stay positive, but I knew as soon as she was inside her car she was going to unload. Before they took us back I had to give them my belt and shoelaces. I had to constantly hold my pants up with one hand, while trying not to walk out of my shoes and was never successful at either.
A doctor asked me questions and my mom became visibly hurt by some of the answers I had given. When the interrogation was over, the doctor told mom she had to leave. She was barely able to stifle the cry as she embraced me, then I was all alone.
The wing for patients who were bi-polar and on drug rehabilitation was full, so they stuck me with the ones who were prone to unpredictable and violent outbursts. The next 48 hours were terrifying and I've never seen a movie do it justice, but I'm not ready to go any further right now.
To be continued...
A couple of weeks before my 23rd birthday, I was in a bad way. I was allowing Allison to string me along, seeing horrible doctors and hearing a voice which told me to kill myself. Due to a lack of another viable option I decided to check myself into a mental hospital.
The only people I told before I left were a lady in HR and my boss. My boss also had a big mouth, I later found out.
I drove my car to my mom's house and waited for her to get home to take me up there. I just remember sitting in her living room. Everything was quiet except for the sounds of my sister swimming in the backyard and the obnoxious wind chime by the back door. My hands shook as I put my headphones on and listened to "HRSA" by Blue October. Then I wept.
Mom got home and the next thing I remember is pumping gas for her. Then us eating in painful silence where I couldn't bring myself to look at her.
After that, we got to the hospital and they gave me paperwork to fill out and hand back. My mom tried to stay positive, but I knew as soon as she was inside her car she was going to unload. Before they took us back I had to give them my belt and shoelaces. I had to constantly hold my pants up with one hand, while trying not to walk out of my shoes and was never successful at either.
A doctor asked me questions and my mom became visibly hurt by some of the answers I had given. When the interrogation was over, the doctor told mom she had to leave. She was barely able to stifle the cry as she embraced me, then I was all alone.
The wing for patients who were bi-polar and on drug rehabilitation was full, so they stuck me with the ones who were prone to unpredictable and violent outbursts. The next 48 hours were terrifying and I've never seen a movie do it justice, but I'm not ready to go any further right now.
To be continued...
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