Rest Hour

The hospital was an escape for some of us. A confined parallel universe away from the expectations and rules of the real world. The environment was surreal. We were locked up, stripped bare of our façade of normality, with less clothes and no make up. Our privacy was gone, but we were somewhat free. Some girls couldn’t handle leaving. I remember one girl, Anna, who had short brown hair, tan skin and wonky teeth threw a fit the day before she left. She ran around the hallways screaming “This place is a fuck up. It doesn’t do shit for you. Fuck up!” and then slammed her door so hard that bits of the crappy wall fell onto the floor. Some of the girls found this very amusing and jumped with joy and clapped their hands as if it was a movie or show. This happened during visiting hour and her mother watched the whole thing. There were several parts of the day where we were expected to just keep to ourselves: Quiet time and Visiting hour. I just sat on my bed in silence and thought. I thought about trying to kill myself again, I thought about the headlights of the car I ran in front of and I thought of the faces of the two children in the backseat. Before I knew it I would be lying on my bed crying for hours on end.