Checks

Every 5 minutes, we were checked. 5 minute checks, 10 minute checks, 15 minute checks. The doors were wide open and every night I would hear the footsteps of the nurses, and then feel the warm glow of their flashlights on my back. In 5 minutes, you couldn’t do much. For some girls, it was enough to scratch themselves till they bleed, for others it was just enough time to shower. For me, it was just enough time to stare out of the barred window and gaze at the outside world (or the parking lot of the hospital), and look at the sunlight sparkle through the trees. The problem with doing this while a nurse was present, is that they would most likely think I was a catatonic depressive or something along those lines. 5 minute checks. 10 minute checks. 15 minute checks. Checks. Footsteps. Flashlights. I enjoyed simply being alone, drawing or reading magazines and just being myself for once.

Taylor

Taylor was a large (very large) black girl who had choppy, short frazzled hair that stuck up. She was a constant reminder that I didn’t have it so bad. In group she would talk about her abusive dad, who beat her head into a wall on several occasions. I wanted to hug her, but I was afraid. I was secretly afraid of everyone there but I never let it on, knowing that some of the girls who were in for beating or attempting to kill others hated the weak. Taylor was 16, and had been raped, been in jail, had a baby, and watched her baby burn to death. She never cried. Her face was kind, but her emotions were all hidden. In group, no one ever questioned her. She didn’t deserve it. Some of us were emotional wrecks, and it wasn’t based on the situations we had been put in, but our own state of mind. But Taylor, just needed love. The way she saw affection was different from everyone else. She adopted the name ‘Mama’ as she was the most respected and motherly girl in the ward. Her idea of a ‘Mama’ was to snap us with rubber bands whenever any of us pissed her off. I think I was the only girl who found this sad. Taylor would snap our wrists or thighs so hard that they would leave a mark for a number of days. On one occasion, Aleah, who was a uneducated brat who seemed like she had tourettes (or maybe just no self control or morals) was snapped in the thigh, she started screaming, and immediately told staff. When questioned, we all stood up for Taylor, and claimed it never happened. I did it because I was terrified of her, and others did it because they didn’t see anything wrong with it. They had endured so much more than me. I didn’t understand why these victims of the most harsh cruelty in the world had to be put away, and labelled physco. Surely they were just wounded souls who had been brought up to believe that violence was acceptable. I loved them in a way that no one else would ever understand. And I knew they loved me in the same way. All of us had been driven one way or another to feel responsible for the hardship in our lives. We were all hurt, and in pain. We all understood each other. I felt so weak in comparision to the other girls. Yet they all thought I was so strong. I had been through a couple of changes, sure. But I didn’t have a kid, or a jail sentence to go back to. I was never raped or molested. Some of these girls had never been told they were beautiful in their whole lives. Taylor provided a form of love that was understandable to us all, and she didn’t know any better. She made us a large dysfunctional family, that wasn’t that much more dysfunctional than the families we had all left back home.

Journey to the Looney Bin

Most people write books and make movies about mental institutes. I don’t see why I shouldn’t. But most of those people experienced these things at age 20 or 30, not 14. Its embarrassing. Its an odd accomplishment as well. It doesn’t make much sense but that’s just what it is. I remember being strapped into the ambulance stretcher and feeling like I was crazy, and then realizing that I probably was crazy considering I had tried to kill myself and was now going to an adolescent asylum. The stretcher was pulled by two ladies in their twenties, one was thin and blonde and the other was a stocky brunette with a nose piercing. As they pushed be through the hallways I kept my head up, as I hate hospitals and seeing all the dying miserable farts lying around (previously I caught a glimpse of an obese woman shitting her hospital bed) and held onto my moms hand. It was the last I was going to see of her at least for that night as she wasn’t allowed to come with me. I was wearing a shabby hospital gown and I had no make up so I felt blank and depressed. I guess I sound awfully materialistic but to be honest im not like that at all, im just terribly insecure and enjoy covering it up. But anyway, as I was lying on the stretcher the two woman holstered me up into the ambulance and the chubby one went to the front and the blonde on came in the back with me. I remember looking out of the back of the window looking at all the familiar malls and streets and wondering how long it would be till I saw them again. The blonde woman asked me all the same questions ‘How did you attempt to kill yourself’ and ‘Do you have a family history of depression.’ I just sat there for what seemed like 3 hours in the back of the ambulance, listening to the two woman debate about what panda express to go to later that night. When we arrived my nerves were worse. The place looked like a fucking old person home. It was a run down one story hospital in the middle of nowhere surrounded by electric fences. As the rolled me in we went past different wings labeled ‘Adult Unit 1’ “Anorexic and Bulimic Unit’ and finally ‘Adolescent Unit’ I went in strapped on the stretcher and I was welcomed by male staff in their early thirties. At first I was self conscious realizing I looked like I was in a straight jacket and then I realized it couldn’t be that shocking considering we were in a mental hospital. There were 3 men, one of them told me he liked my flats. Sure, I thought, attempt to make me feel comfortable in a situation like this. He introduced himself as Alexis and lead me to a small empty room with a telephone and a chair. He told me that he liked Hello Kitty and pointed to a sticker on his name tag. I faked a smile and then filled out the form they had given me about why I was there. I sat there waiting. Finally a woman came in. I explained my case to an thin Asian woman with a birthmark on her forehead. It was odd for me to be so open about a side of me that was this dysfunctional and hidden. I explained my case all the same. She took away my belongings and removed my hair tie (because I was really planning on killing myself with a hair tie) and lead me through a long hallway of rooms. I saw rows large heavy doors propped wide open and 3 beds facing towards each of them. When we reached the end of the hall she reached her hand out signifying which was my room. I walked in. The room was pale and cold, nearly empty other than 3 beds and 3 dressers. Only one of the beds was occupied and it seemed to be taken by a large girl wearing a hat. Oh joy, I thought, who could this be. I didn’t think things could get much worse. That night I cried myself to sleep.