Day One:

I wake up in the psychiatric ward for adolescents

December 19, 2019

7:00 AM

For as long as I can remember, I was surrounded by total darkness. No way light could penetrate through. No sound. No sense of direction. No other being there but me, myself, and I. Nothing. In a sea of humanity, utterly alone, in what I call The Void.

The Void had been my home always. It was all I've ever known.

So, you can imagine that when I woke up in a different place other than Hell, The Void, or whatever the afterlife is, I felt hopeless. Lost. Even more alone than how I was before all of this. Angry. I felt my chest cave in, my heart dropping into the pit of my stomach, and pins and needles pricked my eyes. Waking up on that hospital bed, just made me want to try again. How?

How?

No... I made sure there was no way I could be alive.

I can't be alive…

Bright light flooded the room, I winced and shut my eyes. My whole 

body felt weak. Like I had been in a deep rest for months. I felt my arms move and my back arch up. With quivering arms, I lift myself up. Suddenly, sharp pain stabs my left wrist. I quickly sat myself up and looked around the room, ignoring the invisible knives stabbing through my wrist. 

The decision was made and I am really here, I thought, I am in the psychiatric hospital.

The room was painted white. There was a shelf to my left that was also painted white. A plastic blue stool was bolted to the floor next to the shelf. To my right was a plastic green desk and plastic green stool that were bolted to the floor as well. Next to the desk was a textured window, you know, the kind that is technically a window but looks foggy so no one can look in or out. There was a door that was obviously made of foam but was decorated to look like a door to the right of the room, they told me it was the bathroom.

My gaze was pulled down to my thin blanket that smelled like the hospital. I ran my hand over the covers. Its texture reminded me of a knitted blanket. I close my eyes tight before my eyes find my wrist.

Knock, knock, knock.

I look up and see a woman with dark hair and eyes enter. She carried a clip board and pulled in a machine. She must have noticed that I was staring at the machine because she smiled gently and said, “Don’t worry, we’re just going to check your vitals, it’s harmless.”

She sat down on the blue stool and nodded, “We met last night, but my name is Nurse Cheryl. It’s nice to meet you, Lavender.”

I nodded, looking at my hands.

Nurse Cheryl leaned forward, holding out her hand, “Can I see your arm?”

I handed her my arm and she put on the blood pressure wrap and that weird thing they put on your finger to check your heart rate.

After that was done, she looked at her clipboard then at me.

“Do you know where you are?”
I answered, monotone, “A psychiatric ward.”

“Do you know how you got here?”

I simply nodded.

“Okay. I am going to ask some questions, please answer honestly. On a scale of 1-10, one being the lowest, ten being the highest, how are the suicidal thoughts?”

I was silent for a few seconds, then responded, “8.”

She wrote it down.

“Do you plan on taking any action to hurt yourself?”

I shrugged, “I mean… I feel too weak to do anything. So, no.”

She wrote that down too.

“Depression?”

“9.”

“Anxiety?”

“10.”

The list went on for a while, but when she was done, she stood up and handed me a plastic bag with a toothbrush, small toothpaste, a hair brush, and small containers of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

“Your hygiene bag.” she says, smiling, “Return it to the nurse’s station when you are done. There is a towel and a wash cloth at the nurse’s station, get it when you are ready.” she placed the clipboard under her arm and grabbed the machine, “Since you came in so early in the morning, you can sleep in for a little bit. Or you can join us for breakfast in an hour. Either way, we will see you soon.”

With that, she left.

I swung my feet to the side of the bed and placed my covered feet onto the floor. They don’t allow shoes, so they gave me socks to wear; and I had to change my clothes into the outfit they gave me- which was a red, long sleeved shirt with the initials of the ward over my heart and sweatpants with the initials on my left leg. I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply.

I didn’t want to be here.

Here in this god-awful place that we call life. It was worse now that I know my family is back home crying and thinking about me. It’s worse now that I have to be here in this institution for who knows how long and “work things out”.

It’s worse that I’m still breathing…

No matter what, I was going to have to face it, I thought. I opened my eyes and stared at my left wrist.

There was a clear, big bandaid that covered the stitches.

A reminder that I am still alive.

I felt the pins and needles pick at my eyes and I quickly rubbed them, holding back tears that threatened to fall.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I felt sick.

Getting up, I walked to the foam door, opened it, and turned on the light.

There was a mirror, but it looked more like reflective metal than glass, over a small sink. The toilet had no lids, which I found strange but made sense. A shower was next to the toilet.

They gave me a folder last night that had papers in it, that explained the rules and what they do here in the psychiatric ward. I read in the papers, since I couldn’t sleep, that it’s required to take a shower in the morning. So, I guess I will have to take one, even though I didn’t want to because not only did my body scream in pain but nothing can wash away the sins I held.

But I have no choice, so I complied.

When I was done with everything, I looked into the reflective metal at my reflection. There were dark bags under my eyes, I looked pale and sickly, and I looked like a ghost.

Shivering at the thought, I started to brush my teeth.

What if this is the afterlife? What if all of this was a dream? If I pinch myself hard enough, will I wake up?

I squeezed skin on my forearm as hard as I could.

My eyes inspected the stranger in the mirror.

This can’t be real.

I cleaned my room and fixed my bed, then I grabbed my water bottle that they gave me (so I can always carry water around), then took off the towel that wrapped up my hair and grabbed the wash cloth; next I made my way down the long hall.

The hall had a carpeted floor. The odor of air freshener was sprinkled lightly in the air. Lights shined brightly down, highlighting my figure. It was tidy, no clutter around.

There was a row of rooms to the left of the corridor. I caught glimpses of kids getting ready for their day by making beds, brushing hair, or getting their vitals checked.

I made it to the nurse’s station, stood next to it and looked at the adult that was behind it.

He had ruffled, light brown hair. His eyes were a tender caramel. He noticed me staring at him and threw a smile my way, “Can I help you?”

“My hygiene bag, and these towels.” I held them up.

He pointed to the counter where tubs sat, “Find your tub and put your bag in there. You can put the towels in the hamper next to you.”

I placed the towels in the hamper, then put my bag in my tub and gazed at the names on the other tubs.

A. J. , Owen , Russell, Angie, Courtney, Fiona, and Levi.

“Go sit at any seat,” said the man, “they will call you to the kitchen counter to get your food.”

“Okay.”

As I made my way to the tables, someone called, “Lavender.”

I see another man with black hair, a dark stubble, and a muscular face wave me to the kitchen counter. 

“How did you sleep?” he beamed as he handed me a spork and a tray that had something wrapped in tinfoil and a banana. 

“Okay,” I lied.

“That’s good. I’m Mike.”

I nodded, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Have a good day, Lavender.”

I turned around and looked at the small cafeteria that only had two tables. 

The teens talked among themselves quietly. My lips thinned, I knew no one. What would they think of me?

“Hey, come sit with us!”

A girl that had a dirty blonde pixie cut and bright blue eyes waved me over to a seat next to her.

Sitting next to her, I thanked her.

“It’s no problem!” she giggled, “What’s your name?”

“Lavender. Yours?”

“A. J.” she pointed to the red headed girl on the other side of her, “This is Courtney,” then pointed to the gray eyed and long, blond hair boy sitting in front of her, “this is Owen.”

“Hi.” I whispered.

“Hey,” said Courtney.

Owen raised his hand, to signal a wave.

My attention is pulled to my food, and I begin to peel away the tinfoil.

A warm, small, sausage and egg sandwich.

It made my mouth water. I took a single bite, but that was all I could eat.

“What is your race, Lavender?”

“Umm, Native American.”

“Really?” says Courtney, taking a bite out of her sandwich, “I thought you were Mexican! Sorry, you just look like you are Mexican.”

“I mean, I do have a bit of Mexican in me. But my main race is Native American.”

“That’s awesome!” beamed A. J.

Owen nodded.

“I drew an awesome picture of my little sister, want to see?” said Courtney.

A. J. leaned back, “Heck yeah! You’re art is sooo good.”

Owen inhaled his banana, while nodding.

Someone was whispering.

I look around the cafeteria.

No one is whispering. But somehow the voices grew louder.

“We did it for attention.”

“You are pathetic! You can’t even die properly!”

“Now look where we are.”

“F*****g loser, no one can help you, you’ll just end up back in here again.”

“We did it, we got what we wanted.”

“Lavender?”

I glance up to see Owen inspecting me.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay? You are shaking.” A. J. said, pointing to my hands.

“How are you guys?” walks over a lady with brown hair and a snowflake print scrubs.

Everyone answers except me. She looks at my hands and sits down in front of me and asks, “What’s going on? Do you need to go to the break room?”

The break room was a completely empty room that was painted white, it had nothing in it. No furniture, no paintings, nothing. Not even a foam chair. It was just a blank room with cameras. They told me that I could use it anytime if I needed space or a break, and that they put kids that were “acting up” in there.

It was a little unsettling, to be honest.

I shook my head.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Everything is f*****g wrong! I was supposed to die! I don’t want to be here!”

That’s at least what I wanted to say...

Instead, my voice was caught in my throat and I stammered, “I… I am having some toxic thoughts. They will go away, though, I’m fine.”

She didn’t seem to buy it, because next thing I know I’m now walking down a hall to go talk to a counselor.

This is going to be a long stay…

Author's Note

It is a little slow in the beginning, it gets more eventful later on

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

This is well written. The story line and the characters. Interesting and demanding. You allowed the reader to see what you wanted them to. A very strong chapter. I wanted to know and read more,
Coyote

[Lackadaisical Lenny]

Keep it going for sure. I enjoy the matter of fact tone and attention to detail.

[Helen]

I really enjoyed this (if that it the right word). I liked the flow, pace and tone of the words and the amount of description. At the same time, I found it somewhat painful and uncomfortable to read due to the subject matter. I am going to read chapter 2 now as it has me hooked! I think you are courageous to write this and share your experience with the world. I am sure there are many people who will identify.

[LazerRays]

Very similar to my experience in the ward. Imma read this because it reminds me of wha happened to me. Very interesting. I hope you're okay. Let's be friends! I'm sareè, Its nice to meet you