Herrick

A true story

I haven’t been to school in three weeks. I haven’t been able to run in three weeks. I haven’t had a moment alone in three weeks. I don’t know how I’ve managed to stay alive.

I was hoping the drive would be longer. This hospital in Berkeley is over an hour away, and yet, it went by impossibly quickly. Soon, I will lose television. I will lose my phone. I will lose all contact with the outside world. For however long I am here, I will not exist.

Alta Bates Medical Center on Herrick Campus is supposedly a place that specializes in inpatient eating disorder treatment. I could be here two weeks. I could be here nine. I should have run away last night. I should have waited for my mother to fall asleep and run. I should have gotten on my bike and rode away. Instead, I’ll be here, missing my freshman year and a large chunk of my credits, being force fed.

My mother tries to talk to me. I’m not sure what she says. It’ll be okay? I don’t really care. She gets a woman to walk us deep into the hospital building, looping around several staircases and entering through at least five locked doors.

So, I think to myself. This is a mental hospital. Maybe I’ll see people sitting in the corner, trying to pull out their eyes. Maybe there’ll be people screaming at the voices in their heads. I don’t know.

I have no idea where we are. The woman talks with my mother, stopping to point out a long list of items not permitted in the corridor we’re about to open. No blades, nothing sharp, no strings, not even balloons? What kind of mad house is this? I don't belong here. I don't. I don't, I don't... do I?

We enter, and after passing through another locked door, we enter a long hallway. There are doors that look like the cell doors of prisoners in isolation going all the way down my left until the windows. To my right, there’s a long mural of a tropical island. It has to be ironic. Like a dentist with pictures of kids smiling. These people are sick. I already dislike them.

We turn a corner, and there’s a long table next to an office. Several nurses turn to face us. They talk with my mother and the woman, and I look forward. There’s a wall in front of me, like a Dutch door, with glass on the top. Inside the room, I see what looks like people sitting in chairs in a circle. One girl, easily four years older with long brown hair, looks at me. I pull my eyes down. Please, I think, don’t be one of the really crazy ones.

Someone puts their hand on my shoulder. I jerk away at the touch of my mother. The nurses stand before me, holding two hospital gowns. My outfit of the day for three weeks now. “You need to put these on.”A woman tells me. I stare at them, then the woman. I wonder if I’ll come to hate her. If she tries to get me to eat, then I will.

I reluctantly take them and hold them to my chest. “Goodbye, sweetie.” My mother says, reaching to hug me. I back away, staying out of her grasp. No. No hugs. You’re condemning me to a mental institution. Don’t touch me.

“You may change in this room.” The nurse leads me to a small room to the side with cloud paintings. I walk in and don’t look back. The door closes. I look around the room. They even painted the ceiling.

This place is going to drive me insane. I stand in the room, stalling for as long as I can. I don’t know how much time has passed, but it must be a lot, because the nurse knocks on my door. “You finished?” She asks.

I shake my head, and then realize she can’t see me. “No.” I croak.

She might come in if I take too long. I begin to disrobe, dropping the last of my personality onto the floor to be turned over. I pull on the gown, and I tie a tight bow. “Done.” I murmur. I will survive by shutting down. I will get out of here by lying. I will say what they want to hear. I will leave, and I will never come back. I will do whatever I need to. I don't care. I don't belong here.

I broke once before. I admitted to my mother that I had an eating disorder. I let her crying shame me into going to the hospital. I let her emotions guilt me into accepting hospital treatment. I had given up then. I can't now.

The door is opened, and I exit the room. My mother is gone.

My clothes stay on floor. They stay in that room, along with my spirit, so it can’t and won’t be broken by the hell I will have to face.