i spent 3 nights in the short-stay unit at the mental hospital where i live. this is the diary i kept while i was there. i'm pretty embarrassed about it. short-stay means 3-5 nights just to be safe or be kept under control for a little while. i was under close observation most of the time. i was admitted myself voluntarily. weird combination. i can't have a real coffee mug, but i can sign my own release papers and slit my wrist in the parking if i want to.
i'm feeling a lot better now, and i'm glad that i went. i'm following through with my psychologist from before and am going to be accepted into a trauma program. tragic breakup, still no word on that yet. i'm getting through, though. i really am. i am strong and beautiful and full of grace. and i really believe that this time around.
letters from room one-oh-one
i only have a couple days before i am kicked out of the home that puppy and i built together. i imagine that it is still pretty early in the morning and that he isn't even awake yet... but i hope with every part of me that he will come to visit. and i hope that he will see how silly it is for us to go on hurting alone. we love each other and should be there for each other. maybe he will see the magnitude and weight of my love for him. never before have i loved like this. he is the one. the closest to my heart and soul. he makes me happy.
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this is a strange process to be put through... i believe that they care very little about my actual well being and are more concerned with preserving the life status of "middle class white girl." if i killed myself they'd chalk it up to bad chemicals and heartache and while the heartache is very real, it's not as simple as that. this is a life time of damage rearing it's ugly head. how is it that with food and shelter that i can deem life to be impossible?
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everyone wakes up so early here. "aren't you going to eat breakfast? everybody else has eaten theirs."
i thought for sure it must be going for 11:30am. nope, 8:30. my tea tasted like dishwater and my eggs like the sponge at the bottom. there was some type of rolled oats and i'm entirely convinced that it was mucus. a man sitting next to me seemed disgusted because he had not received the same plastic container of phlegm. he seemed consoled when i offered him the fired mystery meat glaring at me and sitting in its own juices on the plate.
there is one woman who seems very interested in the patient phone and keeps answering. she seems to belong in the upstairs part of the hospital rather than in short-stay...
another woman kept asking if the lpn was a cop. he said no, he just had a short haircut.
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it makes me angry that my life is deemed to be more important than others. when soldiers kill someone from another country it's a number but when i want to take my own life, they will set me up in a room and feed me and have doctors wait on me and check in every 15 minutes (which they definitely haven't been).
i haven't even been assessed by what they keep proudly referring to as "the team." i keep having ideas of a news anchor team and envision lynn burry, fred hutton and tony-marie wiseman coming in my room and asking me to describe how i'm feeling.
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i'm going to try to read walden while i'm here and talk to people only as often as i need to.
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i still love you, julia.
in a sense, i have not betrayed you. it's us against the world, my darling.
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eggs for 3 meals... brilliant. two code whites today. one was very disturbing. i hid in my room while the woman with no teeth kicked and screamed and called the lpn's every profanity in the book. people say that most of those words have lost their weight - but they're still just as scary sometimes. the first woman who freaked out is still here and is upset again. someone cried all night last night, but i'm not sure who. big, long cries. like a whale.
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while i was napping, a thick stack of material on coping with stress and panic was left on my bedside table. i guess it's homework.
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i had blood work done. didn't faint this time.
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egg again. no bath towels here. only hand towels. anxious and excited for patrick's visit.
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the woman (with teeth) named kim (i think) asked my name and how old i am. informed me that i am by far the youngest patient. no duh, lady.
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talked to him on the phone last night. laughed and felt good for a minute. deluding myself, pretending we're still together. seems to sort of work. ignorance and blind hope; beautiful things.
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last night i had to put dressing on a salad for some lady covered in temporary tattoos. "i'm some hungry" i think she was saying.
the girl who always answers the phone is named christine. doing things for her all the time. poor girl couldn't go home yesterday.
kim is allowed her smokes now, hopefully no fits today.
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man came in last night with his million year old mother. he was asked if he wanted some food. the lpn asked his mother if she wanted a cup of tea. "no, but i'll have a glass of milk and a sandwich."
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kim is funny. when referring to her fit calling for a code white kept saying "ohhhh don't mind that."
tall blond alcoholic lady seems rich. nice though.
little blond lady has a kid, heard her on the phone. never comes out of her room. seems nice. she lost her lighter. not good in this kind of place.
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anxious to see "the team" and get it over with. ask about being discharged saturday afternoon. ask about prescription for ativan or xanax.
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want to phone him. taking everything i have not to. might nap. getting anxious. very anxious. miss him and want him to take me home. live together again. build compost bin together. love him so much. it could be so good. i just need the chance. would like to do therapy with him. gonna see jeff again... need to figure out work situation... need to not live at home... need independence and autonomy. need to organize my kitchen the way i like it. need him there with me playing songs on ukulele when i'm feeling sad.
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i never want to see an egg again.
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saving my chocolate bar to share with patrick. he'll be happy that i'm eating. be proud. i'll show him that i can do this. that we can do this, together. trying to be strong for him. in the waterford, for fuck sakes. just want him back.
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they don't check on you every 15 minutes. that's horse shit.
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i'll have some music when patrick comes. not much... but king of the hill too on his black mp3 player. if they don't let me have it because of the cord i'll lose it. i've got a string in my hoodie, just as bad, right?
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my tummy hurts. eating again is hard. would have been easier to just not.
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someone is yelling - i think the new girl who had salad.
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maybe i won't eat for a while... i just don't want to have to shit here. the toilet is always full of feces and piss.
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don't know about "the team." too many students everywhere. makes me uneasy. you never see a doctor here. nurses, nurses, nurses. seem mostly trained to control unruly patients as opposed to understand them.
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getting too nervous. going to try to sleep for a little bit maybe. wish i could go to sleep and wake up in bed at alexander street with puppy next to me. spend the whole day taking care of him and his poor little heart that i hurt. i love that little guy. he has the sweetest little half smile. his eyes are so big and bright. he's perfect. singing along and planning the revolution together. he's all i want. he tells me about the clash and stuff i don't understand about recording that is still way over my head and i tell him better ways to sew patches and about different spices. good night little sweetie pie, sleep well in the night times. life sucks without you.
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my mom is going to get me into a program for trauma. michelle case. my mom is hearing lots of good things about it. going to get a referral now. saw doctor this morning. hardly any questions. looks like i'll be discharged tomorrow if my good behavior keeps up. reallying excited about snuggling matilda. snuggling patrick maybe. must call jeff right away when i get out. appointments again.
wonder if the government will pay for me to live while i'm getting better. ask jeff about that one. excited to get better. good things will follow suit, i can tell. patrick will need to come back. that's what being in love means. you have to come back.
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christine might go home today. i'm really happy for her. she watches cartoons all day. i wish that my room weren't so cold. it's unbearable, but christine is always watching cartoons in the tv room and talking and it's too distracting so i can't read.
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i wish patrick were here now. i have so many things to tell him. i hope he wears his green shirt and pink pants. he could wear anything, though. he is so handsome it's unbearable. we're going through hard times but it's going to get so much better... it won't be perfect or easy or anything but we'll have each other and that's what really counts... what is really important. i'll give chris a big hug when i see him and get up and sing the lalalas with the satans (with patrick) and he will remember that he loves me and that we're meant to be despite all the hurt we've caused each other. we can both heal. i still love you, julia.
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he didn't come. i am so filled with rage right now. fuming. fucking fuming. backed out. last minute. fuck fuck fuck. probably going to hang out with her instead while i'm in a bed in the goddamn fucking waterford mental hospital. he doesn't care about making this better. he doesn't. i don't need this shit. and called be back to fucking goddamn fight with me on the phone.
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forgetting about him. lost cause. he must not feel anything for me. helping theresa (woman with no teeth) and christine write letters. this place is fucked. kim is bipolar, she told me. theresa gave herself two black eyes. she freaks out and punches herself in the face. pretty much the only time i cry here is because it's so scary. i can't wait to get out.
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so much waste here. i feel terrible. i can never use anything disposable ever again to try to make up for how much garbage there is here. fuck.
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going home. gave theresa a hug. they weighed me, only 120lbs. now. after eating a bunch of french fries and not shitting in forever. i didn't realize how bad it was.
so committed to getting better now. had a real turn-around. not focusing on him. focusing on me. who is "him" anyway" fuck that shit. i need to take care of bee. start today. there's always a tomorrow. at least until the apocalypse. |
