National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
Three weeks ago I voluntarily entered a . It wasn’t my first time to see the hospital, three months ago I had entered for the same thing, but due to fresh instability that trip was less than enjoyable. I was resistant to any help and sad, a bad combination.
At 2 a.m, with my parents supportively trailing behind, we entered the ER. The sign that read “emergency” iridescently shone in red, and welcomed us through the sliding glass door to the front desk. Upon completion of some brief paperwork, I scowered the lobby for any open seats. The moon was full and bright the night I entered the ER, and it is understood throughout the medical world that a full moon brings on irregular nights at the hospital, this myth was soon brought to fruition. The sound of a baby crying rose above the monotone television news and I tried my best not to notice. This turned out to be a bad idea seeing how the news was more . Go figure.
After sitting for about an hour people began to file out until I was the last one sitting. My parents sat parallel from me, and it felt dreamlike, because I couldn’t remember the last time I saw my parents at three in the morning. My Dad was constantly moving in his plastic hospital chair, his 54 yr. old body trying desperately to find comfort in such an uncomfortable piece. Finally, everything was quite, so much so that I could hear a young women crying down the hall. I don’t know why she was crying, but I do know that I felt guilty that I hadn’t heard her cry earlier.
My room was finally ready in the rehab center. I said my goodbyes to my folks and entered with a fairly confident and clear mind. Everything looked the same except the people. At 3:30 a.m. most patients were asleep except an older woman that was quick to ask my name and some more information. She wore a nightgown that had no color and her face could easily be described as the same, but she made me feel at home in a place that was far from that. Her questions were centered around art (I was drawing a picture at the time), so I told her alittle about my art experience. Then she recanted with a story of how she had won a spelling bee years ago in grade school. I still don’t know how the two are related, but that’s what I heard at 3:30 in the morning.
After a brief conversation I went to my room, where I was surprised to find a young man about my age sleeping in bikini underwear in the bed next to mine. We were both surprised by eachother but too tired to make any formal introductions. In the morning I came to find out my roomates name and story, very “prison-esque.” He was as well as other drugs. Throughout the day he was in constant anxiety due to the different medications, lack of medications and lack of drugs. His hair was dark, and his eyes were always glazed but very alive. I think this was because the blue of his eyes contrasted with so many other parts of his body makeup.