Ten Days in Hell

Everything had become so blurry and it was all running together. I didn't know the date, couldn't remember my birthday, didn't know the woman sitting in the chair across the room from me who was wringing her hands and crying.

The walls were sea foam green and the furniture was tope brown. I felt filthy in such a sterile room. The nurse, a tall man in emerald scrubs, had a worry line etched into his forehead from studying the sick children in the emergency room every day. It had probably been a while since he had seen a child like me.

I was clawing the exam table, ripping the paper into long strips with my fingernails. My feet slammed into the wall over and over again and my mouth was wide open and emitting screams of agony and horror. Nothing was real to me anymore. I didn't want to be at home, didn't want to be in an examination room at Children's Hospital, and didn't want to be in anyone else's home. All I wanted to do was escape into a world where I was the only person around.

My throat began to throb from all the screaming and I croaked out a final wail before closing my mouth and sobbing. The man was asking my mom why I had tried to end my life. She didn't know. The anger boiled in my blood. I wanted to tell her that I was asking her for help for years and she ignored my requests. Now it had gotten uncontrollable. But I didn't. She knew I was angry with her and there was no need to rub it in any further.

Salty tears dampened the paper on the table and my mascara mixed in with it, smearing black streaks down my face and shirt as the water dripped onto the surface on which I was reclining. It felt so foreign to me. I was so used to holding my tears back and now the dam had broken.

A doctor knocked on the door and entered the room. "Rachel? Hello, I'm Dr. Sanders. What's going on with you today?"

I stared at him with angry eyes while my mom explained to him why we were there.

"What kind of knife did you use?" he asked me.

"I don't know. One of those motherfuckers in the kitchen."

"Okay, I see. May I examine your wounds?" he asked a little more cautiously.

"Whatever."

I closed my eyes and lay my arm out for him to see. My wrists were stinging and my elbow throbbed from the scabs and the etches burned down my forearm.

"Mmm. You're lucky there's no infection. These are some pretty serious cuts."

"No shit," I muttered.

"No worries," he remarked. "All you have to do is cleanse your arm with soap and water until the wounds heal. A psychiatrist on call will be down shortly to discuss options of hospitalization with you."

Dr. Sanders patted my mother's shoulder and left the room. Mom was wiping her eyes and looking up at the ceiling. She probably never knew he left the room. Seeing her cry broke what was left of my heart.

"Mama. I didn't want to hurt you."

"Rachel, you tried to kill my only child: YOU! Why would you say you weren't trying to hurt me? I love you, Rachel. Don't you dare...."

She trailed off, then began sobbing again. "Mama. Come here."

She stood and staggered towards me. I took her hand and squeezed it, and she bent down to kiss my forehead and hug me. We held each other until we both calmed down a little.

"What time is it?" I asked her.

"9:08," she replied after glancing at her watch.

I cracked a smile. "Turn the TV to Nick at Nite."

She raised an eyebrow at me, then turned the TV on to Channel 31. Our favorite show, George Lopez, was on that channel. My mom perched at the edge of the exam table and we watched the show for a solid hour before the psychiatrist came in and broke our content silence.

"I'm afraid we need to hospitalize Rachel. We just need to keep an eye on her till we can be sure she won't endanger her own life or others," the new doctor said with a concerned frown.

"No. I want to go home. Mom!" I cried out. She grabbed my hand and her eyes filled with tears.

"Can I just take her home?" she pleaded.

"No ma'am. I'm sorry. You two can stay in here until I can call a security guard to walk you up to her new bed."

I'm sure he left not too long after breaking the news, but I was too busy crying and worrying about my hospitalization. Was I going to be chained down to my bed? Were my walls going to be padded? What was going to happen to me?

Time passed by too quickly. Before too long, a nurse stepped quietly into the room with a bulky man in black standing beside her. She motioned for us to follow her and looked away politely while I cried into my mother's shoulder. The security guard kept his eyes forward the whole time, probably muffling his curiosity.

We stepped off the elevator and went down a long, dimly lit corridor. The nurse tapped the intercom button and explained why she was outside the door. Moments later, a heavy set black woman opened the door and looked at me. She smiled, but all I could do was make my lips quiver even faster.

"Hey Rachel," she greeted me. "I'm Bianca. You've come to the right place. Just step inside here and we'll need to get your information."

I stepped forward, still clutching my mother's arm. The nurse stroked my arm, trying to keep me calm. Bianca wanded me, found my phone, and instructed me to hand it over to my mother. Another heavyset black woman stepped forward and led my mom to another room to ask her questions and get her to fill out forms. Bianca and another woman, Tijuana, took me to another exam room and instructed me to lift my shirt. They took off my bra, removed the underwire, and handed my now floppy bra back to me. They watched me take out my earrings and take off my other jewelry, then told me to remove the string from my drawstring shorts. My clothes felt way too roomy now. Tijuana and Bianca weighed me, measured my height, and took my temperature and blood pressure. They told me I was healthy, then Tijuana took me to my new room.

The walls were not padded, but all the edges of my furniture had been filed down. I had a desk with a few drawers, a plastic chair, a mattress on a wooden frame, and a window covered in bars. My bathroom was less than desirable. The shower curtain was held up by three hooks, leaving me exposed when I took a shower the next morning. The faucet was automated and I didn't have a trash can anywhere. Tijuana explained the facility rules to me and then handed me my new uniform for my hospital stay: sage green scrubs and purple gripping socks. My "gift" was a bucket with a comb, a sample bottle of Johnson&Johnson body wash, small tubes of shampoo and conditioner, and a stick of deodorant. I knew I wouldn't smell my freshest while I was here.

"Let's go see the other patients," she suggested.

I followed her out to the main room. The kids were seated on the floor playing Uno and watching Madea's Family Reunion.

"I love this movie," I ventured as I sat down slowly.

"Me too girl," another girl with long braids said.

"You guys, this is Rachel. She's our new patient. Introduce yourselves," Tijuana told them.

"I'm Jonathan."

"I'm Jessica."

"I'm Lo."

Jonathan was fairly cute. I think he was mixed, and he had an intense pair of hazel eyes. Jessica just looked dumb. Her hair was dry, her mouth hung open, and she moved slowly when she laid down a card. Lo was the girl with the braids. She wore basketball shorts and a t-shirt, looking relaxed and comfortable.

"Wanna play on the next round?" Lo asked me.

"Sure."

I waited for them to finish their game. They played by their own rules, so I knew I was going to lose this game. Jessica complained that Jonathan offered for me to go first, since she had been the patient who had stayed the longest in this circle. Lo and Jonathan rolled their eyes; this must have been a habit for Jessica. I played quietly with the other patients and waited for my mom.

"Bed time!" Bianca called out.

"Wait, can I see my mom?"

She patted my shoulder and assured me that my mom would be in shortly.

I changed into my scrubs and paced my room. I sat on my bed. I tried to open my closet. I tried to make my bathroom door lock, to no avail. Finally, my mom came in. I asked her what she had to do, and she asked me the same question. After explaining to each other, I rested my head on her shoulder.

"I just need help," I whispered.

"I know. And you're going to get it."

She kissed my temple and held me close. We talked about everything but this situation. I was wishing it would disappear, and I'm sure my mother was doing the same.

A knock came at the door. A nurse poked her head in and told my mom it was 11:30. My mom hugged me one last time, promised she would be back tomorrow at 1:30, and walked out of my room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, I began crying again. Wailing is more the word. I peeled paint off the walls and pressed my face against the window while my tears built up again. Nurses checked in on me throughout the night, and it was growing to be daylight by the time I decided to lie down. Right when my head hit the pillow, a cart entered my room. A bunch of nurses told me hello and then began to prep my arm to draw blood. After drawing my blood, they took my temperature and then told me to go back to sleep. That command must have worked, because I went to sleep and didn't wake up until 11:30 AM.

When would this nightmare end?