Sequel: Notebook of a Hell-Trapped Girl ›
Status: Hiatus. Meanwhile, check out my "Notebook of a Hell-trapped Girl"
Ten Days in Hell
3rd Day
Things were feeling more familiar by the third day. I actually woke up on time and got to fill out my menu card. Maybe the food situation would improve.
At 9 AM, we had Goals Group. I didn't have any goals in particular, so I made one up.
"Stop being crazy."
That brought on disapproval from the nurses. They told me I was not crazy, I just needed help. I was too exhausted to argue, so I just nodded my head and inserted a "yes ma'am" here and there.
The patients became even more irritating with every second I spent with them. All they did was fight. None of them knew proper English and they loved blaming everyone else for their problems. Jessica was paranoid that everyone was talking about her, even when someone specifically named the person that they were discussing.
It became a little uncomfortable, being the only white person there. The other patients asked me how big my house was, how much money my family had, and if I went to a "white" school. I didn't know how to answer without somehow offending them. Everything seemed to rub them the wrong way, no matter who said it. The only tolerable people were Lo and Jonathan, and even then, their ignorance and low intelligence made me irritable.
I still hadn't seen a doctor, and I had no idea when I was going to get on antidepressants, but I knew I desperately needed to get back on something. Being off of my birth control had upset my cycle, and now I was bleeding profusely. There were a limited number of pads and tampons, which made it very uncomfortable to sit in such deep puddles of blood in my underwear.
Everything felt gross. I was finally beginning to notice how grimy the floors were and how dusty the furniture was. Did they not realize that they had patients with obsessive-compulsive disorder? I wanted to clean so badly, but I knew that would only land me more time in this nuthouse.
My mom showed up a little late, cutting about an hour out of our visitation time. This visit was a little happier, and we avoided the subject of my hospitalization as much as possible. She told me stories about me when I was a baby and we planned on taking a shopping trip as soon as I was released.
The nurses encouraged me to stay awake during quiet time and interact with the patients. This idea made me groan and shudder. Why would I want to spend more time with these people? All they did was piss me off. When I told the nurse how I felt, she called me a racist. Yes, she called ME a racist. The hippie girl that supports equality in constitutional rights and social freedoms. Okay. Now I hated being here even more. I tried to call my mom to get her to file a complaint, but the phone times were limited and I had missed the cutoff time.
In Hell, you cannot call your mother.
In Hell, the doctor shows up a little too late.
At 9 AM, we had Goals Group. I didn't have any goals in particular, so I made one up.
"Stop being crazy."
That brought on disapproval from the nurses. They told me I was not crazy, I just needed help. I was too exhausted to argue, so I just nodded my head and inserted a "yes ma'am" here and there.
The patients became even more irritating with every second I spent with them. All they did was fight. None of them knew proper English and they loved blaming everyone else for their problems. Jessica was paranoid that everyone was talking about her, even when someone specifically named the person that they were discussing.
It became a little uncomfortable, being the only white person there. The other patients asked me how big my house was, how much money my family had, and if I went to a "white" school. I didn't know how to answer without somehow offending them. Everything seemed to rub them the wrong way, no matter who said it. The only tolerable people were Lo and Jonathan, and even then, their ignorance and low intelligence made me irritable.
I still hadn't seen a doctor, and I had no idea when I was going to get on antidepressants, but I knew I desperately needed to get back on something. Being off of my birth control had upset my cycle, and now I was bleeding profusely. There were a limited number of pads and tampons, which made it very uncomfortable to sit in such deep puddles of blood in my underwear.
Everything felt gross. I was finally beginning to notice how grimy the floors were and how dusty the furniture was. Did they not realize that they had patients with obsessive-compulsive disorder? I wanted to clean so badly, but I knew that would only land me more time in this nuthouse.
My mom showed up a little late, cutting about an hour out of our visitation time. This visit was a little happier, and we avoided the subject of my hospitalization as much as possible. She told me stories about me when I was a baby and we planned on taking a shopping trip as soon as I was released.
The nurses encouraged me to stay awake during quiet time and interact with the patients. This idea made me groan and shudder. Why would I want to spend more time with these people? All they did was piss me off. When I told the nurse how I felt, she called me a racist. Yes, she called ME a racist. The hippie girl that supports equality in constitutional rights and social freedoms. Okay. Now I hated being here even more. I tried to call my mom to get her to file a complaint, but the phone times were limited and I had missed the cutoff time.
In Hell, you cannot call your mother.
In Hell, the doctor shows up a little too late.