Ten Days in Hell

It was the same as any other day, but I finally heard news that we would be seeing our doctors. I couldn't contain my excitement because I knew that the more the doctor saw me, the more he'd see my improvements and then the quicker I'd be home.

The patients were all seated in the main room watching television and spacing out. The doctor was spending forever with each patient, and I was growing antsy. Tijuana informed me that I'd be going last since I would take the longest. This worried me. What was going to happen?

After lunch, the doctor called me in to talk to him. I sat at the table and he sat in a chair across from me. The middle-aged nurse that had offered me yogurt the other day sat in the corner with a clipboard.

"Hello Rachel, I'm Dr. Browning. I'm just going to ask you a few questions."

"Okay?" I answered shakily.

"How long have you been a cutter?" he asked.

"I don't know. Maybe four years."

He and the nurse scribbled something down. "And why do you cut?"

"Different reasons. Because I'm angry. Because I'm sad. Because I'm bored. I don't feel like I'm good enough."

He nodded and knit his eyebrows together, then asked me why I had tried to end it all. My head immediately began to throb.

"I don't know," I whispered.

Dr. Browning looked up. "You just got bored and decided to kill yourself."

"Um. No. If you wouldn't assume some shit about me when you just met me, that would be greatly appreciated."

He held up his hands,"I apologize."

"Yeah, well, I just snapped, okay?"

The nurse and Dr. Browning exchanged glances then began to scribble some more notes.

"Do you take drugs? Not ones prescribed by a doctor."

"I don't currently but I did struggle with that about two years ago. I took a lot of whatever I could find in my medicine drawer."

"Like what?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

"Hell, I don't remember. Probably Benadryl, sinus medication, Tylenol PM, extra painkillers, just whatever."

The nurse bit her lip. How long had she worked here? Why was she acting nervous? I decided to act a little bitchy and stare at her, challenging her to say anything.

"Are you sexually active?" he said quickly. Did sex make this guy uncomfortable? I mean, really, why were these people even working in a hospital?

"No I'm not."

"You've never had sex?

"Nope. Never."

"Not even once?" This man didn't believe me.

"I said no, didn't I?"

Dr. Browning sighed.

"Describe your home life to me."

I started rambling about the death of my father and how I missed him and wanted him in place of my stepdad. I told the doctor how much I hated my stepdad and wanted him to leave so my mom wouldn't live in fear and I wouldn't live in his persecution.

"Does he ever hit you?" he interrupted.

"Yes. Not often but he's done it. He's hit my mom. He's thrown things at both of us and spit on us." I laughed coolly. "He broke a Tiffany lamp with an empty soda bottle once."

Dr. Browning and the nurse both raised their eyebrows simultaneously. I smiled back at them.

"So you say you hear voices?" he continued.

"Yes sir."

"What do they say?"

"Depends on which person," I replied.

"You mean you hear more than one voice?"

"Plural of voice is voices, isn't it?" I remarked.

"Well yes. Can you elaborate?"

"Well, I have one voice named Franny. There's one named Jonathan and one named Oliver. Franny is a real bitch. She tells me to hurt myself. She tells me what to do to get under someone's skin. Oliver and Jonathan are full of mischief and they just tell me to do things like 'Throw this' or 'Say this'. Nothing too terrible."

Dr. Browning nodded and stared at me. "Is there a history of any other abuse?"

"Yes. My mom's second husband...well, let's just say it was sexual abuse."

After scribbling down some notes, he extended his hand. "That's enough for today. I'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow!"

I stood up, shook his hand, and left the room. On my way back to my room for quiet time, Tijuana stopped me.

"Our occupational therapist is coming to evaluate you at 3:30, and visiting time will be adjusted for your mother, okay sweetie?" she told me.

I sighed and nodded. I was tired of seeing all these professionals.

At 3:30, the occupational therapist woke me from a nap and introduced herself as Michelle. She was pretty casual. I liked that. She held up cards and asked me if I recognized certain paintings, colors, people. She asked me simple math questions. She made me use creativity to solve everyday problems that she read aloud. All in all, this wasn't all that bad. She asked me how my grades were and was very impressed to hear that I had a 3.75 GPA and was taking honors and AP courses in the upcoming school year. My job at such a young age also impressed her. Michelle complimented me a lot and when she left I was blushing and smiling at how she made me feel so important. When visiting hours rolled around, I was feeling on top of the world.

My mom came in and sat on my bed with me. We talked a lot and she told me how she missed me and how quiet the house was without me. All I could do was cry. She told me stories again and I tried to focus on them but I was too homesick. I wanted to go home. This wasn't fair and I didn't want to be here.

After my mom left, I skipped dinner, turned out my lights, and went to bed. I didn't get much rest, although I slept for about twelve hours. All I could do was toss and turn, even after a night nurse offered me some Benadryl.

There is no rest for the wicked. And the wicked go to Hell.