Bare Bones.

“Why Bryn? Why did you do it?”

My mother asked, staring at me from the front seat of the passenger side of the car. My dad kept quiet throughout the ride to the hospital—the mental hospital. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, like that of a boa’s. His knuckles turned white shortly after we entered the car and made our way to my new home. The idea of living in a psychiatric ward for the next 5 months really was a pain in the ass. I didn’t need anyone to justify what I had attempted was wrong. It was my choice; my body and sure as hell my life.

The car ride’s total duration was twenty minutes. The hospital was located on the country side, it being the oldest psychiatric hospital in all Virginia. Made of brick, standing at least eight stories tall, the place looked far from a mental institute. The drive way was paved in sanded down stone, with lilacs and daisy flowers as its border. It looked like nursing home more so.

“Well this is it. It’s beautiful out here…isn’t it George?”

My mother turned to my father, who stared out the windshield like a zombie. I think this hit him harder than it did my mom. He hasn’t said a word nor made eye contact with anyone. He just stands there, staring down at the ground, or up at the sky. It scared me seeing him like this. I don’t know what he had done if I actually succeeded in killing myself.

“Alright Bryn, let’s go in now."

I dreaded this, but had no choice. If I had known I would end up here, I would have tried jumping off a cliff—sure results that way. But there weren’t any cliffs at the planning of my demise. Pills would have been a option as well, if they weren’t secretly stashed in my parent’s room. After Ryan died, anything lethal was put up. I had been depressed for 6 months straight, and weeks before my attempt to end my so called “wonderful life”, I put on a show that way my mother wouldn’t send me to therapy. And it looks like that still is going to happen.

We walked into the foyer, portraits from the 1800’s or so hung on the walls of psychoanalysts that seemed to have worked here during that time. A wooden table with a vase of pink roses stood in the middle. It was as if we had walked into a Victorian hotel. A nurse was at the check in desk, beaming a bright smile our way. My mother returned the smile, but only the corners of her mouth had rose a bit. Hospitals made her uneasy as well.

The nurse walked around the counter to greet us.

“I’m Nurse Mary. I’ll be touring you around, showing where your daughter will be at all times of the day. If you will follow me please, I will take you to the sleeping quarters and cafeteria. She will be with other girls her age. In about an hour a group session with Dr. Blake will take place. It is mandatory that you participate.”

She stared at me hard on that last bit. Like she knew I would have skipped it. Guess she’s been here long.

“Here is where you will be staying. Your room is made up nice for you: fresh sheets and pillows. There is a desk for you to write letters or draw. And as you can see there are bars on the windows. Just in case.” She winked at me. I shivered.

My room was blain. The white walls and white sheets and pillows really made me feel institutionalized. And we can’t forget about the bars on the windows; I felt like a caged bird. This will not do…

“The room where your weekly group session with Dr. Blake will be held in here, the room opposite from the Rec room, where you can watch T.V and socialize with the others on this ward. You will have a daily appointment with one on one time with the doctor. That is mandatory as well.”

I wanted to try and kill myself all over again. I wasn’t good with sharing my feelings; they were mine for a reason, and I had the say so to share them with who I want. I didn’t want to share them with this doctor Blake.

We finished the tour; we were following her down the long corridor, with more pale walls and wooden floors. I heard voices coming from the end of the hall way, seeing a couple of men in suits and ties walking our way. One had slowed their pace when seeing us; and as we came closer, I could make out their faces. The first doctor, the shortest dressed in a 70’s style suit and tan slacks was still talking to the other doctor, the handsome one, when he stopped to stare as well.

“Oh, there is Doctor Blake now.”

Nurse Mary called out. I had just hoped it wasn’t the short guy with hair like Donald Trump. The other one was at least pleasant to look at. I couldn’t quite stop staring at his eyes; big, brown and filled with wonder as they took my parents and I in. He seemed just to stare at me, looking down at what I thought were my lips. He kept his gaze there for a long time. I shifted in discomfort and he seemed to notice, averting his eyes to my mother.

“I’m Dr. Blake.” He shoved a hand toward my father, who took a moment to respond. He wrapped his hand gently around the Doctor’s, shaking it cautiously.

“I’ll make sure to take good care of your daughter.” He stared back at me then, and something in those russet eyes of his told me who genuinely would. This made me feel more relaxed. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad I made it out to be after all.