Mental Hospital Notebook

“I don’t know when it first started exactly, but I know that it hasn’t always been constant. Some days it was way worse, but others it was as if it had been nonexistent.” I stared at a spot on the floor, directly across from my feet. There wasn’t much I could say, or rather there wasn’t much I wanted to say.

“Now, do you know what might have triggered it at all? I’m sure there’s something that makes you feel.”

Where could I begin though? “Well last year I lost contact with a lot of my close friends. Right when we started getting closer again, my dad passed away…” My voice wavered to a stop, waiting for some kind of response or the next question – something. Nothing. “It was all downhill from there I suppose.”

More was written into the notebook she had in her lap, but I continued to train my eyes on the floor; my ears picked up all the sounds though. I couldn't help but to wonder what she was writing.

For the most part the rest of the meeting was just questions about basic things – friends, family, school, childhood. Nothing too personal though, which I was thankful for. Part of me wanted to be here, to get help; the other part was angry that I’d ever said anything to anyone.

At the end of our meeting there was someone waiting for me at the door. They’d walk me back to my room where I would have time to work on whatever I needed to get done before group therapy and dinner. Everything had a specific time, which was annoying. I suppose it was all brought on by myself, though. Or maybe it’s just the way I was looking at it. Close-minded.

At least it showed he cared though. I remember how his tears had fallen when the ambulance came for me, the pain in his eyes. Guilt had never grasped me so tightly as it had in that moment.

Eventually they’ll have to let me leave. I’ll get better, and they’ll need room for someone else. Eventually I will get better…

Back in my room I had nothing to do but stare at the walls and think, or open a book and pretend to read when the attendants came by. Then they would bring our meds before meal times if anything was required to be taken with food.

I imagined him here with me, holding me in his arms and whispering sweet things to me. It was no good though – I missed him so much, I just didn’t know what to do with myself. I would go insane here, even though they wanted to help. It would make me worse.

Bipolar. That’s one of the words I overheard them using to describe me with. Maybe I was bipolar. Or maybe it was just that I had so much time that all I did was sit around and think until my head was going to explode.

Escape… Escape could be both a good and a bad idea at this point. If I disappeared, they would keep me here longer. But that was only if I got caught. Or maybe the police would come for me. I would only have to find somewhere to hide for about two weeks though. My birthday was coming and once I turned 18 there would be nothing they could do without my consent.

Next thing I knew my attendant was standing over me, a small pill cup in her hands, interrupting my thoughts. Or were they dreams? I must have fallen asleep. “Come on, dear. You need to take these and then join us in the dinner hall.” At least she was one of the old, nice ones and not one of the young and bitter ones.

The walk to the dinner hall was long... It seemed like it was going on for forever; a walk I didn’t want to take. Frankly, I’d rather be sleeping. I didn’t need to eat. But that’s another reason why I’m in here. One of the few disorders they had discovered. Or maybe I wasn’t listening right and some are just side effects of the eating disorder.

“Hey Evalyn,” the girls said as I sat down with my plate full of food. I was always given extra as opposed to some of the others, because of the eating disorder. The doctors wanted to make sure I was making their calorie goal: no days under 2,000, not even if all I ate was salad. Not only was I the only ED patient here, but my special treatment because of it made it known.

I nodded my head to them, not wanting to say much. At first I didn’t really talk at all, and they were okay with that. But eventually they wanted me to talk, and there was no point to me attending group if I just sat there and stared out the window the whole time.

Depression. Cutting. Mood swings. Not eating. There were a few patients in here that were bipolar, but they were a lot worse that I was. Then you had the group of cutters. Some of them were worse, but some of them barely had any marks or much reason to be here. Or at least, that's what I thought. The doctors said anyone who wanted to or was hurting themselves should seek treatment. Then there was the depression. For the most part, all of us in here were depressed – the way we dealt with that depression is what got us here – and then there were the people who heard the voices. Those were the people I rarely saw as they were generally in solitary for some reason or another.

Perhaps it would be best if I just acted normal, appeared to get better, and then got my own personal therapist once I was back at home. Or perhaps it is best that I stop thinking.

Quickly, I ate my food and requested to be taken back to my room so I could sleep. “I don’t feel well,” I claimed. “Very dizzy.” The walls were cool against my hand as I grasped it for support, to add a little oomph to my lies.

“I just wanted to bring her a letter from her mother and best friend. That, and I wanted to tell her how much I love her.” I wasn’t sure it was him at first, thought I might be going crazy and starting to hear voices; looking out the small window on my door though, I noticed his worried eyes. I didn’t want to see him though, didn’t want him to see me this vulnerable. But something made me ring the buzzer for the attendant.

But nothing happened after that. After that everything was black. After that I woke up in a room that looked more like the ER than the hallway I was just standing in. Like one of the rooms you’d see on House. Maybe I wasn’t going to get better. Maybe I was going to be in here forever.

For the next 3 days, I’d be barely awake in this room. How fun, right? Gretta came the second day, I remember talking with her about school, prom, graduation. That’s it though. For the most part, all I could remember was my lack of consciousness since hearing his voice.

“How are you feeling?” My mother. I don’t know why she would come here. Why did she even care? She didn’t notice anything was wrong until I was bleeding all over the living room floor while she was in Vegas. But that’s how it always happens. Everyone is having problems, and the people that ‘care about them’ don’t even bother to care until it’s too late. That’s how it was when Gretta had to go to rehab. Only, I did notice. I just didn’t do anything to help her out.

Selfish. That’s the only word I can think to describe myself with at this point. I’m here because I’m selfish. Other people go through way worse, and they don’t pull the shit I do. It will probably be like the man in church told me a year or so ago – I’ll go to hell for being selfish.

“I feel much better!” I said as cheerily as I could, “I think my body just needed to slowly adjust to the food intake. It’s been making me very dizzy. Just as not eating would. Plus I think I might have needed to get some more rest.”

Words scribbled onto papers that would go into my never-ending file. Up until that moment, I hadn’t even noticed the nurse that had been standing there. Of course, even after this, there’d be no way I’d get to leave any time soon. “Today another girl arrived here, Vanessa. She’s got problems similar to yours, so I was going to place her in your room. Would that be alright with you?”

Suddenly I wished I’d never noticed the nurse. If I had been spaced out, I would have just been sent back to my room and given more medications. Like a good girl though, I nodded my head. She led me down the hall, running off about how I needed to start writing in the notebook they had given to me and things I could do with the new girl – Nessa, she liked to be called.

When I got back to my room, she was sitting on the bed tracing her scars with her fingers. The look on her face was that of pure sadness; I wasn’t sure what to say to her. “Erm, I’m Evalyn. I’m here for multiple things, but I think we’ll be rooming together because of the self harm part…” She glanced at me for a quick second, but didn’t respond.

“Maybe you’ll be more comfortable if I tell you about myself some. I’m going to be 18 in about two weeks, I enjoy modeling and art...” Maybe I was just too boring for her. “This is my second time in here. The first time I came was because my mum found me in the tub with my arms slashed open…” The silence made me notice that the nurse hadn't even said goodbye or anything.

Nessa’s voice was soft, “That’s how they found me… I was actually curled up in the shower to wash the blood off…” We talked right up until dinner and I realized that even through the blur of things, I was lonely. Maybe Nessa could be the friend I needed.