Psych Ward Stories
Sirens and Blue Suits
Fear set in when he said, “There they are.” I had done this too many times to count, but it never felt as real as it did in that moment. We both heard the sirens, but I was already too out of it to recognize they were for me. I sat on the couch, waiting. He stood at the window, watching.
The sirens got louder, and I was too afraid to move. Could I lock myself in the bathroom? No, he already kicked that door in. If I lock myself in any other room, I'm sure he would kick it in. I couldn't run. I had to face what was ahead of me.
Knocks at the door put a lump in my throat. This was real. This was happening. He let the EMT in our tiny apartment. There were three of them in blue suits. My eyes saw them as astronauts coming to take me away.
“What happened?” The tall man was the only one who spoke. He walked over to me, slowly. “She took a bunch of pills. I counted what was left. It looks like she took 32 of them.” The man took the bottle and examined it, “Well, why did you do that?” I didn't like his tone. He spoke to me like I was a toddler that had just spilled flour all over the floor. I didn't speak to him. Not only because I didn't like him, but because I was shutting down. My muscles felt heavy.
“Will she be okay?” He asked, worried. I couldn't really make out his face, but I could tell by his voice that he was shaking. My boyfriend was watching me react to an overdose. He feared this since we met. I don't think he ever thought he'd see it. He thought I was going to die. To be honest, I thought so too. “She'll get really sleepy,” the EMT man looked like he was annoyed, but also like he wanted to laugh. “Alright,” he said, “Let's go.” I couldn't feel my legs, “I can't move.”
Two of the EMT workers lifted me by my arms. They were a lot stronger than I imagined they would be. As they walked me to the front door, I asked for my cell phone. “No phones,” the man said. I wanted to cry.
The sirens got louder, and I was too afraid to move. Could I lock myself in the bathroom? No, he already kicked that door in. If I lock myself in any other room, I'm sure he would kick it in. I couldn't run. I had to face what was ahead of me.
Knocks at the door put a lump in my throat. This was real. This was happening. He let the EMT in our tiny apartment. There were three of them in blue suits. My eyes saw them as astronauts coming to take me away.
“What happened?” The tall man was the only one who spoke. He walked over to me, slowly. “She took a bunch of pills. I counted what was left. It looks like she took 32 of them.” The man took the bottle and examined it, “Well, why did you do that?” I didn't like his tone. He spoke to me like I was a toddler that had just spilled flour all over the floor. I didn't speak to him. Not only because I didn't like him, but because I was shutting down. My muscles felt heavy.
“Will she be okay?” He asked, worried. I couldn't really make out his face, but I could tell by his voice that he was shaking. My boyfriend was watching me react to an overdose. He feared this since we met. I don't think he ever thought he'd see it. He thought I was going to die. To be honest, I thought so too. “She'll get really sleepy,” the EMT man looked like he was annoyed, but also like he wanted to laugh. “Alright,” he said, “Let's go.” I couldn't feel my legs, “I can't move.”
Two of the EMT workers lifted me by my arms. They were a lot stronger than I imagined they would be. As they walked me to the front door, I asked for my cell phone. “No phones,” the man said. I wanted to cry.