Things We Don't Normally Do

TWENTY THREE

* Trigger warning: alcohol, drugs and sexual assault. *

March 31st.

Birthday in the Psych Ward, under a 72 hour hold, no privileges other than being able to use her phone at the nurses' station.

She felt like she should be more sad. Or more upset about spending her 29th birthday in the psych ward--with no friends or family able to visit her. Not that there was anyone she would like to see at the hospital; there was no one.

And she wasn't sure if it was the meds she was on, that was dulling whatever it was that she was feeling. They had switched her from an SSRI to and SNRI, because apparently she had been taking the maximum dose for the SSRI, Prozac, with little to no change in her mood. And if she were to be kept on the same dose, it would've fried her liver over time.

She arrived two days prior, after another blackout. She couldn't remember almost an entire day. When she came to, she was in the middle of downtown Calgary somewhere. Her phone was dead, and because she looked like she was in such a state, it felt like nobody wanted to get involved and help her.

In fact, an apartment security guy had sternly turned her away saying she was disrupting his work. 'What fucking work? Sitting on your ass, looking at your phone all day? I just want to get the fuck home.' was what she wanted to say, but didn't bother. Instead she had just walked away, tears starting to come down her face.

She eventually made her way to a dollar store, where she walked to the cashier and asked if someone could get her a cab or an Uber. She was so desperate she just about handed them her bank cards.

The cashier called the shift manager, Angelica, whom she swore was an actual angel, for getting her an Uber without any hesitation. But not before asking what had happened and if she wanted to call the police.

Alex shook her head adamantly at the suggestion.

"No. No. I think I'm fine. I think I'm fine." she felt like if she just repeated this out loud, it might actually start to feel true.

When Angelica asked where she wanted to go, she said the closest emergency room.

She looked at the ceiling as she laid in bed. She wasn't sure what time it was but she could hear the trays being brought in--the food trays. People talk a lot of shit about hospital food, but Alex didn't mind it. She thought it was nice to be fed, be forced into a routine, and not be allowed to act out on every self-destructive whim. She thought, How sad is it that I feel so taken cared of here?

Harry had been texting and calling her, but she has not read any of his messages and she sent all the calls she did catch, straight to voicemail. Though to be fair, the nurses only let her have her phone for a few minutes at a time throughout the day.

The only person she has reached out to was Stella, whom she called the night she was admitted into the psych ward.

She was dead tired by then, after hours of waiting at the emergency room, where she was triaged, evaluated by two different doctors, and then made to wait a few hours while the emergency room tried to figure out the closest psychiatric ward they could send her to since theirs was already at full capacity.

But she called Stella shortly after she got to the ward, the nurses kind enough to charge her phone for her. The call was miserable, with Stella torn between yelling at her for carrying on the way she had been, and at the same time being sick with worry.

In the ten years that they had known each other, Stella and Alex have shared some of the darkest crevices of their lives with each other. Stella knew her best friend had been suffering for a while, and once in a while they had talked about it. But it hasn't ever been this bad, or at least if it has, Alex had been able to keep it in and hide it well in the past. This was the first time she had been admitted. This was the first time she had actually broken down, and while yes, asking for help is a safe and smart decision, it still scared Stella.