Sick | BTS ✓

1

I lay in my bed, staring up at the dull ceiling. The clock on the wall says that it's 6:30 AM, and the sun is slowly sending harsh rays of light through the barred window above me.

I've been here almost 24 hours. 24 hours of therapists and doctors filing in and out of this dreary room, asking the same questions and making the same stoic expressions.

I sigh. My 24 hours of solitary confinement are almost up, and soon, I will join the rest of the patients in the day to day activities of being in a mental hospital.

I don't want to.

I want to stay in this room by myself where I know I'm okay. But I want to get better, so I have to do what the therapists ask of me.

To push away the intrusive thoughts beginning to whisper in my subconscious mind, I begin to tap my left forefinger on my left thigh.

1, 2, 3...

1, 2, 3...

1, 2, 3...

I know I shouldn't be so afraid to be around everyone, but I can't help but become overwhelmed.

1, 2, 3...

1, 2, 3...

1, 2, 3...

Every part of me is telling me that I need to leave and that I need to go home, but the sane and grounded part of me is telling me I need to do this. The way I'm living now is no way to live.

1, 2, 3...

1, 2, 3...

1, 2, 3...

I take slow, deep breaths, telling myself to stop. It's okay to stop. It's okay to stop. It's okay to stop.

The tightness I was feeling in my chest ebbs away and I feel myself relax into the twin sized bed.

I glance over at the clock again. It's 7:30 AM, meaning I've been lost in my own head for an hour.

The noise that I've been dreading for hours rings out through the small, barren room.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Clara, it's time for breakfast. Be ready in 10 minutes," the nurse calls through the door.

"Okay," I grumble as I slowly sit up and rise out of bed.

Since I have problems with germs, the doctor agreed to let me have my own room with my own attached bathroom. After brushing my teeth, I change out of my large t-shirt and leggings into the outfit I was provided by the hospital.

Some patients can't handle seeing people in "revealing" clothing so we are each given gray sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt to wear, rendering us absolutely anonymous in terms of physicality.

I don't mind because the sweatshirt is a little big, allowing my hands to become engulfed in the sleeves.

So when I begin to feel overwhelmed with the intrusive thoughts of the germs everyone has, I can protect my hands from the germs with the sweatshirt.

After putting on my outfit for the day and sliding my slippers on, I quickly tie my hair back into a ponytail and shuffle over to the door.

I take a deep, steadying breath and cover my hand with the sweatshirt before knocking on the door to signal that I'm ready to come out.

The door swings open and a nurse is standing on the other side, smiling gently at me.

"Are you ready?" She asks, gesturing me to walk out into the hallway.

I nod wordlessly as I slowly move out into the hallway, covering both of my hands with the sleeves of the sweatshirt.

I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.

"I'm going to escort you to breakfast, and then afterwards, you will have your first group session. Your one-on-one session is scheduled for this afternoon and you will be able to spend your free time in the day room. As you make progress, you will gain more privileges involving where you may visit during your free time. Do you have any questions?" She calmly explains as we make our way to the cafeteria.

I feel a knot forming in my stomach when I begin to think about the food they're going to serve me.

A million thoughts and questions flood my mind and I immediately tear up as the voices rip through my mind.

Is the food clean?

Is it expired?

Will it make me sick?

Did someone get germs on it?

If I eat that food, I'll get sick.

I can't eat it.

No. No. No.

The nurse walks in front of me and gently holds up a hand to stop me, careful not to touch me.

They know not to touch me. Ever.

"Clara, are you okay?" She asks, eyeing me worriedly.

"Is it okay? The food?" I ask quietly, my heart pounding.

"Yes, Clara. It is fresh and anyone who handled it wore gloves the entire time," she says, knowing exactly what I'm thinking.

I nod slowly. "Are you 100% sure?"

"100% sure."

I take a deep breath, letting her words soothe my mind as I start to walk again behind her.

"I'm very proud of you for doing this, Clara," the nurse says as she opens the door to the cafeteria for me.

"Thanks," I say, giving her a small smile as I walk into the cafeteria and she lets the door close behind me.

I look around and see multiple people in the same outfit as me, either in line to get food or sitting down at one of the numerous round tables to eat if they've already gotten their breakfast.

It's okay.

I walk forward and stop once I reach the end of the line of people waiting for food.

My heart is pounding and I want to run out of here.

So many people.

I bite my lower lip and look down at my slippers, trying not to let the anxiety take over my every thought.

At this point, my hands are clenched into fists and I'm holding all of the extra fabric of my sleeves in my balled up hands.

I take a deep breath to calm my irrational thoughts.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In. Out.

The man in front of me turns around suddenly, a small frown on his face.

"Why are you sniffing me?" The broad-shouldered man asks, arching an eyebrow at me.

"I... what?" I ask, mouth slightly open as his odd question echoes in my mind.

"I heard you sniffing me. That's not a normal thing to do, you know," he says, now turning his entire body to face me.

"I wasn't sniffing you," I say, subconsciously cursing to myself as I feel my face heat up.

"Okay, so you just like to breathe deeply when you're behind a handsome man?"

I laugh, nearly choking on my spit. "We're in a mental hospital. Didn't it cross your mind that maybe, just maybe, deep breathing is a coping technique of mine?"

He stares at me, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "My name is Jin. What's your name?"

He grins brightly at me and holds out his hand for me to shake.