It was a Monday. The sun shone through the window, making my head ache and my eyes squint. The strap chaffed on my arm. I lifted my hand and rubbed the mark it left, red and tender. It matched the marks around it. It was bittersweet to run my fingers over the marks, bad because they were reminders of sorrowful times, good because they were there for me when no one else was. My body was jolted to the side as the ambulance hit a bump. I sighed. Are we there yet? I kept those words to myself. I didn’t think Kevin would take kindly to complaining. Kevin seemed nice, but I knew that, like most of the others, he didn’t get it. No one really got it. Except for Austin... I smiled at that thought. Austin. I thought the word again and it made my view of the entire situation brighten a little bit. I was on the way to Linden Oaks at Edwards hospital. And yes, it is a psych ward. I’m not afraid to say that I had a problem and got help. I know many others had been in this spot too, but I couldn’t help feeling utterly and completely alone.
As the ambulance pulled to a stop by the large brick building, my heart skipped a beat. This was it, my home for the next few days. I didn’t know exactly how long I would be here. All I knew was that I needed help. I kept telling myself that, as if it would make me feel better about the idea of inpatient. I need help. I need help. I need help. It didn’t work. I bit my lip and put on a brave face before I saw my dad.
Why didn’t they let me walk? I have feet. My legs work. They said it was “protocol”. I hate protocol. I was wheeled into the hospital on a gurney. So there I was, tear stained, disheveled, and miserable, making my grand entrance tied to a bed with wheels being pushed by two old fat men. Yippie. As soon as we got into the waiting room my dad was there. He held my hand and told me it was okay. He looked worried. I felt bad that I worried him, but I knew it was better than what could have happened. My thoughts started to drift that woy but I pushed them back. Remember, Brianna, I told myself, put on a brave face, he shouldn’t have to hurt too. They opened the doors for us and we walked (or were pushed) through, entering a place that I could not leave.
Over the next week I learned and grew. I smiled and I cried. I sang and I painted. I made friends and I learned the strength to change the things I can, the tolerance to accept the things I can’t, and the wisdom to know the difference. But mostly, I changed. I was not the same person that went in. The girl who I used to be was weak, she cracked under pressure and she could not trust the things that she could not change. The girl I became is strong, she keeps her head high. She respects other people. She is stable and brave enough to deal with conflict, internal and external. And she accepts the things that she cannot control. This girl, this new me, is changed, and she is ready to take on the world.
