Mentally Disturbed

Chapter One

I stare into my pale shaky hands as I sit planted in my cushion seat in the hallway. The Doctor is speaking to my parents in a hushed tone but I can still pick out a few lines of the conversation.

"He needs to be sent to a psychiatric unit. He is disturbed." The doctor says.

"He's just a kid Doctor, please, is there anything else that we could do." My mother cries. My father is holding her under his wing, as if she could collapse any moment. Maybe she will.

"We will take  good care of him, I promise. We'll give him a week and if there's improvement, he can go home."

My mother sobs into my fathers chest and he strokes her back softly. I can see him getting tearful himself. What have I done.

*

After an hour of waiting with my father in the hospital hallway, my mother comes back from home with a suitcase of my clothes and toiletries. Her eyes are still puffy from all the crying and I can guarantee there's more tears to come.

"Everything you could need is packed in here. If you need anything just give me or your father a call. I'm sure they have telephones here." Mom says.

"We love you bud, always remember that," my dad tells me as he hugs me a bit too tight for men. My mother later joins the unison and on cue, more tears run down her cheeks.

I hate all of this caring talk and I hate being sentimental. I feel numb and emotionless, but also too emotional at the same time. A constant battle of selfness I hope to win.

They let go, look at me, waiting for a response of any sort, but they don't get one. I barely speak (especially to them). I feel horrible for putting them through this, but this is what I am. I'm so broken and I don't know how to clean up after the mess I make. They shouldn't put any hope in me because I'm bound to let them down.

They send me off with a nurse and as we turn a hall , I don't see my parents anymore.

We reach a wing of the hospital that I've never been to before. I enter a room to my left filled with security machines you'd see at an airport. They look through my suitcase, scan my body with those detector kinds of shit, and take away my car keys, my shaver, my belt, my shoelaces, and anything sharp they could find.

"You're free to go." Says a tall dark man in uniform. I follow the same nurse. Is she my silent tour guide? She never cares to even start a conversation with me. It's not like I'd converse in return, but it's nice to see some effort. Just another reminder that the world doesn't care.
We turn left, and right, and right again then left. All of this is giving me a headache and I'm starting to feel anxious. We pass a few crazy people. An old man talking to a wall, an old woman singing, and a middle aged man staring blankly into outer-space while pissing himself. Disgusting.
The muted nurse opens a door to a room with a bed and a bathroom.

"This is your room, you'll be resting here for the rest of the week. If you need anything, you can press the white button on the wall by the lamp." She speaks!

I nod.

"Leave your suitcase here and follow me."

Great. More following.

She takes me into an office with a sign beside the door that has a name of a woman alongside with "P.hd". Doctorates degree.

I enter the room alone and the muted nurse shuts the door. I'm left alone with a doctor who's back of her chair is facing me. I sit down without being told and she spins around. A skinny, pale skinned, redhead, middle aged woman smiles cheerily.

"Hello, my name is Doctor Haley. You can just call me Haley." Her smile is still plastered on her face. Fake. "You must be Arnold Henry. How are you feeling?"

I stare at her blankly. How am I feeling? Angry, nervous, anxious, all kinds of feelings. I'm in a hospital of crazy people because people actually think I'm crazy. How the fuck would you feel?

I remain silent.

Her smile is still hanging on her face. When will it ever give up and fall? "The faster you speak the faster you'll get out of here son."

I take this into thought. But I still don't say anything. I don't want to.
She pulls out a folder with my name on it.

"You've been seeing a therapist for 2 months. It says you've been diagnosed with mild depression, anxiety-disorder, and that you're suicidal. Is that true? Are you suicidal?"

I remain silent.

Her smile falls a centimeter. Now I smile. "Did you talk to your therapist?"

I nod.

"Did you stop talking just after this incident?"

I shake my head, no.

"Here's a paper and pen. You can write down your answers if you don't feel like talking." She hands me with a tired smile still plastered on her face. She must have had some smile restraint training or something to keep a fake smile up this long.

"When did you stop talking?"

A couple days ago. I write.

"Why did you stop talking?"

Because I don't want to talk.

"Why did you cut yourself yesterday? Can you tell me what happened prior to that?"

I take this into deep thought. This is none of her business, but it's her job to know what's going on with me. And the more I cooperate, the faster they'll release me.

I punched a mirror because I was angry. I couldn't control myself. Then I took one of the broken pieces and slit my wrist furiously, multiple times.

"Do you experience a rush of anger often?"

I nod.

"Can you please describe how you feel during these anger rushes?"

I get a headache. I'm furious or stressed over something, even something small. I want to destroy everything, including myself. I stab my mattress with whatever I can find. I throw my chair across the room. I punch the walls until my knuckles bleed, but I do not feel any pain. Until I feel better, I feel the pain. Therefore I don't like to feel better.

She jots down a few notes into her clip board, without her smile. She turns back to me. Her face still looks kind and genuine even without a grin.

"Can you remember the last time when you were overly excited or happy?" She asks me.

This question throws my mind off balance. I can't even remember the last time I was happy. I think about this past year. Its fall, and I remember being joyful in the summer. Going to the beach with a bunch of friends hanging around a bonfire. We live in Hawaii so it's a common activity.

Summer break. I went to the beach, had a lot of sex, bought a lot of alcohol. I was full of energy I didn't even need to sleep. But then I fucked everything up.

She reads my answer and I can tell is thrown back at how I said the word fuck in there. I was told once that I am not allowed to swear during therapy sessions, but this isn't a therapy session last time I checked. She asks me a few more questions like "How is your sleeping?" "Do you feel tired?" "What are your moods recently compared to before?"

A few minutes pass and I'm excused. I walk out the door, now unsure on what to do. The mute nurse is gone and I'm alone. Which way do I go? That nurse kept turning this way then that way. I try to remember the path but end up letting myself get lost. I turn a corner and bump straight into a young woman with blonde hair. She falls to the ground hard, she must be really light.

"Watch where you're going, sir." She says as she props herself up on her elbow, glancing up at me.

Heavens, the eyes of the entire pacific ocean are glaring at me, and I am drowning. She is so beautiful.