Unbalanced Minds

Shattered

You cry a little, and you wait for the sun to come out. It always does.

- e.h //

"Good morning Wilona,"

I don't reply. I know they found out about last night. Cautiously they ask me the questions:

"Have you had thoughts of harming yourself or others?"

"No"

"Hearing or seeing things?"

"No"

I lie twice in succession. If they really knew the truth they would never let me out. I intone the same monosyllable to each question. They talk about last night, asking me why I think it happened. My answer seems to confirm what they already have concluded. I am told I will be proscribed sleeping meds, to help me sleep. Along with a higher dosage of medication. I cringe, noticeable.

"Wilona, we know this is hard for you - but you want to get out of here, yes?"

"Yes"

"Than, please work with us, not against us. The goal's to get you stable on medications and make sure your wounds have healed sufficiently."

I know their right. Yet, my pride keeps me from voicing my answer. Instead I tell myself I will try to wrap my head around accepting this later. for now, I need to know how long they are actually keeping me here.

"How long,"

"Well, we don't know for certain at the moment but if we were to ball park it we'd say...a month. Maybe more. It really all depends on you cooperating with us and your arm to heal. "

The doctors all look at me, willing me to understand in a sense that I won't get better if recovery is only one way. I nod.

"Does that mean you will work with us? you will take your meds without a fuss?"

I nod again. Unable to say the words.

"Good. Now, the first step to getting you out of the hospital, is addressing exactly what caused you to be her in the first place. To help us all better understand what's going on in here."

Doctor Patel taps the side of his head for emphasis. I sink further in my seat.

"So, Wilona; what caused you to attempt to take your life?"

I stare at the ground, unresponsive.

"You were rushed to this hospital Saturday, you remember why? help us help you."

I keep my gaze focused on the ground. The female Doctor, Doctor Goodwin jumps in,

"What we know, and correct us if we are wrong, you had a manic episode. It says here you were talking very fast and very elevated. You ran around quoting Hemingway loudly in a public place. When you were told to calm down you got even more energized. Security had to remove you and you were sent home. When you got home, your guardian says you refused to take your evening meds, later to find out you hadn't been taking them for eight weeks. She got in an argument with you and you locked yourself in your room. She said you were very loud, she didn't know what you were doing. When you had quieted some time later she became concerned,"

"You didn't respond when she knocked so she broke in - and found you on the floor covered in blood, a knife in one had and almost entirely empty bottle of pain meds in the other. You were unresponsive and were rushed to the hospital. Your stomach had to be pumped and thirty six stitches were placed in your arm. Sound familiar?"

There's a pause and I am silent.

"You were evaluated and admitted into inpatient,"

"Do you want to tell us why you acted this way?"

I mumble something under my breath.

"A little louder Wilona, please."

"I wanted it to stop."

"Wanted what to stop?"

"The voices"

"The voices? I thought the voices were good."

I shake my head violently.

"there are bad ones"

"I see,"

Doctor Goodwin regarded me steadily. Pens scratch against paper.

"You can relax Wilona. We're here to help."

Her green eyes flick down to my hands, which are clutching the armrest so hard my knuckles are white. I force myself to pry my hands off the chair, tucking them under me. I study my lap.
I nod reluctantly.

"Alright, good, thank you. We'll talk to you next week."

I nod again and stand. Half way to the door when Doctor Patel motions for me to stop a moment,

"Wilona, last thing, remember what we said here, and don't fight us, work with us."

"Okay."

He nods sending me a reassuring smile and I leave.

I return to the window seat. Ignoring any attempts made by the other patients, Tin, or Blue to contact me. Out side it's snowing, I watch the flakes fall - trying to focus on one snowflake at a time before it disappears from view. Patients rotate in and out of the little library. Ted, one of the tutors/counselors  tells I can stay. I'm grateful. He has tan lathered skin and kind eyes. I watch him as he helps a boy with his math homework. Ted's so patient, he doesn't get angry or frustrated with the boy. He's kind of like the father you never had but covet. Or maybe, he's just putting on an act, he does get paid.  However, I prefer to think he's a genuine kind soul.

I peer out the window again, wrapping my arms more tightly around myself. Sinking deeper into my seat.  I long to be out. I want to get out. I gaze with envy at the unsuspecting civilians going through their everyday lives. In that moment I decide that I am going to do whatever it takes to get out, to be free.