Saving Amaya

Chapter 8

In patient facilities can be very effective for people struggling with mental health. That being said, Amaya is a fictional character that carries biases that are not accurate and are harmful. They in no way reflect my feelings as the author and should not be taken as truth.

A psychiatric hospital. They wanted to send me to a nut house. Why does it feel like this is them giving up on me? The doctors, my parents, everyone is giving up on me and pushing me off to a crazy house. But it's not like I have a lot of options. My parents won't stay home with me all the time and that's the only other way the doctor will let me go home.

What if I stayed with my grandparents? They only lived like three hours away, I could do online schooling and go to college over there. That is, if my grandparents would take me. I'm not exactly close with them, given that my mom's parents are dead and my dad's parents think I'm not his child. Let's just say, they like my sister more who is apparently more like my father. Story of my life.

Maybe I could stay with one of my friends? I would hate to impose on anyone like that, but what else can I do? No, it's not fair for me to burden another family just because I'm unstable. Not every family is as well off as mine. Taking me in could be a huge financial and emotional burden.

I guess that's it. I have to go to the nut house. They'll make me sign away my freedoms and drug me up so I can't think. I'll stop being a person because it would be too hard to actually care for me. I get it, it's not the first time that I was too much to care for.

Three knocks on the door interrupt my thoughts. At the door I see Little Miss Southern Hospitality, the nurse with the faint southern accent. "Ms. Matthews, what would you like for your meal?" She hands me a laminated leaflet with various meals on them. I point to something random and hand the menu back to her. She turns away like she was going to leave, but she abruptly stops. Southern Hospitality turns back towards me with a soft look on her face. "Ms. Haynes, I hope I'm not intruding, but I wanted to see how you were doing. As a person, not a patient."

I'm honestly taken aback a little bit. She seems very genuine in her empathy for me. But I'm not sure how I actually am. "I'm not sure. I. . . I feel like everyone is giving up on me. Which I guess I get, because I gave up on myself, you know. It feels, like, I don't know. . . Like it's easier to ship me off to a crazy house than to try and help me. . . Sorry. That's probably not great to tell a nurse."

She smiles and sits on the edge of my bed. "I get it. I know why it feels that way, but if you need that type of care then it's there for you. You don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with. The most important thing is that you want to get better. Whatever way that happens, it's okay." She pats the bed next to me, probably to avoid touching my body but still wanting to offer comfort. "I've known a lot of people that have been in inpatient care, none of them are crazy and neither are you." She stands up and turns back towards me, "It is okay to ask for help. It doesn't make you weak." Then she walks off to get me whatever random meal I accidentally got.

It's not weak to ask for help. But isn't it? Aren't you supposed to be strong enough to do this on your own? Everyone else does, so why am I not strong like them? To me, it feels like asking for help is like admitting defeat. I just, I don't want anyone to think that I'm not strong enough.

Thoughts of what a psychiatric institution would be like flood my head as more knocks appear at the door. Blake peeks his head into the room and gives me a gentle smile.

"Hey, can I come in?"

I nod and direct him towards the chair next to my bed. Having Blake so close to me after remembering everything he said to me before my attempt is awkward to say the least. Especially now that I know that there is a possibility he was being genuine. Even if I could never accept it as fact, the possibility of him being honest is on the table.