Mental [#Wattys 2015]

Chapter 1

I always thought that when I had my final breakdown , it would be a major depressive episode where my parents find me hanging from the ceiling fan, and wake up in an ICU.

I thought my parents would be so worried they would hold me in their arms, and take me home to make up all the love lost in the recent years.

But, no.

My final breakdown was triggered by nothing more than an episode of Gossip Girl, when Blair says she doesn't know who she is anymore.

The voices came out of no where, like a whirlwind of negative thoughts and reactions.

My mom came in and saw that I was stabbing everything in my room- pillows, blankets, cabinets; nothing stopped my rampage.

I don't remember much after that. My mom said I put the knife to my neck and told her,

"make the voices stop or I will."

That phrase landed me in Northbranch Behavioral Center for what was supposed to be a "relaxing stay to clear the mind."

If anything, I left that place crazier than I was when I first got there.

*****

Northbranch might've been a cool place if I wasn't under restraints.

I guess the staff thought I might explode any minute, so I was constantly held alone in my room, doors locked, no roommate, and a guard following my every move.

I tried befriending him once or twice, but he rejected every offer.

"Want some of my delicious hospital made muffin?" I would ask.

"Would you stop talking to me?" He would respond.

I think he thought I was crazy.

Truth is, maybe I am.

All I know for sure is that in that quiet room, the voices got louder and louder every second.

****

It was two weeks of hell in that room,

but 14 days, 336 hours, and 20,160 minutes later I was as free as a bird.

Well, maybe a bird without wings.

After I was released from the Watchful Eye, they put me in a room with one other person.

I was so excited to meet her and to have privileges that I practically ran to my new room to see who will accompany me on this fine journey.

Any dream of a companionship was crushed when I found out my "roommate" had passed in her sleep. She was 94; schizophrenic from day one.

Voices finally had her, I suppose.

I contemplated pulling a Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted and attack my next roommate, yelling in her face and shit.

But yet another notion obliterated when the head nurse told me,

"Do to some circumstances, you will be rooming alone. Be happy, most patients wish they were in this position."

The problem was I have been alone my entire life, all 5,840 days. I didn't want another second of it.

Maybe I thought coming here would be like finding my friends; my tribe.

I painted a pretty picture that everyone liked everyone because we all knew how it was to be judged by society.

I should really learn to stop making assumptions.