«•Lams Oneshots•»

Sick «Angst»

Warning: Suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts, just all of that and stuff that happened to me- basically a vent

The cold, dark room was quiet, and barely a sound was heard other than the sounds coming from the television screen.

Hercules had never liked hospitals, but he would be stuck in one for a bit.

No, he wasn't sick. It was his best friend who was ill. Better known as me.

Not the kind of sick you're thinking about. No cancer, no physical disease overall.

I'm only here because my therapist told my adoptive family that I was actively suicidal, but I didn't exactly say that. I only said that I wanted to die and I didn't know when my next attempt would come.

Well, I can kind of she would be concerned, but this is just unfair. I officially hate hospitals.

I was going to be shipped off to a mental hospital apparently. I had never been to one, but it couldn't be that bad, could it? I just hoped that we'd get hours where we can keep our phones. I need to text people I care about literally every day.

There were too many people asking me questions and it was just too much.

Currently, we were watching Captain America, and I was falling asleep. One, because it was freezing, two, because it was nearly 11:30 pm. I wasn't allowed to be left alone for a second, so of course, that sucked. How could I possibly kill myself in two minutes with absolutely nothing sharp in this room except for a plastic knife?

In the morning, more people came in to ask me questions. They were trying to figure out if I needed another hospital or not.

Guess who ended up getting signed over to one?

Me.

It five in the afternoon, an ambulance finally arrived and I was put on a weird stretcher with wheels that made me feel highly uncomfortable.

In the ambulance, I finally gotta chance to see my phone and I updated my friends that I wouldn't be able to see them for a few days. About three to seven they said.

Once I got there, the first thing I spotted was a television behind a plastic barrier and a bunch of people my age staring at it. I was sent for a check up, and I told the honest truth and showed the doctors my self-harm scars. I wasn't getting out this. This is my fault.

My conscience was telling me to run, hide, don't tell them anything, etc. But what was the point anymore?

After all that was done, I was sent to my new room. It was completely empty and had two shelves and two beds, not to mention one small bathroom.

This place gave me the chills.

"Hi!" A voice from behind me exclaimed, causing me to jump and turn around.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" A man stood in front of me. He was a bit taller, had curly auburn hair, tan skin with freckles splattered all over his face, and dark green eyes.

"No, no, it's my fault!" I gave him a nervous smile. He seemed extremely calm for someone in a psychiatric center. Maybe his treatment was already over and he was feeling better and he was discharging tomorrow.

"Ah- no, I should've known better than to sneak up on you. Your name's Alexander, right?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, and you're John. My roommate. The room is pretty small, huh?" I teased, trying to continuing a dying conversation. Something that I was terrible at.

"Yeah. It doesn't have too many things so that we can't hurt ourselves. And don't worry, the windows aren't covered like that because they think we'll escape. It's so people can't take pictures of the inside." John explained as if he had been here for a long time.

"So... How long have you been here?" I asked curiously, blinking.

"I've been here since Friday, so... Three full days? I believe I'm leaving on Wednesday." The taller man counted the amount of days on his fingers before sitting down on his own bed that was covered in a sheer blanket.

I had to admit, he was really handsome. Maybe we could become friends. Yeah, that sounded good.

"Well, do you want to do anything?" He asked, tilting his head. "Or do you just want to sleep?"

"I-I guess I'll just sleep now."

I pulled out my notebook and began to write down an entry.

//These are my actual entries I wrote at the hospital\\

Monday, April 16th | Day One:

I don't know why I'm writing. Excuse my errors, I don't have an eraser. Funny, huh? Y'know, the more restrictions they have here, the more I wanna bang my head into something. I want to go home. I don't want help. I wanna cut. I want to die. At least they have television. But I can't do this anymore. I better get some sleep and not keep my roommate awake...

Goodnight.

That same night, I quietly sobbed myself to sleep. John seemed to notice, but decided it was best to give me space. He had mentioned crying on the first night too.

In the morning, things weren't better. I had breakfast alone, and didn't speak to anyone at all, and for the whole day, I found myself crying three times alone. Especially when Hercules visited.

He said that once I got better, they'd let me go.

At least I began talking to John a bit more.

April 17th, Tuesday | Day Two:

Hercules says that I can get out, so I'm planning to put on a "better show". Never again will I look depressed! Not 50% happy, 100% all of the time! I'll be free from others concern and free to do what I wish! I noticed that I cry a lot now. Well, night. I trust no one.

What is the point of life anyway? I'm not going to be fixed and they cannot fix me. I slipped past being put on meds for this long, but I made I clear point that the last thing I need are people to examine me. With the way I'm going, I'm surprised they haven't.

Probably because I'm even able to hide my feelings from the professionals.