Institutionalized

Howie, Day 6

I woke up in a clean, bright white room with no windows. The LED institutional light buzzed above me, but it wasn't a steady buzz. sometimes it would get unbearably loud and then suddenly I couldn't hear anything. The room spun like someone had spun me on a giant swivel plate. When I tried to move, it felt like the bottom half of me was glued down, and the top half of me stretched like taffy. My forearms ached slightly when I tried to push myself up.

What was this? What happened? And come to think of it, where was I? I had no memory of how I got here. A dull pressure behind my eyes had started to build. My eyes stung. I realized I was shivering-- but it wasn't cold. It was hot, actually. I was hot. The air was cold. Maybe I was at the hospital. I felt dread sink into me as I remembered my lack of health insurance.

I woke up, not having remembered falling asleep. I could tell there was someone in the room this time. Sleepily, I managed to lift my head. My forearms hurt much more now. Then I noticed that I was restrained with leather straps. My heart began to race.

"Hey, w-hat's going on? Why am I here, and why am I strapped to the bed?"

The doctor remained calm and turned around. He was pale with dark hair and glasses.

"Don't worry, you are safe. You fought me when I tried to hook up your IV, so I strapped you down," he said as he approached, "You are in Salus Care mental hospital. I take it you do not remember what happened?" he asked carefully.

The doctor began to remove my straps. I glanced at the tube bandaged to my inner elbow, and the bandages on my forearms. Did hospitals have leather straps on all their beds?

"No..." I confirmed.

The doctor finished unstrapping me and turned around to continue writing on a piece of paper on a countertop before he answered.

"You... tried to kill yourself," he informed somberly.

I sat up, causing my head to throb, this time avoiding the use of my arms to hold myself up. I tried to kill myself? That seemed plausible. After all, there was no point in being alive, I wasn't important to anyone (not even my mom) except Mac, who had disappeared three days ago after we got in a fight about the fact that I spent all our money on bullshit. It was probably longer depending on how long I'd been here. I didn't know if I was important to him anymore. I was a complete loser-- I had no money, no life, no friends, and I was a high school drop-out.

But I didn't remember any part of my attempt.

"You were drunk and left a note to Maxwell, or as you called him in your note, Mac. He brought you here when he found you bleeding out. He found you just in the nick of time, too. You would have died."

I looked down.

Dammit.

At least Mac came back. I guessed I did have one friend.

"How did I do it? Or, try to do it."

"You cut your wrists vertically," he said, gesturing toward the bandages around my wrists.

I blinked,

"Oh, that's what these are."

"Yes."

He removed the IV from my arm.

" Do you have any other questions?"

I paused to think.

"How long have I been here?"

"3 days," the doctor replied simply.

"Wow, really? Okay... Um, Do you know where Mac is?"