Journey Back to Me

Chapter 9

Eight months ago

Jesus Christ, if this bitch doesn't shut the fuck up, I'm going to really give these assholes a reason to lock me up in here and throw away the key. She's got to be detoxing, but still. This shit is ridiculous. She shouldn't even be in our wing.

Eventually, I roll out of the uncomfortable bed and go all the way down the hall until I find Juan sitting at the desk. His shoulder-length black hair is pulled up into a bun, and he grins at me, but not in the sinister or ill-intentioned way I had grown accustomed to seeing on a guy's face whenever he looked at me.

"Hey, Michelle, you okay? You know it's past curfew."

Yeah, I know it's 10:04 pm. A whole four minutes past curfew. But I bite back the sarcastic comment. He's been so nice to me since I arrived yesterday, so I can't take my frustrations out on him.

"Uh, erm, yeah. I was just wondering if there are any earplugs? I didn't have a roommate last night, and I guess I'm just getting used to having someone else in the room." Suddenly my feet have become the most fascinating thing in the room for me to look at since I can't seem to meet his eyes.

"Oh, of course! Follow me, there should be some in the supply closet." He comes out from behind the desk and leads me down the hallways back towards my room, but we stop at a small supply closet, where he unlocks the door, and pulls out my new best friends for the night.

"Thanks a million, Juan." I really mean it. I'd be extra cranky tomorrow if I didn't get enough sleep.

"I know it's an adjustment, Michelle, but I really think you can learn a lot here."

I hope he's right. And I hope my roommate gets switched to a different ward. She shouldn't even be in this area. Addicts are supposed to be in one place, children in another, and depressed adults like me end up in this section.

I don't even notice I made it back to my room until the obnoxious rumble of my new roomie's nasal passage pulls me back to the reality of where I'm at.

If I was allowed to have my earbuds, or phone, or even a damn iPod, I would be able to fall asleep way easier, but when you walk in the door, they take everything.

No communication to the outside world except for phones in a community area, no shampoo or conditioner of your own, no wires in your bra, no laces on your shoes. It's basically prison, but worse because you're forced to talk about your feelings and your past in group therapy. Well, no, not forced, but if you're not participating, they make a note of it.

Not every tech is like Juan, unfortunately. Some of them try to swing their weight around, and it's obvious that working in mental health is not their passion. Why would you choose to work somewhere so depressing for so little pay?

Luckily the earplugs work, and I drift off to sleep, trying to pretend I'm anywhere but where I actually am.

......................................

The next day, I continue to do the bare minimum in group, and we get a new girl. She's tall, blonde, and beautiful. I walk over and introduce myself when she's done with her "orientation."

"Hey, I'm Michelle."

"Dani," she responds. The dark circles under her eyes lead me to believe she hasn't slept in months. "What's your story? You look too normal to be here," she gets to the point quickly.

"Well, how much do you want to know? There's a short version and a long version," I answer her honesty with cautious optimism. Is someone else here normal, too?

"Girl, I just got here. We've got at least four days." For what seems like the first time in weeks, I genuinely laugh.

"Alright, long version it is," and we sit down at the table in the common area while I tell her my whole story, starting with my issues in high school, going all the way up to my new roommate getting transferred this morning.