CONTENT WARNING: depression; mental health intervention; explicit language
Preface
Three and a half months out, and I know things now that I didn't know then. I wish I could go back and hug myself. It's gonna be alright, baby girl. You're just a broken person with broken pieces on the floor. It's okay that the brokenness got too heavy. You got help and you're getting help, and you're on your way to picking up all the pieces so you can tape yourself back together again.
Part I
When I walked into the patient unit of Stormont Vail Behavioral Health Center, the first thing that caught my eye were all the puzzles. They were completed and pasted up on the wall- some of the only spots of color in that whole facility. Most of them were Disney-inspired (which felt childish), a forced reminder of our younger selves who weren't jaded and clumsy and responsible for all the mistakes we carried. Everything else was beige and sanitary and well...scary.
The second thing I got hung up on was that pesky word "behavioral". It sounded so damn radical since I couldn't feel much of anything. I was sure acting fucked up, but it was a fucked up on cruise control. I was watching this numbness all unfold from above me. I had full blown conversations just 24 hours before, and although I could grasp that I wasn't all there, they still happened and there's chunks of time just missing. That's time that I can't get back or account for. It's like when you're going down a stretch of highway after a long day and you look up to realize that you can't account for the last 10 miles. Know what I mean?
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I went back and forth on using explicit language. I decided to keep the words in because they depict my truest of emotions. I do believe there's something beautiful and raw about the act of saying a word that frees me from pain and suffering. I'm also not about to hide behind my words when I chose to be so transparent about all the other things I've been through. If you wish to be alarmed, be alarmed at the lack of resources and money given to the mental health field. This is something I plan to tackle in my later pieces of this series.
As I was escorted to the bathroom, I was asked to take out my piercings and strip down. I had to change into the clothes that the facility provided. The woman who followed me in there would go on to check my breasts and butt, just in case I had carried a weapon in. I can easily say I've never been more vulnerable, and I'm a person who steps into uncomfortable conversations and situations fairly often in an attempt to challenge myself so that's really saying something.
To shield myself, I pulled on the blue shirt and blue pants about as quick as I could- they were a cross between scrubs and an inmate's outfit. The woman then handed me a paper sack filled with toiletries. There was a comb in there that was brittle and could only comb a few strands at a time. The toothbrush was also a joke- thinner than my pinky finger. Socks and underwear were stuffed in there. The socks were kind of comfy, but the underwear reminded me of the top part of pantyhose- a bit thicker than the bottom half of the hose but still nylon-like and uncomfortable as hell. (I'm very thankful they let me wear the underwear I had on when I entered.)
When I got to my room, they told me that the doors were to remain open unless I was showering. The bathroom was directly to the right of the room's main entry so anyone could get a clear shot in there. Even more invasive was the fact that the bathroom doorway only had a shower curtain hanging from it and that curtain didn't even cover the entire frame of the door. Since I didn't have to go to the bathroom at that very moment, it wasn't until later that I discovered there were no mirrors in the rooms. This was for safety purposes of course, but it was just another surprise in the long list of sobering realities.
I was then introduced to my roommate and shown to my bed, a big, box-like plastic...thing. It reminded me of playground material. To the left of my bed was a big, box-like plastic shelf. When they only gave me one pillow, I was scared to ask for one more to help with my vertigo, but they kindly accommodated me. I felt a pinch of relief. I took my first deep breath.
Around that same time, a nurse came in to check my vitals and review my medications with me. She explained that a nurse would be coming around every hour to check my vitals and/or give me meds. The every hour thing made me feel both cared for and anxious.
Next thing I knew, it was lunch- a time to fill up on pretty questionable food and talk to the other patients. They had us line up and all walk to the cafeteria together in a single-file line, like we were in grade school. That's when my ears started to ring....
To shield myself, I pulled on the blue shirt and blue pants about as quick as I could- they were a cross between scrubs and an inmate's outfit. The woman then handed me a paper sack filled with toiletries. There was a comb in there that was brittle and could only comb a few strands at a time. The toothbrush was also a joke- thinner than my pinky finger. Socks and underwear were stuffed in there. The socks were kind of comfy, but the underwear reminded me of the top part of pantyhose- a bit thicker than the bottom half of the hose but still nylon-like and uncomfortable as hell. (I'm very thankful they let me wear the underwear I had on when I entered.)
When I got to my room, they told me that the doors were to remain open unless I was showering. The bathroom was directly to the right of the room's main entry so anyone could get a clear shot in there. Even more invasive was the fact that the bathroom doorway only had a shower curtain hanging from it and that curtain didn't even cover the entire frame of the door. Since I didn't have to go to the bathroom at that very moment, it wasn't until later that I discovered there were no mirrors in the rooms. This was for safety purposes of course, but it was just another surprise in the long list of sobering realities.
I was then introduced to my roommate and shown to my bed, a big, box-like plastic...thing. It reminded me of playground material. To the left of my bed was a big, box-like plastic shelf. When they only gave me one pillow, I was scared to ask for one more to help with my vertigo, but they kindly accommodated me. I felt a pinch of relief. I took my first deep breath.
Around that same time, a nurse came in to check my vitals and review my medications with me. She explained that a nurse would be coming around every hour to check my vitals and/or give me meds. The every hour thing made me feel both cared for and anxious.
Next thing I knew, it was lunch- a time to fill up on pretty questionable food and talk to the other patients. They had us line up and all walk to the cafeteria together in a single-file line, like we were in grade school. That's when my ears started to ring....
| "I couldn't stop it, tried to figure it out, but everything kept moving and the noise got too loud. With everyone around me saying, 'You should be so happy now.' " -Light On, Maggie Rogers |  |
I don't know if the ringing was because I was angered by the regimented act of being lined up or panicked by the control of being told what to do and when, but I was shaken to my core. Deep down I knew I needed someone to be giving me direction! I knew I needed help! I was just suddenly face-to-face with the severity of the situation. It was my lowest of lows, a messy moment.
To be continued...
To be continued...
