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hospital
i want to share with all of you an experience i went through almost exactly 2 years ago. it is
a big deal for me to share this with the world, so please be nice.
in January of 2004, as an eighth grader, i was admitted to pinnacle pointe hospital in little
rock on the recommendation of my therapist, my pdoc, another doctor, and my nurse. despite my
best efforts, i was severely depressed and extremely suicidal. i went to therapy every week, i
was on meds for sleeping, anxiety, and depression, yet i couldn’t escape how i was feeling. my
final breaking point was losing my best friend. i went to spend the night at her house, and
because i was always very careful, i brought all of my cleaning supplies so i could take care of
my cuts and burns. while upstairs, her parents searched my bag and immediately called my
stepdad, as well as a priest. i was kicked out of the house, and i cried all night. the next
day i wrote a frantic journal entry, and when i read it a few hours later, i realized i didn’t
even know what i was writing. i kept writing “i want to die, i want to leave”. i was completely
ashamed of myself. i had become this terrible monster, i couldn’t keep friends, i was a freak.
to punish myself, i dug out a paperclip, unbent it, and held it in a flame until it was hot on
my fingers. i would then plunge the metal deep into my leg, burning off layers of flesh. i also
continued with my regular routine of cutting myself every night. at this point, my main weapon
was a razorblade. i ran out of room on my legs, moved to my stomach, and ended up cutting on my
arms, even though i was more likely to be caught that way.
resorting to my arms ended up being one of the worst moves i’ve ever made. at my next therapy
appointment, i had a quick checkup with my nurse. she noticed, just happened to see a little
something under my sleeve. i was asked to pull back my sleeve. i was caught. she was wide-eyed
as she looked at all my cuts, saw the bandages, the smiley-faced burns, the words i’d carved in
my skin. i was told to stay still, and in came a therapist i’d never talked to in my life. i
couldn’t say anything. she asked me if i was trying to kill myself, and i said no, which was
the truth. self-injury is not a suicide attempt. she asked if i wanted to die. i hesitated a
second too long. she sent for another doctor. i had my third recommendation. if i didn’t consent
to the hospital, the state would have to be brought in.
no one ever explained to me what the hospital would be. no one told me what it would be like.
no one told me what i was agreeing to. i didn’t want to go. my parents just looked so scared. i
couldn’t say no.
the same afternoon, i went home, my parents helped me pack. i was in a terrible state. i was
hardly functioning. we drove to little rock in complete silence. upon arriving, i was forced
into a little room with my parents, and they asked to see my arms. right in front of my
parents. i was completely mortified. i ended up being allowed to leave the room. then they took
pictures of my arms. i later saw the pictures on my therapist's desk, with writing all over
them, circled spots, question marks.
we spent five hours waiting. the first hour or so was spent filling out forms, the rest in
awkward silence, and me being scared out of my mind. i was finally separated from my parents,
and brought to the fourth floor. they searched my bags, removed almost everything. i wasn’t
allowed to have long sleeved shirts, they feared i would try to hang myself. i couldn’t have my
jacket because it had a string, which also meant no hoodies. i was forced to wear short sleeve
shirts, leaving everyone to see my scars, cuts and burns. i was put under medical examination,
and then i was led into a small white room.
“take your clothes off” was the command i heard, and the response was a shocked look, and me
trying to blabber about there being a camera in the room. there was a man in the doorway, and
the woman who had ordered me to strip was standing there sternly, waiting. i could feel the
cameras on me. i kept thinking this must be illegal, but i did as i was told. i was subjected
to a full body search, and when i was finally allowed to dress, i was shaking uncontrollably.
the woman just grabbed my arm and took me out of the room. i couldn’t look at the man, who i
assume must have been a doctor or something, because i never saw him again.
sitting in a hard chair outside of the office, i was informed that i was on something called
Line Of Sight (LOS). While I was on LOS, I could not leave the hall. My meals would be brought
to me, and I would sleep in a room with a camera. Someone would watch me at all times, including
when I was in the bathroom, and when I was sleeping. I was not even allowed to go to tutoring
while on LOS. the only thing I went to was therapy, both individual and group, i was excluded
from recreation therapy. the rest of the time, i sat in a chair in the hallway, facing a nurse
who did not look excited to be babysitting a freak show.
the first night was the worst. someone i’d never seen before in my life watched while i took a
shower. i cried so hard i was gagging, she asked me if i was okay, i spat out “i’m fine.” i
didn’t sleep that night. actually, i didn’t sleep most nights.
on my third day, my doctor finally gave me the okay to be off of LOS. i now travelled with the
rest of my group, and a dysfunctional group we were. both halls met up for group therapy, and
there was a rivalry between the halls. you can’t escape all the junior high/high school drama,
not even in there. there were cliques just the same. the druggies stuck together, the violent
kids shunned everyone, the raped girls sat near each other quietly, and the eating disorder
kids talked constantly. i was the only cutter. this was the lowest rank on the social ladder
there. the drug dealers and potheads were the highest. even the therapists liked them. the
violent kids that had set their house on fire or beat up their little sisters were next. after
them were the ED kids, the anorexics were the leaders. the rape victims came next, and
then...there was me. i know this sounds ridiculous, but i swear, this is how it was in
there.
i called my therapist steve-o. i swear he sounded just like him. he was a prick of the worst
kind. he always accused me of being a fake. if ever i smiled, he’d stop me and say “i thought
you were depressed, why are you here, why are you smiling?” he held an obvious bias toward
chris, the pothead in group. he said terrible things. the worst thing he ever said was to
jackie.
jackie was the first friend i made in there. she came about 5 days after i did, and she did
eraser burns. it was all a plot. she just didn’t want to go to school. she and her friend alex
had writted suicide notes and left them until found. they both ended up on the same floor in
the same hall, and the three of us become quick friends. we even snuck our addresses to each
other before we checked out, but i never did hear from either of them.
one day jackie came back from therapy crying, and during free time, i talked to her while the
monitor was down the hall. steve-o had said “why do you do eraser burns? does it really help
you?” he then pulled a key off of his keychain and began to scratch his arm with it while
saying “oh look, this helps, it feels so good”. we started joking about everything of his being
anti-self-mutilation. he had an “asm” scarf, an “asm” coconut, and an asm marker.
we couldn’t have pencils. i have a million pieces of paper with scribbled words in crayon.
they’re the only thing i have to preserve of how i felt for real in that place. i was a liar. i
told them i didn’t want to cut, i didn’t want to die, i wanted to get better. anything to get
out of there, because it was hell.
i left sometime near the end of january. i don’t plan on going back.
//
i don’t feel i’ve done this justice, but this entry is extremely long. perhaps there shall be a
part two. thanks if you read this.
<3
© Jerrika, 4 January 2006
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