March, 2017
Well, here we are again. Locked in a psych ward in ________. I’ve been here for about six hours now. Though it feels like three days should have passed by now. It isn’t all bad. I have my journal, and even some of my own books. Luxuries. In case you haven’t (or can’t) notice, I’m writing all of this in pencil. As usual, I am not trusted with a pen. I don’t know why this is, exactly. It isn’t like a Ticonderoga is any softer than a ball point. Admittedly this is a little gold pencil. No longer than about four inches and no eraser. It’s rather cute. I wonder what, if anything, I can do to prove that I can be trusted with a pen? What will I do when this pencil (that I have decided to call Frank) needs to be sharpened? Again, I am throwing myself into writing to keep my mind occupied. I’m actually starting to miss the pen tip markers that I had over at ______ Hospital. Not that I Am taking Frank for granted, mind you, but as I queried earlier, this will eventually need to be sharpened and a pen tip would not. This is such a stressor. Just watching the lead solely war down as I ramble on about how long I have before I lose my first writing tool granted to me…
Oh- yes…
I am in the psych ward. I went to the ER last night and fully admitted that I am not safe at home. I wanted to kill myself again. A---- says that this needs to stop because of how much it stresses him out. I will completely admit that this cannot be too easy on him, but, he isn’t the one locked in a damned hospital! He isn’t the one who has to fight these thoughts day in and day out with someone up his ass about how this needs to stop. But I digress.
My pencil is slowly starting to crap out. Poor Frank. I’ve known him so little and he’s served me so well. I get to sit back here and watch the clouds roll in and consume the valley from my south facing window. I truly love rainy days. I hope that it will rain the whole time I am here. Second to that, I would very much enjoy a cigarette. I’ve left mine at home. I had one at about 10:30 last night, and that’s about it. I think that I will smoke the whole pack when I get home. Burn them all in one go. At least I can trust the boys not to smoke them. Like that one douchebag and his son. Smoking my cigs while I'm at work. Oh yeah, his name is S----. I had totally forgotten until I thought about it just now. Fuck face. Jesus, I wish I had the patience to write the whole Journal like that, but that's too much work and Frank is barely holding on as is. I kind of want to call my mom, but what would I even say? She already knows that I was coming here.
The book Choice here is rather poor. I wish I had brought a few more of my own books. All I have is “World War Z” and “Memoirs of a Geisha”. Not terrible choices but not great either. But some of my F. Scott Fitzgerald or something even by Stephen King. Honestly, I wasn’t in the right head space to think about entertainment for the next week or so... And I don't think that I can talk A---- into bringing me more. Maybe my Anne Rice or something.
The other women here seem quite nice. Troubled but nice. Sedated by old episodes of "Sex in the City" that has been edited to air safely for E entertainment. It’s still dirty in raunchy, but I really enjoy it, the strange connection to femininity. No makeup here, at least none that I could keep with me. I don't think I could stand knowing my makeup box is locked away somewhere out of my reach.
Maybe I should write a story?
-~~~-
Look at this! A pen! I know that it’s one of my art pens but in this situation my dear, writing is art, and this pen is my freedom. This time it didn’t take me 3 days to get it. I simply spoke with the APRN and asked him if I could have one of mine for journaling. Frank hurt my hand something fierce, though I owe it to that little pencil. Making my first waking hours here bearable. I miss my phone though, I want to reach out to everyone and let them know that I’m okay. Or that I will be okay.
It’s raining now.
-~~~-
I still have my little pen, and Lord, am I happy they haven't realized that I still have it. I keep it in my bra. Oh boy, does it feel like rebellious redone just to have it. Quiet simple rule-breaking that won't harm anyone. It was a great day. Everyone got along with each other so well, no one had an outburst, we laughed all day, and spent pretty much the whole afternoon in the lounge acting like fools. A--, my roommate and I finally talked to each other and totally clicked. She is funny as hell and dirty as I am. Our humor is completely in sync, too much fun.
My father came to see me tonight as well. I could tell that it upset him greatly to see me like this, in here, knowing exactly why I am here to begin with. The nurse who sat and observed us thought he was "pretty cool". I do appreciate the fact that he wants to be part of my life again. I miss my mom. I wish with all of my being that she was up here and able to come and visit me. I am happy that she is happy in Colorado, but damn.
I am still stressed. Still anxious. And the thought to kill myself keeps popping up. Mostly when I think about money. I hate money. I hate everyone that bills you for something. Too bad I can't live off of the grid. They are trying to make that illegal too.
Anyway, my medications are starting to kick in and I am very tired.
-~~~-
Monday. Most people dread this day. The day your weekend is over, the day when you return to work. In the psych ward, I am no exception to this rule. My amazing roommate is being discharged today. I don't quite know yet how I will manage without her here to keep me level. Aside from showers and appointments with the staff medical doctor, most every moment with each other talking about nothing and being dirty little birdies. I am not saying she is my crutch, no. She's more of a buffer between myself and some of the other more eccentric people. I suppose that is how I would describe them.
I have a meeting with the unit’s doctor very soon. My roommate is seeing him first. She is hoping she can be discharged today and go home and see her husband who had to take emergency leave from the Army to take care of their children while she was here. I envy the fact that she has someone so totally devoted and willing to do anything that he can for her.
Alright, it's my turn to see the doctor.