This is a poetry/journal book about my experience in the Psych Ward.
It's all true accounts with names changed for privacy. I wrote this while in the ward, except for the last day.
Please take care in reading. If topics of suicide, depression, rap...
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When I was first brought to my bedroom, there were two empty beds, one of which was mine. The beds were bolted to the floor. A coat closet and bedside table with no doors for privacy were also bolted to the floor beside each bed. The bathroom door was something like a foam door which only blocked half the frame and couldn't be locked. There was no television and only a spare sink, otherwise nothing else.
I stayed in my bed, wrapping the blanket around me like a burrito. I wasn't even scared anymore, but I was still terribly depressed. If I had it my way, I would stay there forever until I withered away and died. I had none of my things anymore, my phone was gone, and I felt completely isolated. I went to sleep like this.
Then she came. Rose. At some point while I slept, she came to be my roommate. I was awoken by a nurse who yelled out, "Group!" I continued to be rolled up in my burrito while Rose limped her way to the door and paused. Her foot was in a cast from a car accident she'd had prior. She looked at me and then quietly called out to me.
"Are you going to stay here?" I didn't answer. I only stared.
"Are you depressed? I'm depressed, too. But we can't just stay here in these four walls, you know?"
So... I'm terrible when I'm being put on the spot. I folded like a lawn chair. I dragged myself up from the bed and followed this limping woman who was somehow still stronger than me to a place called the Sun Room. It would end up being my primary area of coloring.
The Sun Room had several large tables. There were whiteboards with schedules written on them. A machine which produced the most heavenly ice and water lied there, along with another which produced four different flavored waters. The only television in the entire ward rested here. We weren't allowed to change the channel ourselves or touch the remote, but the nurses could do it for us. Group therapy was held in the Sun Room usually three to four times a day. The only time it was closed was overnight or when the elderly were eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We had our food in our own rooms.
Rose clung to me after this. She would only go where I went and so I felt obliged to stay in the Sun Room with her. However, if it wasn't for her, I'm not sure how long I would've remained in that bed, waiting to fade away. This was Day Two.
