September 14, 2015 | Occasus | Issue 5 | Fiction
In(sane)
Admission
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Be Careful When You Jump I’m sorry I’m sorry to everyone My parents, my friends, To the people who will have to see The mess, More so, to the people who will clean it up. But mostly, I’m sorry to the people in the car that careens towards me. You don’t understand, I must. Despite all those worthless apologies, I must finish this. It will all be done, One step and I won’t ever hurt anyone Anymore. NO nonononono They weren’t supposed to swerve I’ve failed. And now there are people Running at me And they’re probably angry. Now I’m not dead and People hate me. You’re so freaking stupid, Can’t get anything right Now the paramedics are here You’re such a failure |
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Emergency Rooms Suck
Why are you here today? For the FIFTH TIME I’m empty, already dead-- don’t wanna be alive Okay, we’re going to get you sorted out Let me just talk to… Someone else Doctor number 3? 4? We’re ultimately going to give you the responsibility: do you want to stay here, or go home? To the wall, ‘I don’t want that,’ (Fucked up, worthless, Lifeless thing) ‘responsibility’. Okay, we’ll admit you. |
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…wait,
what? |
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And Now We Wait
I stare… The white walls, White cupboards Brain like a buzzzzzzzz The beep, beep, beep And a baby’s cry. No please, don’t cry, it hurts so much Who’s in more pain? Baby or me? Surely me. Don’t be so self-absorbed, stupid stupid, stupid, stupid… But I hurt so much and Not enough …never enough. |
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You alright
in here? I could get you another blanket? Nice nurse, Nice hurts. |
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Again, white walls around
My brain and in My brain, white, all white, All walls And nothing, nothing at all matters. Die, die, DIE Shhhhh…. White walls, Don’t cry. Hi, Rory, I’m here to take you to the unit. |
In-Patient
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Goodbye Freedom (you were terrible anyways)
How nice, right in front of the doors of the unit is the lounge, they call it, and lots of eyes staring at the thing that just walked through the door. To the right is the dining room, a voice appears in the fog and the mechanical doors shut. Over here is the nursing station. If you need anything, go up to the glass where the holes are and someone will help you. There are child and youth counselors, CYC’s, and nurses. We’re here most of the time. The nurses look like cameras behind the glass, always watching. My socks slide on the floor slowly behind the nurse. Flowers and words on the wall, blue. The stark white drowns it out. This is your room. Blank, perfectly made bed. …do you understand? My head tips up, down. Alright, I’ll need you to sign here… and here. I’ll let you get some rest now. I get under the covers of the perfectly made bed. My eyes stare at the nothingness wall until they don’t, and I’m asleep. You’re the Doctor We’re going to ask you some questions. We just want to figure out what’s going on. Are you okay with that? The tissue-box on the table is my refuge, my silent partner Rory? Not a question, then. I tell the ground, my old friend. Up the shoulders go. We’ll take that as a yes. What’s the longest you’ve felt depressed? How depressed? Drop dead or drag yourself around, not clinical yet? Shrug. Was it ever more than two weeks? Why the fuck does it matter? Have you ever spent a week in hell? Nod. Do you ever experience periods of time when you feel really high? ‘No’. I am not a dance around, crash to the ground, my sister off meds. How has your sleep been lately? Sleep at ten, wake up at one, two, two thirty, three. scary dreams… ‘Not Great?’ Has your appetite changed lately? Questions, questions. Why so many questions? All I want is answers. ‘No’. What do you want to get out of your stay here? To not dine with the devil or befriend razor blades. ‘…want to be safe’. Thanks for answering all our questions. Is there anything you’d like to add? Why me? Why do I have to live with a monster inside my head? ‘Nope’. |
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Mommy Dearest, I’m Freaking Out
I sit on my bed head down, my hands in my lap, safe in sleeves that hide medals of honour, and marks that speak boldly of shame. They sit in the chairs I don’t look up to see their faces, their fear, or the disappointment on their shoulders, black cat making my eyes itch, my throat close. Mom takes the silence, Tears it Apart. Could you tell us why you did it? Confu sion drags itself slowly through fog. Was n’t … I don’t get it. Wasn’t depression enough? We can’t help you, IknowIknow If we don’t know What’s wrong, she says, doing that thing again, knocking on the glass that is my compo sure. I’m all leak y inside. They can never help me. Are you being bullied? My dad says. My brain laughs but my face does n’t know what laughter is. Lips bare ly make it back from the under world just to say ‘No.’ Talktous,we’re Sowor ried And then Theirfacesaremyfaces I did this They’llhatemeand All we want Whatiftheydie is for you to be Becauseofme Better. Can’t… Catchadisease Help… Hereorhavea …we care Caraccidentontheway Homethey’remy …want you to be fine. FacesMYFACES my fault. I turn my back to them breathe myself out and will my body a w a y Anything is a Weapon (If You Think Hard Enough) It’s almost like… prison, maybe. Patients take their trays and sit down around the table. CYC’s and nurses, they sit at the table, too, to talk and eat or watch the kids on constant care. For real, though, they’re here to make sure that no one steals a knife, a plate-- anything sharp or breakable really-- or sticks their little fingers right deep down into the heat of the toaster. It’s as if they know that for every object I see the first thing I think is how can I hurt myself with that? The forks? Looking pretty good. And my fingers? So useful, they itch to dig into the skin on my arm I need to hurt. I need Blood. I-- Rory, I’m going to have to ask you to stop. You have coping tools. Use them. The stress ball? A poor replacement for flesh. |
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You Can Try and Try, but You Don’t Succeed
You have to try. ‘but I’ve tried for the last 4 years I’ve tried, and it never stops’ That’s not true, you’ve gotten better before. ‘It just comes back again It always Comes back’ Some people get to the point where they never have another major depressive episode in their life. ‘Some people. Not me’ Why not you? ‘Heh. Because I’ve always had it. Because It always comes back’ With treatment it could be you. ‘You think I haven’t tried that? I’ve been in therapy for 4 years It doesn’t work’ Maybe you need to try different treatments. Can you tell me why you’re crying? ‘Because You don’t You don’t get It. I … I don’t want to try Anymore’ That’s why we’re here: To support you Until you do |
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Who’s Treating Whom?
I tried to kill myself Swallowed a bunch of pills. Her name is Helen, Or something. I only came here to watch cartoons. Also, Because they won’t let me stay in my room. Activation,* they say. Thank you, Helen-or-something. Now I must think Why is she so happy? Why can she* Talk and laugh and walk around like she’s a fucking ballerina? Why Can she Bitch about wanting to go home when I have nightmares about leaving, When I would die? Cue the self-degrading thoughts-- Labels,** they call them. _____________________________________________________________________ *Activation is the therapeutic process in which depressive patients are encouraged to always be engaged in an activity, rather than staying isolated and immobile -- both of which are behaviours that only serve to worsen depression. ** A form of distortion in thinking in which one assigns oneself a label in a situation, and thinks of his or herself in terms of this label, rather than in terms of the specifics of the of the situation. _____________________________________________________________________ |
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You’re such a stupid self-absorbed little shit,
You should be happy other people are getting well. This is why You deserve to die. Stop, please, Shhhhh. They talk and laugh, Sit in the corner and Tell their secrets Almost-whispers, ghosts of Cruel moms, absent dads, And plans the nurses should never know of. You guys can’t be that close together, says A mobilized CYC, no longer silent observer Outside our bubble Break up that little group in the corner, please. I flinch from the chairs petulantly pushed along the floor Go a little more inward, hiding from the spark in the voice that says, She’s such a bitch. Helen-or-something again, Forming her little band of Lunatic lackeys Staging a verbal rebellion Hey! No touching, unit rule. Why? We’re all okay with it, We’re friends. Helen-or-something again Her followers might be mute. No. Touching. And you’re not supposed to make friends on the unit, You’re not each other’s therapists. I find that calming somehow. Breathing is Actually Kind of Important Curled up in a ball, lungs not doing that thing that they’re supposed to do. Tears claw their way up, through the throat to the eyes where they demand to be released. A little bit wanting to die. Yup, sounds about right. A CYC appears. Could you tell me what’s wrong? Sure, I thought I was getting better but now I’m not and I always end up here and I can’t stay but I can’t leave and I just can’t do this anymore. Another sob, more hyperventilating. Rory, stop crying. Concentrate on your breathing. Okay, innnn, outttttttt In, out, in, out No, stop. Innnnn outttttt, That’s good. What wrong? ‘I can’t Do this’. What can’t you do? ‘Any Thing. Life’. I don’t know what that means. ‘I just….’ Innnnn, outtttt. ‘I can’t do school and I can’t do people I just can’t. It’s not gonna work.’ Slow your breathing. Maybe you need to make a plan, Figure out the steps you’re going to take To get out of here. ‘It won’t Work.’ How can you know if you haven’t done it? … Breathe. Okay. Get up. Come out of your room and we’ll figure this out. Okay In, out You’re going to try. |
Discharge
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They Can’t Wait to Get Rid of You
How are you feeling today? ‘… ‘m okay’. You’ve come a long way, We’re proud of you. ‘…thanks?’ How do you feel About leaving? ‘Incredibly anxious But also, a little bit-- a minuscule-- excited? And I think I’ll be okay. Fun Facts Aren’t Always Happy It’s overwhelming, stepping outside of the hospital. The world wraps itself around me, ants to a stray crumb, but offers too much freedom. There’s a universe around me, and I’m just a wandering piece of debris. And all the things, the sharps, the cars, they’re all there. They shriek, USE ME, in all the wrong ways. I hate the part of my brain that loves the attention, wants the pain. You don’t need that, you’re okay, it seems that will be my mantra today. Cars pull up, people emerge, doors shut, buses rush by. I feel like they’re attacking me. I don’t know if I can do this. A white van drives towards me. Fun fact: it doesn’t take high speeds For a car to kill you; even a car going Slowly can cause internal bleeding And brain damage. Courtesy of The part of my brain that I hate. I step up to the curb, Jump in front of the car. The car is almost in front of me. C’mon, this is your chance. I have a choice. The car stops, And I open the door. |
PATRICIA ARHINSON is a first year student at Western. She has an interest in mental health, and wishes to pursue a career in psychology.
