The doctors and nurses kept pestering me about why I had done what I did. I still refused to give them much of an answer. I knew I was most likely going to live at this point, but I still wouldn’t talk. I just wanted to be on my own, and to not trouble others with my problems.
I didn’t want to ruin anyone else with my thoughts. I had already ruin myself; why hurt others? Everything in this world was put on top of me in my eyes. Not necessarily the pressure of it all, but I was on the bottom of the food chain.
I was a weak, stupid girl. I was worthless. All of the other things in this world outranked me in importance, and I made it that way. Maybe if I hadn’t eaten when I was young, I wouldn’t be this fat and hideous.
“Melissa, do you want to get out of your room for a bit?” I accepted the offer; the view of the colorful wall had gotten quite boring. I stand up and wobble for a bit, grabbing my IV pole for support.
I was in my own clothes at this time; I couldn’t stand the hospital gowns. They were itchy, and showed your bum if you weren’t careful.
The nurse directed me towards the play room. I thought it was so silly that she was bringing me there. I walked in, and saw some coloring materials and Easter egg coloring sheets on a table. She told me to sit down.
“Why don’t you color in some of these so we can hang them on the walls to decorate?” she asked solemnly. I guess she assumed that I would take everything she would say offensively, so she tried to be as simple as possible. I wasn’t a baby, so she didn’t need to treat me like one.
While I was lost in my thoughts, my sitter had sat down in one of the child-sized chairs and began to color. I decided I should do that, too. That way it would at least look like I was getting better. I picked up a few crayons, and started marking the pure white page with the array of colors I had chosen.
As I am coloring, another girl about my age walks in. I don’t know what was wrong with her, but I know she didn’t cause it. She didn’t have a sitter following her, watching her every move. I felt so strange, being around a patient who would love to live their life normally. Guilt once again shot though my body, making me shudder.
I didn’t really talk to her. What was I supposed to say? If I asked her why she was here, she would most likely ask me, too. I was embarrassed to be alive. It was like the world was silently judging me, and bringing me down.
I didn’t want to be the girl that screwed everything up again. I just wanted to be the girl who disappeared. No one had to know what happened; I could just fade away from the world without any questions asked.
That was enough thinking for now. I looked down at the piece of paper, and saw the grotesque mess I had created. I had messed up everything I touched. I push it to the side, and pick up a new sheet. I tried to make this one look nice, I truly did. It didn’t work out though.
It turned out horrendous, like myself. It didn’t matter anymore. I just finished it as it was, and didn’t bother to try anymore. My sitter told me it looked nice, but I know she was simply trying to coax me into talking, so I just shrugged and said thanks.
Most of the pictures were colored in now, so I moped back to my room to watch another movie. There wasn’t much to do. I couldn’t have my phone, I could barely move properly, and I wasn’t allowed to have visitors.
If they were trying to get me to “get better,” shouldn’t they make it seem worth it? Quite frankly, the time in the hospital made me more depressed. However, I hid it well. I would fake a smile, laugh, and interact a little more, unless it dealt with why I overdosed. Then I would just shrug and say that I don’t know why I did it. It just sort of happened.
I’m not sure if they believed it or not, I couldn’t tell because of their sympathetic faces. They seemed emotionless, like myself when I was in the outside world.
Someone came into my room, and spoke with my parents outside. They told them about in-patient therapy. I didn’t know what it was, but I didn’t say anything. I don’t think that they knew I could hear their conversation.
I began to get nervous when I saw the look on my mothers face. I knew she was scared and hurt, so I naturally became scared as well. I had no idea what was going to happen to me? Would I go home? Would I go to an insane asylum? Would I die after all? I didn’t know.