John came into the room to talk to me. He explained to me that when I was physically able, I would be going to in-patient therapy. He told me that there they will help me, and that he once had to go when he was a teenager.
I trusted him, so I just went along with it. I still didn’t completely understand where I was going, but I wouldn’t ask to make things easier for him. He then proceeded to look at my charts and the machines that were hooked up to me to see how I was doing.
“I think your enzymes are done rising, so you will be able to go soon,” he said, smiling a little for encouragement. I nodded. Thoughts were running through my head on what would be happening next. I tried to not care too much, though. I didn’t want to make things more complicated and difficult.
I just craved to be left alone. Having these people constantly talking to me, watching me, and questioning me was unbearable. I was not fond of social interaction. I just wanted to be on my own. I couldn’t stand all of these people.
Honestly, I believe I had social phobia. I was scared to go into public, and I would be so uncomfortable if I did. I spent most of my time indoors, without people. I hated school because of all of the people constantly talking and looking. I hated every second of it.
The doctor walked into my room, and told me that they had put a “call-out” to two psychiatric hospitals. I didn’t know I was going to the psych ward. I’ve heard about that place.
It’s for the crazy people who have gone mental. I was honestly terrified about going there. I broke out into tears, and just sobbed. My mom came in to try to comfort me, but it didn’t really work. I had no idea that I was going somewhere like this.
“Can I just do out-patient therapy? Please? I don’t want to go there... I don’t want to. Please?” I managed to say as the tears poured down my face.
“I don’t think that’s really an option,” the doctor told me. I was so nervous. The people there were going to be psychotic, probably murderers and cannibals. Why was I going to be with them? I hadn’t hurt anyone else in what I had done. This wasn’t fair at all.
“Please...? I really don’t want to go,” I begged. He wouldn’t give in. I just continued to cry as the minutes passed. It was now dinner-time, and I ate a little bit of the mush they had served me. Someone I didn’t recognize came into my room and looked like they had something important to say.
“Brenners called back, and they have a bed for you. You will be going there tonight,” they told me. How could they do that? I was terrified.
The name of the place even sounded harsh and cruel. This was terrible. I didn’t know things would be this horrid if I had pitifully failed at something so easy.
I began to pack up the little clothes I had with me. I had a two pairs of sweatpants, and a few tee shirts. I didn’t know what time I would be leaving, or where this even was.
The fear of going there just ate at me. It made me nauseous. I was petrified. I tried not to show any sign of fear, and I guess it worked for an hour or so. It stopped working when the police officer came into my room. I started bawling, yet again.
They told me I had to go there in a police car. I had no idea why. I begged and pleaded to not go, and if I had to go, to at least have my parents drive me. My dad said that he should drive me, so it wouldn’t be as traumatizing, but they wouldn’t let him.
The thought of spending an undefined amount of time in the back of a police car was horrifying to me. I had promised myself as a child that I would never end up in the back of a police car. I broke it.
I could only imagine what the people driving by are going to think, seeing me in the back. They’ll probably think I murdered someone, or broke into someone’s home. Just what I need: more people judging me when they don’t know the whole story. It was partially my fault, because I wouldn’t tell them the whole story. However, they continued to judge me.
“The officer is here.” Fear struck through my body like a bullet. Goodbye world.