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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Not long ago, I wrote this song in which the chorus said: I feel like crying on Sundays. I feel like dying on sunny days. Day three was a Sunday, if that explains anything to anyone. It was terribly slow and boring. There were barely any groups. And I was still extremely depressed. At this point, I hadn't been given any of my antidepressants and my mental health was nose diving. I kept randomly crying on this day.
Rose was an absolute doll. Besides her, I met this elderly lady named Billie. She seemed absolutely normal, so on Day Three, I didn't know why she was in this ward with the likes of me. She laughed away as she colored with Rose and I, saying she'd never done this since she was a small child. Billie was a delight to me.
Many other patients participated in coloring occasionally. Most would start and get too impatient before giving up entirely. Only Rose and I would finish coloring the entire page and at some point it was only me. People would praise me for coloring. It was a ridiculous notion to me. All I was doing was adding color into blank spaces. Praise me for having patience, but not being artistic. Tsk.
One of the girls who tried and failed to color with us was this woman named Joy. She was entirely deaf, but good at reading lips. So to speak to her, we had to lower our face masks and speak. Rose couldn't remember, but I always made sure to. I never got close to Joy, but I learned a few things about her.
Joy had a big case of anxiety. Not only that, but she was addicted to drugs. She wasn't even ashamed of it. She never attended a single group therapy session and barely came to the Sun Room. She just remained in her own room or would be seen yelling at the nurses her first few days. Joy was intimidating, but as long as you didn't bother her, she wouldn't harm you. Maybe.
Joy would also end up being allowed to leave a full week before me despite arriving after me and not participating in treatment. Let this be a lesson to any who might end up in a Psych Ward. What time you arrive doesn't correlate to what time you'll leave. The faster you learn this, the better.
Nothing else of notice happened on this day; just group therapies and coloring all day. This was Day Three...
