Eight months ago
Jesus Christ, if this bitch doesn't shut the fuck up, I'm going to really give these assholes a reason to lock me up in here and throw away the key. She's got to be detoxing, but still. This shit is ridiculous. She shouldn't even be in our wing.
Eventually, I roll out of the uncomfortable bed and go all the way down the hall until I find Juan sitting at the desk. His shoulder-length black hair is pulled up into a bun, and he grins at me, but not in the sinister or ill-intentioned way I had grown accustomed to seeing on a guy's face whenever he looked at me.
"Hey, Michelle, you okay? You know it's past curfew."
Yeah, I know it's 10:04 pm. A whole four minutes past curfew. But I bite back the sarcastic comment. He's been so nice to me since I arrived yesterday, so I can't take my frustrations out on him.
"Uh, erm, yeah. I was just wondering if there are any earplugs? I didn't have a roommate last night, and I guess I'm just getting used to having someone else in the room." Suddenly my feet have become the most fascinating thing in the room for me to look at since I can't seem to meet his eyes.
"Oh, of course! Follow me, there should be some in the supply closet." He comes out from behind the desk and leads me down the hallways back towards my room, but we stop at a small supply closet, where he unlocks the door, and pulls out my new best friends for the night.
"Thanks a million, Juan." I really mean it. I'd be extra cranky tomorrow if I didn't get enough sleep.
"I know it's an adjustment, Michelle, but I really think you can learn a lot here."
I hope he's right. And I hope my roommate gets switched to a different ward. She shouldn't even be in this area. Addicts are supposed to be in one place, children in another, and depressed adults like me end up in this section.
I don't even notice I made it back to my room until the obnoxious rumble of my new roomie's nasal passage pulls me back to the reality of where I'm at.
If I was allowed to have my earbuds, or phone, or even a damn iPod, I would be able to fall asleep way easier, but when you walk in the door, they take everything.
No communication to the outside world except for phones in a community area, no shampoo or conditioner of your own, no wires in your bra, no laces on your shoes. It's basically prison, but worse because you're forced to talk about your feelings and your past in group therapy. Well, no, not forced, but if you're not participating, they make a note of it.
Not every tech is like Juan, unfortunately. Some of them try to swing their weight around, and it's obvious that working in mental health is not their passion. Why would you choose to work somewhere so depressing for so little pay?
Luckily the earplugs work, and I drift off to sleep, trying to pretend I'm anywhere but where I actually am.
......................................
The next day, I continue to do the bare minimum in group, and we get a new girl. She's tall, blonde, and beautiful. I walk over and introduce myself when she's done with her "orientation."
"Hey, I'm Michelle."
"Dani," she responds. The dark circles under her eyes lead me to believe she hasn't slept in months. "What's your story? You look too normal to be here," she gets to the point quickly.
"Well, how much do you want to know? There's a short version and a long version," I answer her honesty with cautious optimism. Is someone else here normal, too?
"Girl, I just got here. We've got at least four days." For what seems like the first time in weeks, I genuinely laugh.
"Alright, long version it is," and we sit down at the table in the common area while I tell her my whole story, starting with my issues in high school, going all the way up to my new roommate getting transferred this morning.
She tells me about how she's here for post-partem depression, and it had been getting worse until she snapped and said she was going to kill herself. "And don't even get me started on my job," she smiles to herself as if sharing some sort of inside joke.
"What do you mean?" I'm genuinely enthralled by this woman's story.
"I work in mental health. Not this facility, but one about forty-five minutes away."
I finally understand why she was laughing to herself a moment ago. We start laughing and get glared at by one of the older women in the group.
While we continue to share stories, a young man wearing eyeliner and easily standing at six-foot-three walked into the common area with sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a white tee that hugged his muscles in all the right places.
"Damn," Dani and I both whispered in unison before giggling like schoolgirls.
"I wonder what his story is," I look at her for her reaction, but she's still staring.
"Hello, Dani, you with me?" I smile as I lift my water cup to my lips and take a sip.
"Look, I know I'm married, but he's hot. Go talk to him."
We both look over at him and see him staring back at us. His brown hair is perfectly coiffed, and his tan skin looks almost too perfect. We make eye contact before I quickly snap my head back around to look at Dani.
"First of all, I'm not going to try looney bin speed dating. Not my thing. And secondly, we don't know anything about him. What if he's in here for being a psycho killer or some shit?" I'm a little taken aback by her bold assumption that I would try to talk someone up while in a mental facility, and I make that obvious in my tone. She clearly doesn't catch on as she waves at him, inviting him to come sit with us.
"Hi, I'm Dani," she pushes her long blonde hair off of her shoulder, revealing a tattoo of a rose on her collarbone that I hadn't noticed earlier. "What's your name?"
"Eddie. You?" He looks at me. His voice is a much higher pitch than I expected it to be, and for some reason, I don't find him as intimidating as I did moments ago.
"I'm Michelle. Nice to meet you. Not necessarily under these circumstances, but nevertheless..." I trail off because I feel myself getting dumber. I've never been good around guys, especially attractive ones.
"So, Eddie, what's your deal? Dark and mysterious, showing up at a mental hospital with eyeliner and sweatpants, what's that all about?" Dani has no tact, but it's refreshing.
Eddie laughs, whether it be from Dani's brave question or my clear look of shock, but he doesn't seem uncomfortable with it at all. "Well, my boyfriend and I have a really volatile relationship, and we got into a huge fight while getting ready for a costume party, and I said the magic words, 'Why don't I just kill myself' and since the cops were already on their way, I got Baker-acted, and here I am."
I can't say I'm surprised by his story, given the eyeliner and some of his mannerisms, but I almost immediately relaxed. After finding out he was gay, it became way easier to talk to him. We shared stories of our fucked-up lives, and in a twisted way, I was happy to have met these...could I call them friends? It's not like we'd ever see each other again after we were discharged, but it was clear that we all needed each other this week.
By the time curfew rolled around, I headed to my room and noticed a small girl with short black hair sitting on the bed next to mine. She couldn't have been more than nineteen. I was more than a little shocked to find her in here, especially since I hadn't seen her come in.
She seems to not notice me until I introduce myself. "Hey," I smile. "I'm Michelle, your roommate. What's your name?" I try to tread lightly because I don't know how delicate she is.
She turned to look at me through her thick black-rimmed glasses. When she looks at me head-on, she immediately became much younger to me. Scared and in a new environment, I didn't blame her.
"I'm Emma," she reached her hand out to shake mine. "I saw you in the common room earlier. How long have you been here? You seemed comfortable."
I looked down at her hand as I reached for it and noticed the scars on her arm. She covered them up as quickly as she can after realizing what I saw.
"This is my third day," I answered her question before adding, "but you don't have to cover those up. We're all here because we're going through some shit. Don't feel like you have to hide."
Was I giving someone else a pep-talk in this insane asylum? What the hell?
"Thank you," she answered in her mouse-like voice.
My heart broke for her and I felt a strange need to protect her from whatever pain she had experienced that landed her here.
After that thought crossed my mind, I finally got a small understanding of what my parents must be thinking, and it was at that point that I decided to put forth real effort. If I was going to dig myself out of this hole, I needed to start climbing.
............................................................
By day five, I had fallen into a routine. I would sit with Emma, Dani, and Eddie in the cafeteria for every meal, I would talk to my parents three times a day, Jo once a day, and I even called my grandma once. I was still upset because of what she said to me while I was in the hospital, but after talking in group, I realized that she was hurt because of what I tried to do. "Hurt people hurt people" or something like that is what the tech said.
I had just sat down for my one-on-one session, expecting the same talk from Dr. G. She surprised me, though, when she didn't open my file, but instead looked across her desk, tilted her head to the side, and asked me a question.
"Are you ready to go home, Michelle?"
I took in those seven words for way longer than I should have. I don't know why, but I wasn't expecting to be able to go home. And where was home? My apartment with Tara and Bridgit or back to Georgia with mom and dad? Is my stuff packed? Have they talked to my dad?
"Michelle?" Dr. G's voice breaks through the ten thousand questions bombarding my thoughts and I answer quickly.
"Yes! Yes, absolutely. Does my dad know?"
"No, you'll have to call him. You're twenty-three. Even though you're on his insurance, we can't talk to him. But he isn't staying far away, right? His hotel is close?"
Her question is more of a statement, but I don't care. Eddie and Dani left yesterday. I'd started to feel lonely since more teenagers showed up and Emma was hanging out with them during our downtime. Time really does crawl in this place.
"Yes, ma'am. I'll go call him. Is there anything I need to sign?"
"Yes, but we can work on that when your dad gets here. There's some stuff he has to sign, as well." She smiles across the desk. "We're very proud of the progress you've made here, Michelle. You were very closed off in the beginning, and I know a lot of your past was hard to talk about, but you're a lot stronger than you know. I hope you're beginning to learn that."
Tears threaten their way to my eyes, and I smile back at her. Is this what hope feels like? I don't think I've ever felt it before. It's such a weightless feeling.
My dad arrives within the hour, and we sign the papers before they hand me all of my belongings and my dad drives me back to the apartment. After we packed the car, we took off for the eight-hour drive. I didn't bother to change clothes since I was in yoga pants and an over-sized t-shirt. I missed having conditioner, though. I couldn't wait to shower at home.
Thoughts of quenching my poor hair were disrupted when "You Will Be Found" from Dear Evan Hansen came on my dad's playlist. I turned it up because I've always loved this musical, and my dad reached across the center console to grab my hand. I hold back the sob sitting in my throat when I see a single tear roll down my dad's cheek.
You've made progress, Michelle. That's important. My subconscious is fighting to push good thoughts to the forefront for the first time, and I take a deep breath before leaning my head back and falling asleep. I make sure to keep my father's hand in mine, though. Something tells me he needs it more than I do right now.