Why the fuck am I here? What
am I doing here? These questions were whirling around in my head
like leaves on a windy day. I looked to my right. The blonde girl
with the bandages on her wrists was staring at the ceiling with
her mouth wide open. It seemed as though she was waiting for something
to drop. Her hands were on her lap and when she turned her wrist
slightly I could see that the blood had soaked through the gauze.
To my left was a tall man who would, from time to time, stand on
his tip toes and make a loud chirping sound aimed at the front desk.
The front desk was the only
thing in the large room that had any color to it. The desk was huge
and overpowering like a pharmacist's counter. It was dark brown
and stood out against the white sterility of the room like the blood
on that girl's bandages. The three people that sat behind that desk
seemed as far removed from the rest of us as they could be. They
were deeply involved in conversation as they watched the tiny television
set at the corner of the desk. They were able to ignore the chirping
sounds and the soaked through blood. As I watched them I realized
that the only thing that might disturb them was the loud ,obnoxious
ring of the telephone. That ring and the woman's answer , “Elmhurst
Emergency Psych Ward, what do you need?”, quickly brought back
the memories of how I had wound up in this awful place.
Not longer than three hours
earlier , I was sitting at my kitchen table with a handful of white
pills and a glass of fruit punch. I stared at the tiny pills and
thought that if one of them could make my mother sleep for ten hours
, a handful would make me sleep indefinitely. I tilted back my head
and brought the pills to my lips. I knew that I would have to do
this quickly. I'd have to throw the pills in my mouth and swallow
the fruit punch all before my gag reflex set in or before I had
a chance to doubt what I was doing. I took a deep breath and exhaled.
All at once I forcefully covered my mouth with my hand, throwing
the pills onto my tongue. I could feel the pills that hadn't got
stuck to my wet tongue rolling towards the back of my throat. I
brought the fruit punch to my lips. I tried to slug it back . But
as I tilted my head even further back , I started to gag on the
rolling pills. I tried to swallow but couldn't. Instead I spit out
the pills and the fruit punch in a violent hailstorm of red and
white.
Trying to kill yourself is
a desperate act. Failing to be able to successfully kill yourself
makes that desperation even more acute. I reached for the dish rag
by the sink and got down on all fours. I was sobbing silently as
I wiped up the fruit punch. Something had to happen right now I
thought. I had to do something. I thought about waking up my parents
but their patience seemed to have been exhausted during my last
crying fit. I looked at the phone. I could call one of my friends
but it was already late and they probably wouldn't answer. If they
did answer, they'd probably wouldn't be able to talk because they'd
be too busy getting yelled at by their parents for receiving such
a late call. I could try the pills again but the thought of failing
a second time did not appeal to me. The thought of succeeding suddenly
frightened me.
I needed to talk to someone.
I rose up from the floor and picked up the phone. Without really
being able to control myself I dialed the only number I could think
of—911. As soon as I heard it ring I instinctively started
to hang up the phone. Before I could , I heard a voice say loudly
and clearly, “What's your emergency?”
“Um....I don't know,”
I was whispering so that my parents couldn't hear me.
“You'll have to speak
up, ma'am.”
I brought the phone closer
to my lips. I wanted to whisper that I'd made a mistake or that
I meant to call information, but instead I blurted out, “I
think I want to kill myself.”
I heard the operator take
a deep breath. Her voice had softened a great deal when she responded,
“Now why would you want to go and do that?”
“Nothing is going right.
I can't deal with all this shit right now,”I didn't know how
else to answer her question.
“Are you alone in the
house?”
“My parents are sleeping.”
I thought about my mother snoring happily and my father scrunched
up in a fetal position facing the wall.
“Okay,” she paused
and I could hear her fingers tapping rapidly against a keyboard,
“now why don't you tell me about all this stuff you're dealing
with?”
I smiled a little at how she
had substituted ‘stuff’ for ‘shit’ and I felt
something opening up inside of me. I wanted to talk to this woman.
I needed to talk to this woman. “I lost my job today, my boyfriend
broke up with me, my parents hate me , my friends don't need me
,andÊ everyone thinks I'm a fucking mutant from hell.”
“Okay... well that's
a lot to deal with all at once. I'm sure that people don't think
you're a mutant, why would you say that?” She was starting
to sound a lot like my shrink.
I ignored the similarity and
launched into a brief summary of my life for the past three years.
I told her about the depression, how I'd lost my virginity, how
I'd missed the prom and graduation, how my closest friends had moved
to London to ‘find themselves’, how my parents couldn't
understand what was wrong with their little girl—why did she
have to listen to such sad music or write such awful poems, why
did she wear so much black ,why didn't she want to go to college
right away like everyone else? I told her about how my boyfriend
had liked me so much because I was ‘different’ but when
I got too depressed to sleep with him he called me a freak and broke
up with me. I told her about how I had been calling in sick to the
video store for the past week and how Joe fired me because he ‘didn't
have time’ for my personal problems. Lastly, I told her about
the pills and the fruit punch.
She waited a second to respond
after I had finished my list. “I can see why you're upset but
none of that stuff should add up to suicide, especially the part
about the ex-boyfriend. You can't let an ignorant man like that
take away your desire to live. Ain't no man worth that, honey.”
With those words the 911 operator was able to cut through the fog
that had encircled my head. She had broken away from her scripted
responses and said something real. I felt better instantly. I no
longer wanted to die. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do but I knew
that something had lifted.
“Thank you,”I said
to the operator, “you're right.”
“There's nothing wrong
with you. You're just very sensitive. Having a sensitive heart is
one of God's blessings, sweetie.” Although the religious sentiment
was not all that comforting, I could feel the operator's sincerity.
I knew, even if it was just for a moment ,that she truly cared for
my well-being. She didn't think I was a mutant.
“What's your name?”
I asked her , realizing that somehow our introductions had been
lost in the urgency of our conversation.
“My name is Dolores.”
“Thank you Dolores, my
name is Karen. I think I'm okay now. I'm going to go to sleep.”
There was a strange pause after I had finished. I could hear her
breathing , but Dolores said nothing.
“Okay, wellÊ I've got
to go now. Thanks again,” I waited for her reply before I hung
up. She had been so helpful , I didn't want to just hang up on her
now that I felt better.
“Um......honey, you can't
go to sleep. For your own protection, I had to notify the authorities.
There should be an ambulance arriving shortly. Please stay on the
line with me until it gets there.”
“I don't need an ambulance.
Can't you just call them back and tell them not to come?” I
felt sure that this was a reasonable request.
“I can't do that. But
please don't worry. They're just going to take you down to the hospital
and talk to you for a little while.” Dolores spoke quickly.
“The hospital? I don't
want to go to a fucking hospital!” I couldn't believe that
Dolores had turned me in like that. I didn't need any Ôprotection'.
I just needed to go to sleep and wake up with a clearer head.
“Please, Karen, calm
down. Nothing bad is going to happen. They just need to make sure
you're okay.” Through her voice I could hear the approaching
siren.
“They're here. Thanks
a lot.” My voice was filled with angry tears.
“Karen , I'm sor...”
I hung up on Dolores and walked towards the door. The one approaching
siren had turned into several and my quiet street was soon turned
into a demented circus of flashing lights and wailing sirens. The
one ambulance that Dolores had mentioned was actually two fire trucks,
three police cars, and two ambulances. I suddenly thought of my
parents. I had to warn them before the circus paraded into my house.
There wasn't enough time. Within seconds of seeing the vehicles
pulling into my block there was a loud , urgent banging at my front
door.
I opened the front door slowly
and I saw two large policemen and two E.M.T.s crowded together on
my steps. One of the policemen spoke, “Ma'am , is your name
Karen?”
I nodded. “Okay , well
we need to come inside.” With that the parade began. I started
to walk towards my parents' room , when one of the officers put
his hand on my shoulder. “Miss, I'm going to need to walk with
you. Please stay directly in front of me at all times.”
I walked very slowly down
the hall. I opened their door gently and whispered, “Mom, Dad,
please wake up.” Without warning, the officer turned his flashlight
on and aimed the beam at my mother's head. “Folks, I'm sorry
to disturb you like thi , but you're going to have to come outside.”
The officer was definitely not whispering and my parents woke up
immediately at the sound of his booming voice.
My mother looked much like
a shocked deer standing just feet away from a large truck. She was
speechless. My father took one look at me and then one look at the
officer. Pulling the covers away angrily he said “Oh fuck!”.
His voice was filled with open disgust. I had only heard my father
use that word once and that had been when his car was stolen. Seeing
the look on his face and hearing him curse made me start sobbing
heavily. The other officer came up from behind me and led me back
towards the kitchen.
I sat down at the kitchen
table and one of the E.M.T.'s began asking me questions. My parents
were soon in the kitchen , and the police officer with the booming
voice was showing my mother the bottle of her pills I had left out
on the table. I found myself blocking out the voices and watching
the muted spectacle I had created. I sat straight in my chair with
my hands folded in my lap. My loud sobs had become a steady flow
of silent tears that ran down my cheek and dropped off , each making
a minute splash on my folded fingers.
After a short time, one of
the E.M.T.'s led me out of my house and towards the ambulance. By
now, the other cars had left and only one police car and one ambulance
remained. She was saying comforting things to me as she helped me
up into the ambulance and strapped me into the bench. I couldn't
really hear her though, I was too busy trying to make sense of what
was happening. Somehow , I was losing something. I had just wanted
to talk to someone and now everything had become worse than when
I dialed 911 in the first place. I felt like something that I had
always had but never really grasped the importance of, was being
taken away from me. As the ambulance door slammed and we pulled
slowly away from my house, I realized what that something was…
my freedom.
The solid thud the ambulance
door had made when it was shut was much like the sound the chirping
man made when he hit the floor. Returning my thoughts from my ambulance
ride to my present predicament , I looked at the man twitching on
the white linoleum. His eyes had rolled back in his head and all
you could see were the glossy whites. His arms were flailing wildly
and he looked like a bird that had just flown headfirst into someone's
windshield. “He's just fakin,” one of the desk people
said as she got up slowly and walked to the other side of the desk.
I watched as the woman approached the man on the floor. She stood
over him with her hands on her hips. “Now why can't you just
be good?” She turned to one of the other people behind the
desk, “Darlene, please page Darren and Freddy. They're gonna
need to bed him.” She walked back to the tiny television and
didn't take a second look at the man writhing on the floor.
Within minutes a door opened and the orderlies entered. The two
men crouched over the chirping man. One orderly grabbed his flailing
arms and the other put a firm grip on the man's ankles. The chirping
man struggled with the attendants, but they moved with him. When
he would twist and turn , they would twist and turn with him. The
third person behind the desk , a short dark skinned man ended their
grotesque dance by coming quickly from behind the desk and pushing
a syringe into the chirping man's forearm. In seconds the man became
limp and the two orderlies carried him into one of the small rooms
that adjoined the large white room.
The blonde girl next to me hadn't taken her eyes away from the
ceiling during the entire spectacle. I looked past her at the ten
or so other people scattered throughout the large white room. A
dark haired woman stood in one of the doorways of the smaller rooms.
She had her arms tucked inside her hospital gown. She had her hands
over her breasts and was pushing the gown out while muttering something
about Marilyn Monroe. Looking at her, I realized that I was the
only person in the room not wearing a hospital gown. I was still
in my faded blue jeans and button down shirt. I wondered if they
would make me wear a gown. I wondered how long the others had been
in that room. I wondered how long I would be in that room. All of
these thoughts seemed to gather in a tight knot behind my left eye.
I felt the pressure against my eye and the pain of all the uncertainties
building. I let out a loud cry and began to moan.
The short man with the syringe had not yet reunited with the women
watching television behind the desk. He walked over to me. “Have
you taken your pills yet?”
“What pills? I don't want to take a pill. I just want to go
home. I don't belong here.”Ê It felt strange to be speaking
aloud. I hadn't spoken since I had tried to unsuccessfully wake
my parents several hours earlier.
“You can't go home until you see the doctor and he won't be
in much before ten.”
I remembered that it had been a little before 2 a.m. when I had
called 911. There was no clock on the wall but I sensed that no
more than three hours had passed since then. I started to sob and
moan even louder when I realized that I'd be in that awful room
for at least another five hours. The short dark skinned man looked
behind him and said, “Darlene, get me her meds please. They
should still be on the blue tray. She should have been given them
when she first got here.”
Darlene got up from her seat
and walked reluctantly towards a grouping of trays on a white stand
not far from the desk. While she was walking, she was muttering
in a voice loud enough for anyone in the room to hear, “Thinks
he can be all uppity and shit just becuz he got the title of supervisor.
We all nurses. We all work hard and shit.”
Unmoved by her soliloquy,
the man snatched the two small white paper cups from her hands.
He handed them to me. One was filled with three colorful capsules
the other cup was filled with water. “Please take these,”
he smiled , trying to look encouraging, “they'll help you relax.”
I wanted to argue more. I
wanted to protest , but then I thought of the chirping man. I thought
of the syringe given by this same man who was handing me the pills.
I didn't want that. I also figured that something in that small
white cup would have to untie the knot that was pulsating behind
my eye. I took the capsules, one at a time so that I would not have
to relive the gagging sensation I had dealt with earlier. The man
took the cups from my hands and told me to sit back. He went back
to his position behind the desk and I noticed the women giving him
angry looks.
I decided to close my eyes.
Observing my surroundings any longer would only upset me more. I
was hoping that if I was able to sleep I might just wake up in my
own bed. My hopes wereÊ short lived. Only a few minutes after I
closed my eyes the door that I had been brought in by swung open.
Two police officers were walking on either side of a large handcuffedÊ
man with long, thick dred locks. They led him to the desk and one
of the officers spoke, “This here is Jimmy Whitson. He was
collared on possession but he started talking about tiny men that
live inside his eardrums and how God has chosen him and all sorts
of crazy stuff. We found out he does see a shrink and we're trying
to contact him. My lieutenant wants me to leave him here until we
have more information.”
“Is it safe to uncuff
him?” the man who had given me the pills asked the officer.
“Oh , sure. We think
he's just a harmless nut. We didn't want to leave him in a regular
holding cell because if he is mentally ill....well the lieutenant
is trying to do the right thing. We don't want the public defendants
up our asses saying we mistreated a crazy guy.”
The officer's explanation
apparently made sense to the nurses and they told to the police
to uncuff the man and have him sit down. He sat just a few seats
away from me and while the officers and the nurses were chatting
I felt the man staring at me. I figured that I must be mistaken
so I turned quickly to look at him and make sure. When I did this
,our eyes met. His eyes slowly dripped down from my eyes to my lips
to my yellow button-down to my jeans. He looked back up after what
seemed like hours and licked his lips. I wanted to scream but the
pain in my head was too powerful now for me to even open my mouth.
The officers left and the three nurses went back to the television.
“You got nice thighs
in those blue jeans, girl.”
The dred lock man was whispering
to me and I pretended that I couldn't hear him. I closed my eyes
and leaned my head back against the wall. “You can close your
eyes all you want , girl , but you can still see me.” He spoke
with a strange accent. I felt sick at the sound of his voice and
I also became quite dizzy. I suddenly realized that the pills I
had taken may have been starting to affect me. He started to sing
softly , “No woman no cry, I say, hey no woman no cry! Everytings
gonna be alright now God's coming in the morning light.” He
continued to mix the Bob Marley lyrics with some sort of prayer
about God and sinners meeting in a final battle.
I knew he was smiling at me
while he was singing and I felt the a wave of nausea come over me.
Between his voice and the pills, the throbbing in my head increased.
I felt like something inside my brain was going to burst. The contents
of my stomach suddenly felt like they were swelling. I knew then
that I had to get to a bathroom. I stood up quickly , too quickly.
The room started to spin. I saw the dred lock man staring, I saw
the blonde girl worshiping the ceiling , I saw the hard working
nurses fixated on that small stupid box. I opened my mouth to yell
out for help, or for a bathroom or anything that would stop the
spinning and the swelling. Instead of words exiting my mouth , I
began to vomit . I saw the brown stream splash onto that pristine
white floor. I collapsed, somewhere between the dred lock man's
feet and the nurse's desk.
I awoke some time later. I
was lying in a small white bed in what I guessed to be one ofÊ the
rooms that connected to the large white room. I heard muffled sounds
coming from outside the open door. I looked down at my body and
noticed that I was still wearing my own clothes. I was filled with
hope at the thought that I hadn't yet become one of the white gowned
people. I tried to sit up but I was still too weak. I tried to speak
, just to hear the sound of my own voice , but nothing came out.
I looked up at the ceiling and then closed my eyes. I knew it must
be close to ten and I'd soon be out of this miserable place. I heard
some movement in the room and I opened my eyes slowly, figuring
it was one of the nurses coming to check on me.
“Now look at you girl
, all ready for me.” The dred lock man was walking towards
my bed. With one hand he was unzipping his pants. He grabbed the
bulge in his boxers and with his free hand he reached out in my
direction. He was standing directly above me now and he was smiling.
“You gonna like this, girl.” I felt his hand running up
my thigh. I wanted to cry out for help but I couldn't speak. I wanted
to swat his hand away and punch him right in that big bulge, but
I couldn't lift my arm. I was paralyzed by weakness and by fear.
The dred lock man leaned in closer and began to pull his dick through
the opening in his boxers. The last thing I heard before I passed
out again was the door opening and the voice of the small dark man
yelling, “What the fuck are you doing!!? Get away from her!”
The next time I became conscious
I was lying in the backseat of my father's car all wrapped up like
a baby in an afghan my mother had crocheted two winters ago. I heard
my parents talking in the front seat but I couldn't make out what
they were saying. I felt the car turn and I saw the sunlight shining
through the open windows of the blue Oldsmobile. When we were in
front of my house , my father pulled into a space and came around
to open my door. He leaned in and gently pulled me up. Looking into
his eyes, I could tell that he had been crying. He smiled softly
at me and said that he was going to carry me into the house. As
he started to lift me I noticed a purple pamphlet on the car seat
that read, “Elmhurst Psychiatric Facilities.” I snatched
it up before he lifted me from the car.
My father put me down in my
bed and covered me with my peach comforter. My mother brought in
a snack tray with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass
of ginger ale. She said I could eat it if I wanted to but she'd
understand if I just went to sleep. I thanked her and asked how
they were able to get me out of the hospital. “We were able
to get a hold of Doctor Fields and he called the hospital. He was
furious that they had kept you in there like that without calling
him. He'd like to see you for session tomorrow, if that's okay.”
I said that it was , and both my parents kissed me on the forehead
and left my room, closing the door behind them.
I sat up when they left the
room and pulled the purple paper from beneath my comforter. I reached
for a pen that was on my desk not far from my bed and began writing
below the black lined drawing of the hospital: BLONDE GIRL, CHIRPING
MAN, MARILYN MONROE, JIMMY WHITSON. When I'd finished writing the
names I took some tape from my desk and taped the pamphlet to the
wall I faced every night when I fell asleep. I left that pamphlet
on my wall for the rest of the time I lived in my parent's house.
Any time I felt sad or depressed, any time I started to question
the value of my life , I looked at that pamphlet and remembered.
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