Change The World

I was quickly assigned to a room when we got into the ward. No roommate, of course. Mike had talked to the nurse about all of the necessary things—my condition, my current medications—because technically I was in a psychotic break and not fit to talk for myself. Also I was sort of in an emergency situation so they didn’t have time for me to sit around and reflect on my disorder—they needed to drug me up and get me straight.

Alyssa had told me to be on my best behavior in order to get the most out of the trip. She said it would be good for me. This was the first time I felt like I was in the hospital for a positive reason. Third time’s a charm, I guess.

They went through the bag that Mike had packed me and made me give them my headphones, because apparently I was also suicidal and they didn’t want me to get any ideas. When I got to my room, I sighed and sat down on the bed. Mike had packed me a few t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants, jeans, and other necessities.

He also had thrown in one of my writing notebooks. It made me smile that he remembered it. Out of all of the things I knew about hospital trips, the main one was that it was boring. When you weren’t at sessions or meals, you really had nothing to do. I guess the point of them was to stabilize you and set you up with a treatment plan that worked well for when you got out, while in a zero-stress environment where your main focus was to get better. But I was afraid that I always felt better when I had more to do. I was at my best when my mind was distracted and focusing on other things, like music.

At the same time, though, there could come a day where distractions wouldn’t be enough. Music wouldn’t be enough. It was about time I remembered what it was like to be okay without keeping myself one hundred percent busy. I knew it was possible; I had done it last time. Granted, that time it took a bunch of weeks and I was only supposed to be here for three or four days.

I sighed and shook my head, looking around the room. It was very similar to the other two rooms I have stayed in before. It brought back memories. Maybe that was the worst part of having to be back in a psych ward: I would have to be reminded of all of the horrible things that used to consume my life.

They told me to tell the head nurse that I was suicidal. That I was plotting for it. I guess it wasn’t much of a lie, though. Even though my parents had practically dragged me by my ear to get here I knew myself that I wasn’t okay. I was far from it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to last for much longer. Especially in that house. With them.

“I see my dead brother,” I said to Dr. Crowley. We were at check-in, where I had to tell her everything about my medical history, the medication I was currently taking, and anything and everything else that seemed relevant.

My parents were already gone. I was okay with that. “But I don’t just see him,” I continued slowly. “Other things, too. A lot of black and red. And sometimes when Mike comes to visit, he doesn’t look healthy. Sometimes we fight. He yells at me angrily for what I did to him. He wears soaking wet and torn up clothes and his face is all bloody and his eyes are really dark and really, really angry. Sometimes people at school look messed up too. They don’t have eyes or mouths but they still somehow manage to screech horrible things to me. I can see the words. They’re like black smoke. It chokes me,” I explained quietly. The more I said it out loud, the worse I felt. I kept my eyes calmly shut, afraid of what I’d see if they were open.

They figured out what medications to put me on to try out and started right away. It was a combination of meds, including new depression ones. They made me sick at first. It was like my body and brain didn’t want to be helped.

I shook my head. This time around, I wanted to be helped. I had too much to do. I didn’t have time to wallow in my own mind.

I made sure to attend a group session as soon as I was settled. They apparently had them multiple times a day. Back at my time at Resnick in LA, I always managed to skip out on group. I figured that nobody was as crazy as I was so it wouldn’t be helpful. That was definitely the wrong attitude to have and prevented me from being stabilized sooner.

Like Alyssa told me, I took advantage of the environment and resources that they had. By the end of the first day, I met with the head nurse who, after being informed about my participation in group therapy and my individual therapist meeting, made a decision to switch up some of my meds. Even though I wasn’t depressed anymore, they found that taking antidepressants along with another antipsychotic drug was the best combination for patients like me. She said I had bad anxiety, which explained my constant worrying and over-thinking and obsessing in general, but that it would be too dangerous to combine anti-anxiety pills with antipsychotic ones.

Several years back, they had lowered my dosage, saying that I was in the “maintenance” phase and needed a life-long plan to remove psychotic symptoms. They had gradually reduced my dose to the minimum requirement to prevent episodes and to control symptoms in my head. It had worked for eight years.

Episode relapse, as I learned the past two days, happened mostly due to stopping medication. They had to increase my dosage again to get me back on track, but after a few weeks I would be able to continuously lower it again. I tried not to get too down about it.

Actually, it all made me feel hopeful for the situation. Instead of being terrified and depressed with what happened—instead of becoming catatonic again—I did my best at being proactive. I wanted to see clearly again. I knew it was possible.

It only took two days for all of the shit to go away. My fear went away, too. I knew what was real. I didn’t have to question reality anymore. Alyssa and Mike were coming to visit for the first time, and I didn’t fear that if I blinked I would see blood. I was confident that I would see them in their normal, real images.

“Hey guys,” I said to them when they walked into my room. I didn’t have to be escorted anywhere like the prison that was Resnick. As long as they checked in, they could just come into my room.

“Hey buddy, how’s it going?” Mike asked, patting my shoulder.

“Bored,” I said with a little chuckle. “But I’m good. Real good,” I smiled.

“Good to hear,” he smiled back.

“Hi ‘Lyssa,” I said a little shyly. It was weird seeing her in this setting. Especially because I was in a really good mood and almost in a really good place. It wasn’t like this last time.

I woke up in a haze. Nauseous. My head was spinning. I started coughing and gagging. Something was ripped out of my throat—a tube. I had to keep coughing and breathe heavily for a few minutes before I settled down. Once I was sort of calm, my eyes darted around the room. The hospital room. My eyes were already blurry with tears. I rolled onto my right side and threw up off the edge of the bed.

My mind was in another place. I heard the doctors talking to me but I didn’t reply. I was so disappointed in myself. I had failed. Only I would fail at killing myself with the amount of pills I had swallowed. I threw up over the side of the bed again. This time, it was caught in a container. I looked up to see who was holding it.

“Mike,” I tried to say. I couldn’t pronounce his name, only being able to make the “M” sound. “Mu, Mu, I,” was what it sounded like. I puked again. I felt so sick, in the head and now in the body too.

I didn’t look into Mike’s eyes. I knew I’d see disappointment and sadness and hurt and maybe a little bit of anger. I felt his hand touch my shoulder. He gently squeezed it. I heard crying. I hated when my brother cried. I especially hated that it was over me.

My head rolled over to the other side of the room. Alyssa was standing in the doorway. I looked into her eyes and immediately regretted doing so. She was crying so hard, her hand over her mouth and her body shaking. She wouldn’t come into the room, though, her body barely passing through the threshold. I looked at her tiredly and apologetically. I saw her mom back in the hallway too. Tony was probably somewhere nearby. I rolled my head back again so I was staring at the ceiling. Maybe if I went back to sleep I wouldn’t wake up again, and I wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of my actions.

The next thing I could remember, I was in a different room. I was sitting on a bed with a suitcase at my feet. My hair covered my face. I heard someone call my name but I didn’t react. The pills had killed my reflexes. I felt like I had killed a lot of me with all of those pills, just not enough of me to do the complete job.

“Vic, please look at me,” someone said. Something about her voice made me responsive. I lifted my head up. It was Alyssa again, standing in the doorway nervously. My brother was behind her.

“Go away,” I said. Something in my head told me that I hated her. She was the reason why I couldn’t die so I had to hate her and be mad at her.

“Vic,” she cried, covering her mouth with her hand again, crying softly. Mike had his hand on her shoulder.

“You need to leave. Both of you. I don’t want to see anyone again,” I said robotically.

“Please,” she sobbed, stepping forward. “Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t come near me,” I ordered. My voice was monotone. I was just so fucking tired. It’d be easier if I didn’t know these people. Did I even know these people? I suddenly couldn’t remember their names. Even though she was saying my name, I couldn’t recognize it either.

“Get out!” I screamed at the top of my longs. “Get the fuck out of here! Go away!” I shouted as loud as possible. It was more to the things in my head and circling around the room. But to him and her too, I guess.

Nurses ran in and demanded me to settle down. I stopping yelling once the two visitors left. They gave me some sort of drug and I smiled, when the other visitors left, too.

I shook the memory out of my head. I was going to make myself sick thinking back to that time. I was honestly a little surprised that I could remember it so vividly.

I was just happy that she was here. I was happy that I was here, too. I was happy to be okay. She smiled gently and stepped closer, wrapping her arms around my neck. I hugged her tightly. “Hi,” I repeated into her hair. “I’m glad you’re here,” I murmured.

“Of course, Vic,” she pulled away and smiled. Then she held my chin gently between her fingertips and leaned forward, kissing my cheek. I liked this time a lot better because we were all in higher spirits.

I had talked on the phone with them all yesterday, so they were all caught up on my medication switch and what was going on. I only had to stay for a few more days, just enough to make sure that I’d be okay.

We all hung out for a bit. I sat on the edge of my bed with Mike and Alyssa sitting in chairs around me. With fifteen minutes left in their time allowed here, Mike stood up to leave. “See ya tomorrow, Vic,” he said, hugging me tightly. I nodded.

“Okay, thanks for coming, see ya,” I said. He smiled brightly and swiftly exited the room. I looked at Alyssa. “He’s acting funny.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, he’s just giving us time alone. And he’s awkward about it,” she giggled.

“Oh,” I said as a small smile formed. “Er, how are you?” I asked, my cheeks a little warm. I didn’t want everything to always be about me.

“I’m okay,” she shrugged her shoulders. “I just can’t wait for you to be home,” she added. “Even though it’s only been a few days…”

I smiled weakly. I didn’t want to bring up what I did, the fuck up with Kayla, but I wondered if she was still upset over that. She had every right to be. I didn’t want to touch her or hurt her in any way. But I wanted to know if she still wanted me, even though I didn’t deserve it.

“I have my first meeting with a therapist tomorrow afternoon,” she said.

“Oh, really? That’s good, Alyssa. Tony’s going with you?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, he is. He took it all surprisingly well. I expected him to look at me differently, y’know? I expected you to look at me differently, too…” she trailed off. “But, yeah, that’s tomorrow. I’m a little nervous but it shouldn’t be too bad. It’s just an intro. I hope I don’t have to talk about it too much…” she trailed off again.

I bit my lip and reached over for her hand. She took it gladly, which surprised me. I brushed my thumb across the back of her hand. “The first one’s always a little awkward. You don’t have to spill everything, just a general thing and some goals that you want to get out of therapy. That way they know how to help you the best way possible.”

She nodded. “I just feel like talking about it over and over isn’t going to help. I don’t know what to expect.”

“They’ll give you mechanisms. I promise it’ll help you. You’ll learn things, given ways to deal with memories, outlets and stuff. It’ll be okay,” I eased.

“Thanks, Vic,” she mumbled. She stood up and wrapped her arms around my neck again, sighing into my shoulder. I timidly pulled her up so she was sitting next to me on the bed. She held my hand still, twirling her arm around mine so we were as close as possible. “I’m still mad with you,” she said quietly into my shirt. “But I love you.”

“You can be mad at me for as long as you need. I’m sorry everyday. I’m sorry it came to this. You deserve a lot better. But I love you, too,” I said back, turning my face so my lips were in her hair.

“You suck a lot, but you’re mine,” she giggled a little.

I chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “You have me, baby.” I smiled a little. I was all hers, if she wanted me to be. Of course I wanted her just the same. And to top it all off, I wanted me, too.

Notes

aww so nice
\making him get better so i can do the same thign!!! ya y hopes