Return to home Order No Secondhand Rose
The mental ward...
Chapter 1
What's Happening to Me?
The sound of the typewriter seemed miles away as I sat in front of the hospital triage nurse, answering her questions. I felt oddly out of touch with sights and sounds; everything appeared to be moving in slow motion. I kept my head down as I answered her questions, avoiding her eyes. I was embarrassed to be here and yet relieved. Maybe, they could help me here, I thought. Maybe they will be able to tell me why I can't eat, why I can't sleep, why I want to die.
Each second seemed like an eternity as the nurse continued to type. She peered at me over her glasses, face expressionless, and asked me how I felt. What words could I possibly come up with that could describe what I was feeling. I groped awkwardly for words, still avoiding her eyes, and mumbled something. She kept typing. Will she ever stop typing and help me? I wondered. For some reason, the sound of the typewriter was tormenting.
I don't remember how we came to be standing in front of the double glass doors. They were enormous, and they were locked. I heard an exchange of conversation to the right of me and the rattling of keys. As we stepped through the doors and moved down the hall, I heard the sound of the lock behind me. There was something final about the sound, like the gavel of a judge passing sentence. The hallway became a surrealistic reflection of my feelings - dark and endless.
Still, I was aware that it was but a short distance to my room because I could see the end of the hallway. The fact that I was aware of the details of my surrounding gave me some semblance of control because I felt as if time was running out. A sense of foreboding engulfed me. I was very frightened.
We finally stopped at the last door on the right. Another nurse was waiting for me near some twin beds placed in a v-shape at the farthest left-hand corner across from the door where I stood. As she smiled, I quickly surveyed the room. It was small with a built-in vanity containing a sink to the left of the door. Over the vanity was a mirror, and under it there were drawers. The bedspreads were patterned and tidy but belied any attempt to make the room look homey. It was anything but homey, definitely a hospital room and rather gray and gloomy. The one window in the room was small and very high.
The nurse began to explain all the items that I was not allowed to have, items that might tempt me to harm myself. Her words drove home the seriousness of my dilemma. Lately, I had been battling overwhelming thoughts of suicide, thoughts that drove me to walk the floor all night in an attempt ot overcome them. But now, I couldn't battle them anymore. They were winning, and I was exhausted.
Her smile was warm as she read my thoughts. "Do you feel like you are going to lose control?" she asked.
How did she know? I thought. For the first time, a small glimmer of hope made its way into my being.
"Oh, yes," I said, with just the slightest touch of enthusiasm. She gave me a sedative and helped me into bed. She's nice, I thought, and I willingly yielded to her.
The last light of the October evening dusk had made its way through the one window that was over my bed. It seemed to add to the monochromatic color of gray in the room. I lay there, feeling the beginning effects of the sedative, my racing pulse slowing down. The realization that I was truly in this place was beyond my ability to comprehend. I felt numb and removed. "Oh! God! What's happening to me?" The words softly escaped my lips. The sedative finally took over and, for the first time in months, I slept deeply.
Copyright 1999, All Rights Reserved.
Return to home Order No Secondhand Rose
