Journal Entry One

October 10, 2006
8:32am

*Excerpt from Journal*

My mother calls the nurses station every ten minutes until they give her the direct phone number of one of the pay phones on Ward B. One of the acute schizophrenics answers; he thinks it's an angel receiving his prayers and starts muttering something about blue shirts being a bad color to wear today. He calls my name out and hands me the phone, telling me I've been saved, and we've got to be prepared if we want to be ready to ascend the tower.

He was sent to the hospital because he was found climbing an industrial crane on campus.

I take the phone. She immediately breaks down and asks me if she should take a flight to come see me. I don't want to tell her that she is the last person I want to see. Frankly, I want to see no one. "No, we can't afford it. I don't know how much this is going to cost... anyway, you have to stay home and take care of Rachel and the cats," I manage to choke out.

She rapidly tells me her version of what happened after I hung up with her last night, giving me slightly too many details in usual fashion. My phone call to her right before my failed suicide attempt, her conversation with my best friend at the ER, a restless night of unanswered questions 500 miles away, the futile phone calls to the nurses. I wonder how long I can wait before telling her I'm tired, if I'm supposed to be polite, and I think about who has had the bigger ordeal as I remember the taste of charcoal, vomit, and this morning's stale breakfast.

"Mom, they took away all my stuff. They let me write down some phone numbers, but someone stole the paper I wrote them on while I was sleeping. I'm pretty sure it was one of the nurses. They don't want me to have contact with the outside world. Please call Ben and tell him to bring me some clothes. I can't keep wearing these pajamas. People are staring at me."

She thinks I'm paranoid, like I'm going to catch whatever the acutes have. There aren't enough beds in Ward A with the depressives and EDs, so I'm here. There isn't even carpeting in this ward. Everything is vinyl and plastic, probably to periodically hose us down and sanitize us. I have to ask for soap. Everything is pure Id.

I try to find a clean corner for crying, but I can't manage tears.

A night-school-nurse-in-training wheels a cart over toward me and wants to take my morning vitals, cheerfully asking me how I'm doing today. She thinks she's saving the world, one mentally ill person at a time. I think she can go fuck herself, but I let her probe me anyway.