here I am in my blazen purple robe, with red socks, seated in a room with a woman who claims she hasn't slept in days. trin and rae are here. she quietly eats her applesauce in the big girl chair next to me.
I've been waiting for 3 hours. and I finished the bell jar last night. this all seems so fitting.
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at first, I'm met with smiling middle aged women.. they ask the same questions, they take the same notes, place a hospital tag around my wrist and lead me down some dark corridors.
I'm going away from the ER, far away, tucked away behind bins of dirty bed sheets and construction zones.
I'm at the psychiatric ER, ya know. the place where people are all very ill, it's just no one has a bone sticking out.
they hand me purple hospital gowns, red socks and hand me a bag labeled "PERSONAL BELONGINGS." they take my iphone, my headphones, my book, my purse and all my clothes.
I don't know where the hell they went. but I'm stuck with my brain, my fiancé and the waiting game of what was going to happen next.
I pee in a cup and it's taken off somewhere. I talk to numerous people, asking what's wrong.. how can we help. what do you want.. what's your family history.
I'm screaming on the inside. how many residents need to know my dad is dead, I suffer from panic, anxiety and a touch of the OCD, and I'm here for help. I keep on telling the same story.
no, I don't have a psychiatrist in columbus because they are all booked. yes, I called numerous non-profits and referral programs to get me some goddamn help.
going to the ER and talking to a total of 4 residents makes me want to give up. during a lull in the assessment they ask me when the new iphone comes out.
they are waiting for an upgrade. I pull the tears back from my eyes to the best of my ability and answer "you'll know when I know."
they then talk about the food truck festival.
these people aren't trained to care. they have their pauses of empathy and sayings--obviously taught to them in school, but I'm just one check mark closer to the PHD. and I feel like a gear in this whole psychiatric system.
which is miserable because I do need help. I don't want to feel this way anymore, but the Doctors have a hard time understanding that I do not mean that as a suicide threat.
it simply means, "I'm fucking miserable, I have no enjoyment, and I need to fucking do something about it. I'm overwhelmed and exhausted. I need fixing. I need help."
someone finally has a lightbulb above their head and when I explain my therapist and psychiatrists are in Kentucky, and I have no access to ANY mental health resources and they put me in to an intensive outpatient therapy group.
praise be to whatever
because tomorrow I have 6 hours of therapy and a 5:45am wake up call.
but I'm here
iam
iam
iam
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