One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

Find part one here, part two here.

 

“I am not crazy, I am not fucking crazy, get me the fuck out of here!” I screamed as loud as I could, in between my hyper-ventilated breaths.

There was an old man pacing in a hospital gown, muttering to Jesus. There were catatonics looking like deer in headlights, and women with matted hair, trembling hands, and darting eyes. Picture One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Circa 1993.

I was barely more than a child, a thirteen year old, in an adult maximum security psych ward. 

But let me back up, and I will tell you how I found myself to be in such a nightmarish predicament.

On cue, the morning after I tried to take my own life,  my mother came into my room to wake me up for school.

Upon opening my eyes two thoughts entered my mind. Holy shit, I am still alive. Followed rapidly by- damn it, I can’t even kill myself right. I truly am a complete failure, a waste of space.

I again pleaded to stay home from school, for now I truly was physically ill. I remember laying in the fetal position in bed, unable to move. My stomach hurt worse than any pain my young self had ever known. Not wanting to confess what I had attempted, I grudgingly got ready for school. In this time I wrote a small heavy weighted note to my dad. It said something like – I tried to kill myself last night, that is why I can’t go to school. My stomach hurts too bad from all the pills.

I remember thinking in my thirteen year old mind that if I explained this to my dad, he would just let me stay home from school that day.  Because surely, trying to kill oneself would warrant a day home from school. Therapists later said it was my “cry for help” ( I really hate that term.) I had been unbeknownst to myself been crying for help for months.

My dad dropped me off at school, as I closed the  car door I threw my heavy weighted note at him.  Thus setting in motion, which is to this day, one of the most bleak days of my existence (although, it has since been topped by the day I was told my baby has cancer). My dad went on to drop my brother off at his school, and immediately came back to my Jr. High to find me.

I have since asked my dad to help me recall some of that day for me, in my dad’s words here is what happened next:

“I went to the school’s office.  Somewhere in this time I ran across your home room teacher.  I told her why I was there and she said..."I was just going to call you in the next day or so to tell you I was concerned about Beth...as she seemed to be on the fringe of gang activity."  My day was rapidly becoming surrealistic. 

I then asked to see your counselor.  He told me that there had been a recent rash of girls in your grade who had talked about suicide....I think he was telling me the truth but wanted to let me know that it may not be unique.  By the time I went to his office I knew that I had to get you some medical attention to see if your stomach needed to be pumped.  I removed you from school and told you that we needed to get your stomach pumped.

  We went to the emergency care part of the HMO.  After telling the check in nurse the reason, they got you back to talk to Dr. by yourself.  I sat in the waiting room.  Then I was brought in. He told me that we were lucky that you didn't take Tylenol...as that could have caused major liver damage.  He then said that he thought it would be wise to have you go to the hospital mental health unit for an evaluation.  Both you and I were really not aware that it might result in hospitalization...as you were calm on the way over.

   At the hospital you were interviewed privately by some female psychiatric social worker.  When done, she talked to me privately and said that she felt your suicide intent was serious and that you should be hospitalized for in-patient evaluation and treatment.

I was starting to recognize that this was really serious.  Together the social worker and I told you of the decision...and you became hysterical....lots of crying and pleading..."no.. no...no......no...."  Up to that point I didn't think you or I realized that this might happen.  My most vivid memory was them shutting and locking the door on you in the locked ward, with a small window to look through, and your face was at the window and you were crying and screaming at me "dad....don't leave me here...I don't belong here....I don't belong here...please, please, no...etc....."  You were hysterical.

I was numb with shock and....I really don't know how to describe my emotions.  Seeing you screaming at me through the window of the locked ward has probably been the worst single moment of my life.  I was terrified and fearful for you.  Our collective lives (yours, and the rest of our family) had immediately been hit by a bomb.”

And that is how my week long stay in an adult psychiatric ward begun…..

Thanks Dad for sharing with me your memories of this very hard time in all of our lives. I can not even read what you wrote with out getting tears in my eyes, as I now know too, how hard it is to have a sick child.

My dad and I have since discussed the irony of how I had an illness that was making me try to kill myself, and how my son now has an illness that is trying to kill him. My dad said things have a way of coming full circle. He couldn’t be more right.

to be continued……..

© Copyright 2009 Manic Mother