Author: S. R. 

Bound to Fly Free


My impulses have overtaken me. My feelings have consumed me. I no longer care, I no longer am afraid.

Fast-forward 5 minutes.

“What the hell have I just done?!” My heart is racing, those blasted drops are pouring down my face, burning me as they go.

“Mom? Mom, where are you?”

Off to the hospital we go. Within minutes of explaining why we’re there, I’m taken to a back room, my blood pressure is taken, questions are asked.

“And HOW much did you take? What was it?”

Too many questions. My head is spinning.

Off we go! They drag me to the real emergency room, you know, the one that doesn’t include chairs and stuffy noses. I get given a bed, my room is directly to the right. All I smell is hospital – Clorox and death. The lights cast an eerie shadow and the nurses are all running with nowhere in particular to go, laughing, chattering… I can’t quite understand the words.

I meet her, this is my nurse. We talk a little bit, again asking what I took, how much, and worst of all:

“Have you done this before?”

I was given the drink that not even demons could enjoy, I was given the black goop of doom. I call it that because it is like drinking acid sand. It burns as you drink it and it builds up in your throat; charcoal is your throat’s worst enemy.

I tried to kill myself. Again. 

This time I asked for help. I was scared. I’m not ready to die yet.

I was later brought into another, smaller room. The new nurse apologized about not being able to close the door. I was on suicide watch.

As 6am rolls around, I’m officially checked in, I’m in the psych ward.

The psych ward… the one place where you have no say. There is only one exit, there are no windows, everything is white, there is no escape. I found myself sleeping as much as possible, sleeping, sleeping, flying away… flying… free…

This is when I decided I was going to become a psychiatric nurse. I always wanted to do something in regards to psychology, but it wasn’t until I dealt with these evil people. The “authority” doesn’t care. There was one nurse, a man with a beard, that was the only one that cared. I had a nurse mess with my head, I had one treat me like trash because she was obviously better than I was, and I had a doctor that should never have gotten into the field. From that day forth, I vowed I was going to help people, even if it killed me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it, but I’m going to try. It’s not fair that people can get away with treating others like crap, especially ones that are in such a vulnerable state. Hello! We’re psychiatric patients for a reason!

So, obviously I didn’t die, but I did learn a valuable lesson: Psych wards, asylums, whatever you want to call them, are not for me. I will never be back.

It’s a manic world.


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