My doctor finally moved me up to level 2 and I was able to participate in group activities again. The night I received the signature I had an unexpected visit from my parents. I remember the strong sense of duality I felt that stemmed from my hope that they were going to check me out and my fear that they were going to transfer me to a residential home. Neither of the two situations occurred. Their visit was to inform me that they were going to separate. I think, deep down, it didn't really surprise me, but like any stereotypical child who just learned that she had become a member of The Broken Home Society, I assumed it was my fault; had I not created so much stress in their lives, it wouldn't be happening. I remember the kindness in Dr. M's eyes. It was the first time I ever noticed that he was capable of something besides ageism and mockery. He didn't laugh at me that night.
I recovered from that family meeting much easier than I thought I would; there was a new patient in the ward. I don't remember his name, but, really, does it matter? It was a he and he distracted me greatly. It might have been John but who really cares, for a brief moment I wasn't in the psych ward and my parents were not contemplating divorce. For a brief moment I was a 13 year old girl with a crush on a 14 year old boy. Unfortunately, that didn't last for very long because I discovered, 2 days later,that he had once taken a girlfriend to see The Lion King and, when the movie had ended, He got on one knee and sang The Circle of Life to her in front of the whole audience. Sometime following that event, his girlfriend broke it off with him and he overdosed. The mere thought of him putting me through that mortification was enough to bring me back to reality. Although my life was jam-packed with unpleasantness, at least it was not yet corrupted by a combination of Elton John's downfall and a young romeo in an ugly hospital gown with very bad taste in movies. Needless to say, it ended abruptly with my fallen opinion of his character and his immediate release.
There was one other that was admitted shortly before I was discharged. He was not as attractive. In fact, his first day was spent locked in a room with wall to wall padding and a camera in the corner. The first hour he spent screaming obscenities and calling the staff a "bunch of fucking porn stars". As a fairly sheltered 13 year old girl, I thought this was a peculiar insult seeing that porn stars usually had nice faces and large parts that those around them usually valued and enjoyed. Anyways, he spent the night mooning the camera and giving them the finger. I have standards and this gentlemen was not what I was looking for. I don't know what happened to him.
There were a few other experiences that I had during my incarceration. I had a budding eating disorder and was found exercising at odd hours of the day and night. With this eating disorder came an ardent sense of perfectionism that had some of the staff a little concerned, I often discarded 3-4 pieces of paper at a time because each time I wrote my name at the top of it, I did not feel it was adequate and decided to start over. On one occasion, we were asked to cut out magazines images, words and sayings that best described us and we were to put them in the brown paper bag that had been given to each of us to decorate. I never finished mine because I did not feel any of the cut outs that I had done were suitable for the project and I couldn't seem to get past the decorating of the brown paper bag. The doctors were unable to tie one symptom to the other, strangely enough, and therefor, my alleged eating disorder was not identified. This would not be an addressed sickness for another 3 years, as it had not yet completely developed.
When I was eventually released from North West Community Hospital, my dad picked me up and lectured me on how embarrassed I should be for making an attempt on my life and suggested I not tell anybody about it-of course if I had known he would become the kind of man that would go to a beach wearing a neon speedo and a gold chain around his neck I probably wouldn't have taken that statement so seriously. I spent the next 6 months grounded and was not allowed to make any phone calls. Dr. G and Dr. M both thought that that would help to surmount any inclination towards manipulative and dishonest behaviors that I may still be entertaining. I guess that's the way things were handled back then. I don't blame my parents for their decision, I know they did it to protect me from myself because they loved me. I do wish that, as a child with a mood disorder, there had been more support and more options available for us back then. We were not molested or abused in that ward, but we were punished, condemned and chastised for feelings we did not even understand and for a mental illness a lot of us did not even know we had. I still wonder which of those kids made it and which finally succeeded in ending their lives. I wonder how many other patients with Bipolar Disorder were treated at NWCH and diagnosed as Manipulators and Narcissists; I wonder how many of them finally got the care that they deserved and how many went on thinking they were bad kids that should keep their feelings to themselves. I wonder if Charlie finally found his missing chess piece.
I guess worse things could have happened; I could have died way back then and never gotten to watch my little sister grow up; to hear my baby brother speak his first words. Maybe this is why people have children, to keep them moving, even when they don't want to. I don't want to have kids because I'm afraid they would turn out like me. But I don't always feel like there is something there to keep me moving forward today and that really puts a damper on things. I guess, for this very moment, I get to write and I come home, every day, to Hunter and his sweet smile; I have an uncle and an old friend who inspired me to start this blog in the first place, and I know they are on my side, supporting me, and, for this moment, that makes the day a little easier.
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