Authors: Tabitha Freeman
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“Josephine is the head nurse,” Julianne told me. “You’ll be seeing a lot of her while you’re here. I’m giving Ava and her mother the tour of everything right now.”
“You’ll like it here, Ava, honey,” Josephine said. “There’s a lotta good people and it’s
—
Max! You better not be throwin’ yo’ food! Tha’s right, I saw it! I ain’t gotta be lookin’ straight at ya to see what yo’ doin’, boy!”
I turned around and saw a plump boy with messy blonde hair sitting at the table in the patient lobby, laughing and shrugging.
“Anyway,” Josephine said, looking back at me. I couldn’t
suppress
a smile. “It’s a nice environment, and if you let us help you, I guarantee you’ll wake up with a smile every day for the rest of yo’ life.”
“I’m going to show them the park,” Julianne said. “We’ll see you later, Josephine.”
“Y’all have fun, Miss J,” Josephine replied, going back to her paperwork.
There was a door leading outside right next to the nurse’s station, and I noticed immediately that Julianne didn’t have to punch in any code to get out.
“You can go out this door at any time when you’re out here in the lobby,” Julianne said, reading my mind.
The park,
as Julianne called it, was a fenced-in area of about two acres of gardens, trees, benches, and paths. It was beautiful, really. There were so many flowers in bloom and it felt so warm and pleasant outside. Though ivy and tall shrubbery mostly camouflaged the twelve-foot high fence, I could still see through to the unpleasant barbed wire and a high voltage sign.
Two females, about my age, walked past us then and I was surprised when one winked at me.
“This the new girl, doctor?” she said to Julianne. I couldn’t help but notice the girl’s bright pink and white colored hair.
“Yes, she is,” Julianne answered. “This is Ava. Ava, this is Aurelia, and that’s Channing.” I nodded to both of them.
“Hey,” I said.
“I believe Aurelia is actually in the room next to yours, Ava,” Julianne told me.
“Well isn’t that a horse of a different color!” Aurelia said, smiling. “We’ll be neighbors. We can share garden tips and food recipes, it’ll be just dandy!”
I just looked at her. There was an awkward silence.
“Uh, we’ll see you later,” the other girl, Channing, sp
oke up
then.
The two of them walked back towards the building.
I looked at my mom.
“Do you really want me living here?” I asked her. She sighed.
“If it’ll help you get better,” she replied. “I’m willing to try anything.”
9
.
“I’m not mad about any of this,” my mom said to me, as she was about to leave. “And I don’t want you to be mad at me, either.” I didn’t look at her. I was sitting on the bed in my room and she was standing by the door. We’d both been in
there for the last two hours
unpacking. What I mean by unpacking is putting a couple of sweaters, some lounge pants (no strings, mind you), a pair of yellow, Spongebob Squarepants bedroom slippers, a bathrobe that didn’t tie, but instead buttoned, and some t-shirts in the lidless trunk in my room. According to Julianne, the hospital would be providing me with shoes and other necessary clothing items like underwear and socks. My mother and I hadn’t spoken that much to each other in those two hours.
“I’m not mad at you,” I said finally. “At least, I don’t think I am.”
“I can’t take the risk of leaving you alone,” she went on. “And I really don’t think me being there is going to do much good, either. Julianne cares about your well-being as much as I do. Please give it a chance. Let her help you.”
I didn’t reply.
“Ava, I love you,” she said then. “I’ll always love you, no matter what happens.”
“Wow, that’s original,” I said darkly. She just looked at me.
“Look at the time,” she said in a quiet voice, glancing down at her watch. “It’s already six. I’ll walk with you to Julianne’s office.”
Wordlessly, I followed after her, numb.
We stepped into Julianne’s office, and I took a seat in the soft chair in front of Julianne’s desk. My mom bid us goodbye, saying she’d be back in two days for a visit, and left.
“Have you soaked it all in yet?” Julianne asked me, after a few minutes’ silence. I shrugged.
“I don’t really see how anyone could ever soak any of this in,” I replied. “This is hell.”
“Well, you keep in mind that it is what you make it,” she said, and I heard tiredness in her voice. “You can’t start getting better until you want to.”
“Oh, blah, blah, blah!” I groaned, letting my head fall back. “This is all bullshit, Julianne!”
“Why do you say that?” she asked. I looked at her.
“Because I’m in a nuthouse!”
I exclaimed. “My room is the siz
e of a cardboard box that a TV comes in! I can’t wear jewelry, my own shoes, my own panties, my own socks! For some reason, I can’t wear blue jeans or anything ni
ce! I have to walk around in
pajamas! I
can’t even look out my own
window, for Christ’s sake! Not to mention that I can’t even open a door on my own!”
I stopped talking, breathing hard.
Julianne was quiet for a moment, and then a smile slowly spread across her lips.
“How did that feel, Ava?”
she asked me.
“Good, actually,” I admitted. “I haven’t been able to vent in a few weeks.”
“I’m glad we got that out of the way, then,” she said. “Listen, Ava, you can get as mad as you want to about the way this situation is working out. If I were you, I’d be pissed off, too. But you can’t forget that
you
are who put you here. Not me. Not your mom. Nobody but
you
.”
I was quiet.
“The reason I wanted you to come here this evening is because there are some things I need to explain to you,” she continued. “First of all, no, you’re not going to make a major fashion statement here. The pajama-type clothes are for both comfort and your protection. Jeans have zippers and buttons, so naturally they’re out. Shoes have buckles and shoelaces. Forget it. You will be allowed to have your own bedroom slippers, however. Certain types of unde
rwear are dangerous.
The list goes on. Just accept it. At least you get to wear your own clothes. A lot of psychiatric hospitals require their patients to wear pajamas so as to distinguish them from other patients and civilians.”
“What about what I have on now?” I asked her.
“You’ll be giving me those tonight after you change into your pajamas,” she informed me. I rolled my eyes. She started to speak again.
“Also, you’re on a schedule now. Monday through Friday, your days will start at nine a.m. You’re to be showered, dressed, and ready at ten a.m. The nurse will then come by your room, and you, along with the others on your ward will be escorted to the activities room, where you will eat your breakfast. There, you will also be given your daily medication. Breakfast will end at eleven a.m. and you’ll have one hour to do as you please, whether it be watching TV in the lobby, going for a walk outside, or whatever you choose. At noon, you will go to the group therapy room, where you will have a group therapy session that will last anywhere from half an hour to three hours. After the group session, you’ll return to the activities room for lunch and then you’re free to do whatever you please until four-thirty p.m., and that’s your time to come to my office for your personal therapy session.”
“How long is my therapy session?” I broke in.
“Up to two hours, four days a week,” she told me. “Wednesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays, we won’t have a personal therapy session.”
“So what am I supposed to do on those days?” I asked.
“I’ll get to that in a moment,” she replied. “Now, after our therapy session, you’ll go to the activities room for dinner, and after
you’re
done, you’re free to do whatever you want until eleven p.m., which is lights out, time for bed.”
I sighed. So much change.
“On Wednesdays, the only difference in your schedule is that you’ll have free time from after the group therapy session until lights out time,” Julianne went on.
“What about Saturdays and Sundays?” I asked again.
“Those are completely free days,” she told me. “Breakfast is served between eight a.m. to eleven a.m., lunch is served from one p.m. to three p.m., and dinner is between five p.m. and seven p.m. On Saturday nights at eight, everyone meets in the activities room to watch a movie and have some popcorn.”
“Is bed
time at eleven on weekends, too?” I inquired.
“No, lights out on Friday and Saturday nights is at midnight,” Julianne said.
“God, this is so much to remember…” I grumbled.
“Don’t worry, Ava, you’ll get the hang of things faster than you think,” Julianne assured me, with a smile. “I believe in you.”
“Do I ever get to go home to visit my mom?” I asked then.
“Depending on your behavior, every once in a while, you can receive a weekend pass home,” she said. “If you
earn
it. Otherwise, visiting days are Wednesdays and Sundays. Also, on the second Saturday of every month
, we take a trip out and about,
whether it be to a museum or a movie theater. It’s always a really fun trip.”
“Sounds glorious,” I replied, with an eye roll. Julianne sighed.
“Ava, I think you’re going to be okay,” she said, softly. “I really do.”
I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap.
“When will I be able to have my stuff?” I asked her.
“Your mom will be back in two days, so she’ll bring it with her then, I suppose,” Juliann
e said. T
hen, in a more serious tone, she asked, “Ava, what do you think i
t’s going to take for me to help
you to get better?”
I pondered the question a moment and then looked up at her.
“Bring Tyson back,” I answered, with all the honesty I had in me. She nodded and there was an inkling of disappointment in her blue eyes.
“Let’s go get you something to eat,” she said, not acknowledging my reply. “It’s almost seven already. When was the last time you ate today?”
“Three,” I said, getting up from my chair.
“I’ll eat with you tonight, how about that?” she suggested. I just shrugged. I didn’t have control over anything in my life, so nothing I said or did felt like it would matter. I was
trapped. And the worst part was
I had
done it to myself.
I felt somewhat normal walking into the activities room. After a
ll, I was still dressed “normal
” in my khaki shorts, pink hoodie, and flip-flops. It was a pretty big room with wood floors and those typical bright, white walls. There was a long table in the back of the room with an assortment of food and drinks on it, being watched by four nurses sitting in chairs. Five smaller tables were on the left side of the room, all occupied by male and female patients, I presumed.
I followed Julianne up to the table.
“What are we having tonight, ladies?” Julianne asked them, with a big smile.
“Only the best, ma’am,” one of the older nurses said. “Grilled chicken, peas, cornbread, and mashed potatoes.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Julianne replied. “Ava, this is Connie, May, Louise, and Betty. Connie and May do most of the fantastic cooking here. You’ll be seeing Louise and Betty patrolling your ward some days.” I nodded.
“She reminds me of someone,” Connie, the older nurse said then. “Look at her, May, who do you think?” May was also an older nurse, though with more gray hair than Connie, and she observed me for a moment. I wanted to punch her in her old face for looking at me like I was some test subject. If she said
Sylvia Plath, there was definitely going to be a punch.
“Grace Kelly!” Connie impatiently exclaimed.
“She does!” May agreed, looking at the other two nurses. “You girls are too young to remember Grace Kelly, probably.” The younger nurses just shrugged.
“Wow, what a compliment, Ava,” Julianne said, smiling at me.
“Is that a good thing?” I asked, totally oblivious as to who Grace Kelly was.
“She was gorgeous!” Connie told me. “She was an actress way back when and ended up marrying a prince.”
“Well, that’s good then,” was all I could think to say. “Thank you.”
“Let’s get you a plate, Ava,” Julianne said, handing me a plastic plate. I wasn’t hungry, but I knew if I wanted to get out of this place in sixty days, I was going to have to suck it up and eat. My hospital check-up had confirmed that I’d dropped sixteen pounds in a month’s time. With a
5’4” frame, Julianne had informed me that the lowest weight I should ever be was 115 pounds. I was 106 pounds.