Chevy Stevens - Always Watching

“Heather, can you come out for a little bit? I’d like to talk to you.” We can meet with patients in the seclusion rooms, as I had her first morning in the unit, but we try to encourage them to come out because it’s better if they stay active.

She shook her head, mumbled something.

I kept my voice cheerful. “I know you’re tired, so I won’t keep you for long. Then you can go back to bed and have a nice snooze.” When patients are first admitted, we focus on their basic needs, making sure they’re drinking lots of water, eating, and showering, because they usually just want to sleep. Once they’re more alert, we begin to work with them on a care plan. This conversation would just be a quick assessment to see how she was settling in.

Heather finally rolled over and slowly got to her feet. She didn’t bother putting on the robe Daniel had brought, just shuffled behind me, her head down and her hair concealing her face.

In the interview room, I started off with some basic questions.

“How are you sleeping?”

“I’m tired.” She looked it, her head drooping, body slumped in the chair.

“You can go back to bed soon. Maybe this afternoon you’d like to come out and watch a little TV. What do you think?”

She didn’t answer.

I asked a few more general questions: How are you managing? Are you still having bad thoughts? Is there anything you need? And got the bare minimum answers: Fine; yes; I want Daniel.

I said, “I’m sure he’ll be up this afternoon.”

“Can I go back to bed now?”

I ended our session at that point and led her back to the seclusion room. Based on her current state, she was still too depressed to do any real emotional work, so we wouldn’t be able to discuss her care plan for another few days, which is when we’d also increase her antidepressant if she wasn’t suffering any side effects.

Over the next couple of days, there was no change in Heather’s condition. The nurses told me that she was still sleeping a lot, though she would come out for her meals, which she’d pick at. She’d show some signs of life when Daniel came to visit after work, and they would sit and watch TV together, her head on his shoulder. After she’d been in the unit for three days, she was more alert, so they moved her over to the step down unit, on the other side of the ward, but still part of PIC. On her fifth day, we increased her Effexor, and when she’d been in the hospital for almost a week, she was finally more communicative.

In the interview room, I said, “How are you doing today?”

She was still rubbing at the bandages on her wrists, but I noticed that her eyes seemed brighter, and she was sitting up in her chair.

“Better I guess… still kind of tired.”

“When you have more energy, we have some excellent groups you might like. Painting, life skills, relaxation exercises, crafts.”

She laughed, and though it was weak, it was the first time she’d showed much reaction to anything I’d said for a few days. “Sounds like River of Life.”

“You had group programs at River of Life?” I made sure that my tone was casual, more curious than interrogatory. With Daniel not around, I hoped she might share more about the center.

“Aaron doesn’t believe in medications. That’s why I stopped taking my pills. He said I could heal myself, my meridians were just blocked.”

I wasn’t shocked to hear that. He’d never liked medications, even in the early days of the commune, and wouldn’t allow any of the members to consult doctors. It was amazing no one had ever died from medical complications.

“They had classes on how to be happy. They said you can use your mind to cure anything. It didn’t help me, though.” She gave another hollow laugh.

“Depression is a disease, just like diabetes, or anything else. Even if you’re feeling better, you can’t just stop your medication. Let’s talk about ways you can take care of yourself when you’re feeling depressed. What were some things that helped in the past? Like exercise, or a favorite movie or book?”

She shrugged, scratched at her bandages. “I used to do yoga.”

“So maybe that’s something you can try again. We have group sessions a couple of times a week.”

She looked lost in thought. “That’s how it started. I met a woman at my yoga class, and she told me about this meditation retreat she was going to at the center. She said she had gone before, and it was the best experience of her life.” Her voice turned mournful. “I just wanted to be happy, too, but look at me now.” She slumped in her chair, her earlier glimmer of energy snuffed out. “What’s the point of even talking about this? It won’t change anything.”

My head filled with questions about the center. What happened during the retreats? How many members lived there? But I couldn’t ask—this wasn’t about me. I shoved everything to the side.

“We can show you how to stop your thoughts when they start spiraling down, like if you suddenly feel depressed, try to remember what you were just thinking. Once you identify the trigger, you can replace it with an alternative, more positive thought. Would you like to try some together?”

She stared at her knees. “They said they could help me too. When I went to that first retreat, I did feel happier. Everyone was so nice—they complimented me and made me feel special. And they listened to everything I said, like my opinion actually mattered.”

What Heather was saying sounded like “love-bombing,” which was something various groups and even salespeople did. They give you what they think you’re missing, encouragement, compliments, validation, to make you feel good about yourself, which in turn makes you feel good about them. I thought back to the commune, remembering that Aaron would ask us to be extra nice to new members and show them how happy we were living at the commune.

Her eyes filled with tears. “I hate myself for leaving. Why didn’t I just stay there?”

I waited to see if she’d answer the question for herself, but she was just staring at her feet now.

“You didn’t want anyone else to raise your child, which is perfectly understandable,” I said. “Have you been having more troubling thoughts?”

She nodded and wiped her nose on her arm. “I don’t want to tell Daniel about them.” She took a shuddering breath. “He’s always worrying about me.”

“We won’t tell Daniel anything you don’t want us to. But you can talk to me. Is there anything you’d like to share?”

Her face grew sad. “We did sharing exercises at the retreats. Daniel and I were partners the second weekend I was there—that’s how we met. Aaron matched us. He said our energy was really strong together.”

“What kind of exercises?”

“We had to confess things.” She shifted her weight, tugged at the bandage on her wrist like it was suddenly too tight. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

My chest had also tightened at the word “confess.” I wanted to ask Heather more about these exercises, to see if they were like the confession ceremony I had participated in or something even worse. Maybe there was a clue there as to my memory loss. I hesitated. It wouldn’t be right to push Heather before she was ready—but she was the only person who could help fill in the blanks. I was still thinking about what to do when she continued on her own.

“They said they could help me, that all my problems were in my head.” Sounding wistful now, Heather said, “So after a couple of weeks, I sold everything I owned, moved to River of Life, and started helping in the store.” I wondered what kind of store they had and whether it was at the commune.