Mare Moody - [blank]

"Well, our main programs here are for depression and bipolar so you came to the right spot." He flashes the trifold in front of me yet again, only to show a page that's header is a stock photo of a pill. How wonderful a message they are sending about their treatment plans. 'We'll just knock you out with meds until you are a zombie! You'll feel better in no time!"

"Ok, thanks." I sigh.

"That's just about all I had to talk to you about." The doctor smiles and looks at his watch. "It's about 30 minutes until recreational therapy."

I nod my head and stand when he does. He walks over to the door and opens it. It squeaks as the rusty hinges call for help. I walk out with more uncertainty than I went in with. I still don't know who sent me but I do know that my baby help me to get away from drugs.

The nurse is waiting in the closet waiting room.

"I came back to get you," she says as she stands up from her seat, "you have to be accompanied at all times during your first day. I will be around intermittently tomorrow also."

I sigh. Apparently I am a child after all.

"Usually we just have the patients all together but you didn't wake up till late because of the sleeping meds we gave you." She says, "You won't be able to sleep in like that anymore."

This just keeps getting better. I should've been cattle this morning but rather they tranquilized me and let me suffer the after effects.

"Wake up is at 7am and you will have activities all day." The nurse is starting to detected my displeasure and looks at me solemnly.

"You'll be ok, I promise."

She walks me back through the hall of doors. We turn right in the intersection and I am lead to a place where I have never ventured. We continue to walk and the doors become more and more sporadic. I don't doubt my eyes and drudge forward. At the end of the hall a living room set sits. The hard hospital tiles is replaced with shiny wooden floors in only that section. Big couches and smaller armchairs that clash are scattered across the corner. On the wall, a huge TV is mounted. Somebody must have sponsored this. Probably a furniture store. The nurse walks me up to the set.

"Everybody will be over in a moment," she smiles, pointing to the couches, "make yourself comfortable."

I awkwardly follow her command and sit on the giant white couch. I wonder how they clean this. Do they have some sort of admission process for people with lice so that they can't get on the furniture? A huge part of me hopes so.

The nurse stands facing the hallway. She looks as if she is meditating; relaxing for the few moments of peace she has. I feel bad for the staff here. I assume I can't be the worst kind of patient for them. I must have been if they sedated me in order to bring me here. I bet she had no idea what she would be dealing with. I hope how I am is the best case scenario.

I see her tense more and I look down the hallway. A gaggle of people are slowly tracing their way across the cold hospital tile. Their eyes look excited by their body's tell me otherwise. When the group reaches her, she glues the fake smile on—the same one she gave me—and greets each individual person like her best friend. I hate people so her job would be impossible for me. They all swarm around me. They start sitting on and around the couches. A skinny boy sits directly next to me. His arms are so thin, I'm afraid if I lean too far over, I'll snap it in two.

"My name is Lee." He says, his expression is not quite a smile and not quite a grimace. I have a feeling that over my three days, that I too will acquire this facade.

"Ana." I stick out my hand for him to shake it.

"No physical contact," Lee says as he puts his hands up in the air as if he is being caught by the cops.

I look at him weird. Is he a germaphobe?

"Not my rule," he says, "it's theirs."

He points to the nurses. My nurse has now been absorbed by the assemblage of scrubs.

"We can't touch people?" I ask. This is the most peculiar rule I have heard of. Once again, I feel kindergarten call back to me.

"Yeah," he sighs, "too many people would make out if we could."

I personally can't see how a mental ward would be the best place to find a relationship. Then again, I shouldn't be the spokesperson for good relationships. I have yet to find a completely fulfilling one and part me has accepted the fact that I most likely never will. Perhaps I will with my baby.

"Do you know what movie we are watching?" He asks. He pulls his legs up and crosses them. This takes up more space on the couch and the girl next to him sighs and glares. He ignores it all. I can tell that he sees her but he has decided to leave her in his peripherals and just have a conversation with me. I respect it.

"I don't know," I say, "I'm new here."

"Oh, yeah," he laughs, "I knew that. I just figured maybe a nurse spilled the beans to you."

I chuckle. "Nope."

"I mean, they let you sleep in so I wasn't sure what other privileges they were gonna give the newbie."

"Oh? I'm sorry." I feel a sudden guilt for being given a pass that I didn't ask for.

"Nah, it's fine," he says, I can feel his annoyance, "they do that for patients they had to knock out to admit."

I sigh. I'm fucking crazy and people hate me for it. What else is new?

"You must have been a real fighter." He laughs. He looks away from me and stares up at the TV. The once black screen has turned into a fuzzy blue. Three nurses are gathered around a shitty 2007 DVD player and trying to figure out how to turn it in. You'd think they would have a clue if this is a normal occurrence. I turn to ask Lee but he has already started an energy filled conversation with two girls sitting in front of the couch. I drop my breath and give up on my questions.

Music begins to blare from the TV speakers and everyone cheers… except me. I have to get out of here sooner than later. Maybe it just follow what they say, they will ok with just letting me go after the 3 days. They can't give me medications so what's the point of being here.

I lean back and stare up. It would take years to count all of the tiles on the hospital ceiling. It is something that I would honestly try if I were given a chance.

Schizophrenic. The word flows through my mind repeatedly. I am schizophrenic. I have schizophrenia. It never truly registers. I know it never will. On top of that, I am bipolar. All of the people I have heard of who are bipolar have shaved their heads or done cocaine. I am neither of those. I don't understand why Dr. Simmons thinks that. I hope he is wrong.

You know he is wrong.

I know.

Then why do you believe him?

The grilled cheese tastes like shit. The pre-frozen mozzarella adheres to the bread like duct tape and frankly, it has the same consistency. I shove the tape sandwich down my throat and swallow it before the taste burns my tongue. My personal nurse, Nurse Juay — who I finally attached the name to after trying to catch a glimpse at badge without it seeming like I staring at her boobs — sits besides me, scratching on her clipboard. She is pleased with my eating. I hope that is the note she is writing.

I stare at her pen as I jam the last bite directly into my esophagus. She clicks the pen and puts it down when she sees my eyes. She looks at me and frowns. She doesn't like it when I glare at her clipboard. I can't blame her but she doesn't understand my self-consciousness. I already feel insane. I don't need her to validate my concerns in front of my face. It's doing a cancer screening by hand in front of the patient. It's cruel honestly.

"You are going to have to get used to being evaluated," Nurse Juay tells me.

"Why is that?" I ask, my temper seeping through my teeth, "Because I'm crazy so I'll always be somewhere like this?"