part II

The unit consisted of a long, wide, carpeted hall. There were uncomfortable looking chairs scattered throughout and a window at the end. Wide bedroom doors lined the walls. Across from the nurses' station there was a darkened room separated by that kind of security window embedded with wire mesh. I could just make out a TV and some chairs. On the side of the nurses' station there was an empty room, covered with linoleum and labeled "isolation." Everything was pale green.

This was not where I was supposed to be. My heart was racing. Suddenly, a thin girl came running out of a room chased by a heavy-set black woman. Both were yelling. A nurse handed me a stack of papers and asked me to read them. It was a list of the rules. Apparently, there were five “levels” a patient could be. On level one, you were a constant danger so you couldn't be alone. Level two allowed more privacy but no daytime bedroom or bathroom access and fifteen-minute checks. You couldn't leave the unit without supervision. Your bedroom was unlocked on level three, you only had thirty-minute checks, and you could briefly leave the hospital under supervision. There were hourly checks on level four and you could walk to an appointment by yourself. Finally, on level five, there were no checks and you could wander around outside if you liked. Reading it made me tired. I wondered if they were serious.

Then I turned the page and saw the heading: Patient's Personal Belongings. It listed all the things that were denied at each level. Level five seemed reasonable, you couldn't have food, weapons, drugs, or firearms. Also, you couldn't have any recording devices, which seemed a little fishy. On level 4 you couldn't have any electrical devices. That one seemed odd to me. On level 3, battery operated devices and personal razors were banned. I wondered what they'd do with the radio I packed. That's where I started to cry. On level two you couldn't have your own bedding or pillows. I thought I'd be sleeping in a comfortable, normal bed. I was on level one. I couldn't have my own clothes, toiletries, or jewelry. I felt like my breastbone snapped and I drew in a long sob. I would be wearing a hospital gown. I'd look like a crazy person.

I got to keep my clothes for a little while. My parents finally showed up and the three of us were introduced to my new psychiatrist. Supposedly, he was the head of the child and adolescent department. That must be why he’s so old, I thought. My parents were telling him that we were the most normal family around. They painted a picture of a teenager who was bright, stressed, and overly imaginative. I wasn’t surprised; they felt invaded and had resorted to sardonic humor and weary cynicism to demand guarantees. I was amazed they weren’t challenging the doctor’s competence and credentials, accusing him of exploitation. It didn’t take long for my dad to anger and frustrate the best therapist. They wouldn’t even know why they wanted him to go away.

After half an hour, the doctor was paged and stepped out of the room for a minute. My parents focused their eyes on me intently. What did I think of him? I wasn't going to tell them anything anymore.

"He looks like a fish." He did. His head looked flat like a flounder. It broke the tension. When "Fish" came back he asked to talk to me alone. I should say good-bye to my parents since it was almost bedtime. Fine, whatever, good-bye I said. They hugged me and finally left.
Fish asked me what I thought about my parents' description of our family. "It's completely false. I don't know who they're talking about. I hate our house and I like my school." He just nodded and made a few scribbles on his notepad. Then he led me back to the unit.

"Juniper, we went through the things your parents brought and we confiscated a few things. We'll hold them here for you. Now we have to do a strip search." I looked at the nurse with wide eyes. You have got to be kidding, I thought. "I know this is hard but it will just be you and me and it'll only take a second." She led me by the shoulders into one of the bedrooms. I went in the bathroom and took off my dress and sweater. "I'm sorry honey, it has to be everything." She had draped a bed sheet in front of the door, like a partition. I threw my underwear on the floor. "Ok, that's fine, I just need you to turn around and, no stop. I need you to bend over." When she was done, she took off her latex gloves and asked for my clothes. I could keep my underwear, but I had to put on a hospital gown. "Ok, so this is Lucy." She pointed at the large black woman who was standing in the doorway. She had been watching from behind the bed sheet. "You're on what's called 'one-to-one'. That means you have to have Lucy with you at all times. And she has to be within an arm's reach, ok? So you're all set, Lucy'll tell you the rest." Lucy was wearing a pretty cardigan and had long, fancy nails.

"You're just in time Juniper. The wrap-up meeting is just starting in the day room. You can take some socks and a blanket if you're cold."

- - - - - - - - -

That night, I couldn't sleep with Lucy staring at me. She had the desk light on so she could read her book. I was cold and I pulled the blanket over my head.

"I'm sorry Juniper, I have to be able to see your face." I turned over and stared at the ceiling while tears ran down onto my pillow. I looked back at all my choices that led me up to that point and saw mistake after mistake. I thought I’d feel safer, more protected at the hospital. But now, even life with my parents sounded like freedom. I was sick and just wanted someone to hold me. Instead, everyone just held tighter and tighter until gradually, all the blood to my brain was being cut off. I knew that if I stayed in here, I'd lose my mind and never find my way out.

Postscript: Eventually I did find my way out. Three months later on June 16th. A much, much better day.