Ryan Donnelly's Blog

Committed

My hunger is now unfathomable, though, it has not always been  this way.  Life  used to be a chore.  When my eyes opened in the morning I was disgusted to see that  I lived to see another day, made it through yet another sweat induced night.  Besides feeling sick physically, the war going on in my head made each breath excruciating.  Mirrors were pricks and I tried to spend as little time in front of one as possible.  If I did, I’d see the mess I had become, the out-of-shape, pale, bloated, mess, a shadow of the person I used to be.  Ontop of my ego deflating by the minute, every second I went without a fix made me angrier, weaker, and more depressed.  Sounds like a good time, huh?  Well this coward didn’t want to fix it, I was only worried about how I was going to get my next set of pills and,  once I got them, I’d be fine for the day.  Then I’d pray that every night before I went to sleep, that it would be my last.

I have mentioned, briefly, in my previous posts, about the mental facility I was committed to. During my stay in the ER, I was interviewed by a psychologist who felt that I was an extreme danger to myself.  It might have had something to do with the fact that I had a plan to kill myself, and that I told him that I honestly didn’t see a point to living.  So committing me was the only answer for my family. 

The EMTs wheeled me into the facility.  I was still withdrawing from the drugs but was given something for the ambulance ride to make me more comfortable.  Everything was blurry while I was laying in that stretcher. I can remember staring at the ceiling, my eyes catching each street light as we passed and following it until my eyes rolled back into my head, over and over. As if I were trying to slow the ambulance down with my mind. 

  The motion stopped and my eyes slowly came into focus on the ceiling.  “Please step down off the stretcher, take your time, you dizzy?”  All I could get out was a nod . “OK then Ryan, take your time, when you can, sit down in this seat next to the nurses desk.” I waited till my head stopped spinning, stood up off of the stretcher and sunk  into the chair.  At this time I was able to see the main area of the facility,and a vast majority of  patients staring at who this new guy was. I still couldn’t believe it was me. Some just sat with a blank stare and rocked back and forth, and some just milled back and forth, back and forth.  I thought to myself, “I am fucking crazy, I am in a mental hospital.”

The nurses were more than pleasant and treated me with the utmost respect.  I could not believe people were being nice to me. Didn’t they know what I’ve done, how evil I was?  Didn’t they know that I was a junky, a thief?  It honestly did not seem to matter to them.  

Finally the check in nurse asked,  ”Ryan, do you feel like hurting yourself or anyone else.”  I bluntly responded, wouldn’t you want to die if you were me?”  No point in lying to myself anymore.

It was now around 9pm and my nurse thought it was best for me to go to  bed for the night.  The doctor gave me a tryptophan, which is a medication that helps you sleep, and my body was craving a good nights rest. It knocked me out cold.  Waking up the next morning was interesting to say the least.  I rolled over in my bed, and was surprised to see another patient.  I had a roommate and he was talking to himself at his desk. Awesome.  First thing I said was, “Do you mind shutting the fuck up?”  He looked at me and smiled, “My names John, what’s your name?”   He followed this question with a child-like giggle and huge smile. John was about 40 year’s old with black short hair and an over-grown beard.  He had a pot belly but was built. ”My names Ryan.”  He came over to my bed and shook my hand.

  He went on to explain that he’s not crazy but that he was positive I was.  To this day, I am not sure if he was serious or joking, but either way it made me laugh.  It was the first time I had laughed genuinely that I could remember, and I remember not knowing if I should feel guilty for that or not  I immediately apologized to him for being a dickhead.  He just giggled and said that my response meant nothing to him. 

 John’s first morning here, he was woken up to a mass of  human feces next to his bed.  He made it a point to explain that it wasn’t his.  I started thinking to myself that this is going to be one hell of an interesting time, at least I had plenty to write in my journal and talk about when my family would call.

I asked him some questions about the place and he gave me the low down.  “If you want to be discharged out of this place, you need to follow the rules.  Don’t piss off the nurses and doctors, go to every meeting you have, be open about how you feel and eat your meals.  You do that and you’ll be out of here in 5 days.”  I then asked him, “How long you been here?”  “12 days,” he replied with his child-like giggle.  “I hate doctors and they hate me because I’m smarter than them, and the food here tastes like dog shit.”  I laughed at his response and walked out of our room, beginning to actually think he was right.  I headed down the hallway to the lobby, which was just a room with a T.V.  right in front of the nurses station.  It had plenty of seats, and every morning they would put out decaffeinated coffee and fruit while VH1 played music videos.  The first time I walked in this room it was reminiscent to a kindergarten classroom but with adults, it was harmless chaos.

  I sat down and surveyed my surroundings, about 12 people filled the room. Two were dancing and laughing, three were reading the news paper, while the rest just sat quietly minding their own business.  One person never failed to make me feel uneasy, she was always crying and grinding her teeth.  As if that wasn’t bad enough, she was always staring at me like she wanted to hurt me.  She got up from her seat from across the room and sat down next to me, rocking in her new real-estate, and as if it were a normal action,  she then proceeded to scream profanities in my ear.  That was my cue to get up and go back to my room.

  I walked into my room and John was sitting at his desk writing in a journal.  Without even looking up, his face in his journal he said, “You get scared out there?”  This time instead of following his smart-ass remark with a giggle, it was a maddening deep belly laugh.  This guy was hysterical, I started laughing and said to him, “It’s fuckin’ crazy in there.”  He responded, “Your not the sharpest tool in the shed are you? You’re in a mental hospital dude.”  I sat down on my bed and thought for a second, this really isn’t funny. I am in a mental hospital.  “What am I doing with my life?”

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