No Sharp Objects

June 22, 2021 5:38 am Published by EverEden Leave your thoughts

 

 

A very small snippet of this period of my life…

RS had been sick again for a while. If you’ve known someone with severe mental illness, sometimes it’s hard to convince them to seek help. I’d spend nearly all our time together suggesting that if he didn’t feel good, I’d drive him to talk to someone. I wasn’t a hypochondriac/paranoid girlfriend. There were obvious, disturbing, scary and sad signs he was not okay…but they’re not for this blog post. I offered to drive him/suggested talking to someone as an option at intervals, between tv shows etc as if he wouldn’t notice…and, tbh he didn’t notice it was a roundabout repeat of something I’d just said earlier. It wasn’t me who took him when he ended up in the hospital again. His mother had actually found the time/way to force him. He was a big guy at the time, it could not have been easy.

He’d only been admitted there a few hours when I went to see him, the ever-dutiful, trying to impress his mother but genuinely worried about him, girlfriend. The facility had four wards dedicated to housing someone experiencing a mental episode. One was upstairs (and I’ve never seen it,) one ward allowed patients out for cigarettes or to sit in the courtyard, they even had a day-release option. The one RS found himself in this particular time was the locked and involuntary ward. This ward locked patients inside their rooms at night, they were only allowed to watch TV between certain hours (apparently) and you could see other patients who had obviously tried to hurt themselves walking around with bandaged limbs, scars and vacant stares.

I’d never been inside one of those places before. I asked the main reception where the ward was. I think I’d called earlier and asked if RS was admitted or his mother or someone had called me to inform me where he was. That afternoon I walked to the ward’s door, confused and very nervous. I walked through the courtyard and small garden, past the overpriced vending machines preying on people’s desperation for sugar in a highly stressful setting, and at least a couple of patients sitting around watching. Patients are zero fucks given. You can walk past them and give an obligatory smile and they will stare ahead, or worse, stare in your face and do nothing – and the look on their face is not friendly in the slightest. I understand it now that I’m older. At the time, it was confronting and uncomfortable feeling the stares of overweight guys, barefoot and sitting on a bench in the courtyard with their guts hanging out, literally drooling down their chins.

I was buzzed through and I asked where I could find RS. They confirmed he’d been admitted earlier but they didn’t know if he was awake or able to see a visitor. They confiscated my bag. They made me give them anything they considered a “sharp.” Things like keys, pens, earrings etc.  It’s probably a good thing, I was carrying a weapon that I’d forgotten I had. I was only allowed to keep my phone. I’d heard jokes about not being allowed to bring certain things into a mental ward but I never thought that I’d have to do it.

When I saw RS, we couldn’t get the TV room because there were people watching some mid-afternoon show that instantly aggravated me. I knew he wouldn’t want us to be around anyone else anyway. We moved to a side room with dull aqua/green walls, a long white plastic table and bad lighting. He was across the table, blankly staring through me because they’d drugged him up to sedate him and get some coherent conversation. I could tell he was trying, but he was deflated, melting ice cream- like someone tried to make a pile of soft serve and lumped it on the chair. His eyes were still green and pretty. But they were a little vacant and glassy.

I asked the obligatory questions: “Are you ok?” “Do you know how long you’re here?”        I’m glad you decided to get some help…
We spoke normally for the most part but his answers were slow and so was his sideways glance when some other guy came in noisily.

The other guy was skinny, floppy dark red/ brown hair and a wide mouth and spotted chin. His gangly limbs were pale and he took a seat on a backwards chair and started spreading out a thin piece of paper with a wonky grid drawn in biro and small scrunched pieces of paper. He explained it was a chess set he’d made and RS had played with him earlier. RS gave me a “this guy is crazy lols I humoured him earlier, now we are ‘friends,’ sorry,” look but it had a slow, dazed glint riding it too. I nodded my pleasantries and waited for this guy to set up his…chess set. He told RS that he had to be the black pieces (NOTHING he laid out was BLACK though!) and that he would be the white team. It was a battle of good and evil, right here!

I watched RS slowly move pieces of paper while the other guy leaned forward so his face was practically on RS’ hand while he watched. I started to feel uncomfortable and noticed the time; visiting hours were almost over, we didn’t have long even though I’d just arrived. I wanted to leave. I wished RS could leave with me but I knew if he did, it wouldn’t be good. It had been so dramatic and stressful in the lead up. My attention went back to the board and these two drugged up twenty-somethings pushing around paper chess pieces. RS, confused by the new rules the other guy kept adding when his lead dipped, just carried on and resigned himself to likely losing. I could see relief when the game was lost and RS sat back and said “Ahh well, you won!” (still humouring the guy.) The end of RS’ sentence was cut off as the guy screamed “NOOOOO! I DON’T WANT YOU TO GO DOWN TO HELL!” then he clumsily grabbed up all the paper quickly and ran from the room scattering “pieces” in his wake.

RS and I just looked at each other.

After that, the days were filled with visits, calls and letters/notes. His were always quirky and short, scrawled on scrunched papers he smuggled out. Thankfully none of these were “chess pieces.” heheh

Silver Wing was not based on the place I visited, but it reminded me that some places don’t operate the way we take for granted. Some people don’t operate the way we think is acceptable or what we’re used to. There is a story in every moment and a reason why.

 

 

 

 

 

TLDR:

*This was a short version of one of my asylum/mental health facility experiences

*Chess sets made out of paper SUCK 

*You can’t humour crazy.

*Get help if you are struggling, before you are involuntarily admitted.

*RS and I grew up, grew apart. I wish him well, and I know I have his support with all my creative endeavours.

*sign up for the eventual newsletter

 

 

 

Cowboy.” 1, Traditional animal herder who tends cattle on ranches usually in the North American region.

2, Derogatory term describing someone who is reckless, ignores potential risks, irresponsible or who heedlessly handles a sensitive or dangerous task.

 

 

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All content is no copyright infringement intended. All posts are opinion only and are subject to change due to experience, kicking ass and learning how to adult more effectively. If you don’t like it, don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya. Elements of original content may be reproduced with expressed permission from Ever Eden.

 

 

 

 

 

Tags: anxiety, asylum, chess, chess set, dangerous, depression, ice cream, IRL, locked ward, memoir, MEMOIR FODDER, mental health, mental health ward, mental hospital, mental ward, no sharp objects, personal, psychiatric rehabilitation, psychology, psychotic, red cowboys, RS, sharp objects, Silver Wing, ward