The way in which the nurses took to their tasks with such a mundane regularity would imply that the innocent little boy locked away in room seven was just another guest staying in this “temporary hotel” for the physically abusive and suicidal, but I knew otherwise. I remember wondering why tears were streaming from my eyes; It was my sincerity of innocence amidst the chaotic chain of events leading up to this point that resulted in the loss of my comprehension and logical analysis while resurrecting the instinctual longing for a caretaker of whom I’d known since birth. No matter how I looked upon the situation at hand, be the nurses warm-hearted or coldly mechanical, I felt like a boy among sheep, as I had no wool coat of blame to protect myself from the mental shaving that was sure to come. It all seemed so surreal in the sense that I had heard of places where ‘crazies’ were locked away and sedated, but the thought being one of those ‘crazies’ had never crossed my mind. In hindsight, I realize that this wasn’t an event that opened my eyes to all of life’s little secrets, as they were already open more than most, but one that would take its iron grip to my eyelids and stretch them with no intention other than that of summoning tears of anguish.
If it were possible to steal a life that had already been lost, being sent to the hospital from school had surely done just that. I may have been failing my classes and keeping entirely to myself, but the concept of going to school as I had done for the past ten years aided my struggle in keeping sane. This may all sound melodramatic and almost unbelievable to most, I felt the same way in the beginning, but a concept of reality, in some shape or form, began to seep into my perception of what I was capable of. I never thought I’d be in a hospital for any other reason than that of a sports injury, but, by then, I had long since ceased playing sports due to lack of motivation as I liked to put it. I should have seen it then, as Depression is yet another name for letting go of all the things you once loved, but to a boy who was ignorant of the ‘grown-up’ definition of happiness, there was no meaning to such a word. It was so long before I could begin to explain how I truly felt because the words that pertained to my emotions were those used by self-confident poets striving to summarize their feelings during past hardships. Soon after, I began to read the works of Edgar Allan Poe and it was then that those newly befriended words began to pour from my tongue with solace, and, in return, it wasn’t long before I made enemies with formerly unfamiliar terms used by my therapist: depression, suicidal, self-mutilation, and medication.
It was around 7:00pm when I had finally received a visit from a doctor telling me I had been submitted to the hospital and that I were to follow him into the rehabilitation area. It wasn’t long before I had reached the area where I was to dine with the ten, or so, other teenagers before heading off to bed. I had just been handed a tray when I noticed the way they took to their meals in disgust, and it was apparent that the facilities’ consequences for not eating were far worse than simply holding your breath to block out the taste. As I began to take in the food before me, I was impressed by the way my stomach made no protest against my eating the laughable attempt at cooking. It seemed that the numbing effect of the “temporary hotel”, that was more hospital than hospitable, began to take its toll. I could tell you the stories of each of my fellow patients with profound accuracy as their stories were so close to my own, but there are only two that have any real significance to the point I mean to come across.
We’ll call the first one John, as their actual names are of no importance to the story, and I doubt they’d enjoy the thought of being written about in detail at such a low point in their life. John was your average, everyday, ‘life is pointless’ punk at first glance. Ironically, it would turn out that his sense of calm and love for life would save me from my current lack of lack there of. He had gone through quite a bit to wind himself up in the hospital, though he never did tell more than what was required in our community help meetings, but he was so full of life and energy. The idea of him losing his job, parents, and long time girlfriend (all of which whom he cared deeply for), and still trying to make the best of things left me in total awe. Without his sense of love for living being instilled upon my life, I might still be sitting in that hospital wondering why I’ve yet to perish.
The other patient I mean to speak of will come to be known as Mary, but by no means merry, as you’d be hard set in trying to find a moment in which she had a smile perched upon her face. She wasn’t one to be looked at, and by no means gawked at, as she was obviously one to have been mistreated, for you’d have it merely returned with a cold stare. She struck no other emotional cord than that of pity until the third night of my stay came with an alarming start. It was hardly audible at first, but her screams were soon to be heard throughout the top floor of the hospital. There were shrieks for people to get out of her room, out of her sight, and out of her life, but just as I thought I would sleep through the ordeal; the ordeal came to me. The sobs became noticeably louder as she was being forcefully dragged down the hallway to the padded room where she began tossing threats like a crazed man would fire an automatic weapon. There were threats on our lives, and possible routes of murder she might take that came forth from her lungs with a near indescribable continuity until the effects of her sedation became manifest within the hour. The distinct mix of anguish in experiencing a real scene from a horror movie and sympathy for her misguided soul led you down a path with no other end than a psychosomatic head trip.
Even after experiencing the traumatizing effect of an outburst of this caliber under the already stress-filled circumstances, the thought of Mary was quickly drowned out of my consciousness as my thoughts drifted back to the reality of my own situation. It wasn’t until the following morning when I had to take the final seat in the mini dining room next to Mary that memories of the night before began to bore into my temple. The poor girl had been taken away from her home to be locked into a hospital where she had been locked away again for threats on our life, and yet I still felt sympathetic on her behalf. Was it never conceived that there may be a source of her pain? Was it ever thought that her consciousness may have been the sole continent amidst oceans of pain and abuse that use rivers to secretly inflict invisible wounds while eroding away at her sanity? Did it matter why she was the way she was, or did it only matter if the medication she was assigned fixed her? In all the talks we had about why we were staying at the hospital, it wasn’t about who or what the cause was, but what we had done and what we had to do to fix it. It wasn’t long before I realized blame would get me nowhere, even though I had an individual to blame, but that was merely a thought I would have to keep locked away in my stomach as the grumble that told me I shouldn’t have been eating that detestable food; that I shouldn’t have been there at all.
I saw no reason to hide my tears, as tears were the only medium in which I could communicate for the first few months after leaving the hospital behind. I spent all that time thinking of possible ways to live my life and ways to think about the life I was to live. I’ve concluded that you live little by little, as you can’t live all at once, and the same goes for dieing; slowly letting go of those little pieces of life that kept you going. The events I’ve spoken of, and many others I’ve reason to omit, have revealed to me that I’m dieing little by little, but as life’s balance of equality goes, I’m growing in ways I never thought possible. I’ve let go of all those things that I now realize have little importance, and I’ve rekindled my passion for writing. I’m glad to say this entire ordeal has given me the insight to see that the only way to be content with yourself is to be doing what you love. One cannot attain happiness by merely searching for happiness, and to support this I now leave you with a poem written by the man who helped save me from myself.
Eldorado
by
Edgar Allan Poe
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old--
This knight so bold--
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow--
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be--
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied,--
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
If it were possible to steal a life that had already been lost, being sent to the hospital from school had surely done just that. I may have been failing my classes and keeping entirely to myself, but the concept of going to school as I had done for the past ten years aided my struggle in keeping sane. This may all sound melodramatic and almost unbelievable to most, I felt the same way in the beginning, but a concept of reality, in some shape or form, began to seep into my perception of what I was capable of. I never thought I’d be in a hospital for any other reason than that of a sports injury, but, by then, I had long since ceased playing sports due to lack of motivation as I liked to put it. I should have seen it then, as Depression is yet another name for letting go of all the things you once loved, but to a boy who was ignorant of the ‘grown-up’ definition of happiness, there was no meaning to such a word. It was so long before I could begin to explain how I truly felt because the words that pertained to my emotions were those used by self-confident poets striving to summarize their feelings during past hardships. Soon after, I began to read the works of Edgar Allan Poe and it was then that those newly befriended words began to pour from my tongue with solace, and, in return, it wasn’t long before I made enemies with formerly unfamiliar terms used by my therapist: depression, suicidal, self-mutilation, and medication.
It was around 7:00pm when I had finally received a visit from a doctor telling me I had been submitted to the hospital and that I were to follow him into the rehabilitation area. It wasn’t long before I had reached the area where I was to dine with the ten, or so, other teenagers before heading off to bed. I had just been handed a tray when I noticed the way they took to their meals in disgust, and it was apparent that the facilities’ consequences for not eating were far worse than simply holding your breath to block out the taste. As I began to take in the food before me, I was impressed by the way my stomach made no protest against my eating the laughable attempt at cooking. It seemed that the numbing effect of the “temporary hotel”, that was more hospital than hospitable, began to take its toll. I could tell you the stories of each of my fellow patients with profound accuracy as their stories were so close to my own, but there are only two that have any real significance to the point I mean to come across.
We’ll call the first one John, as their actual names are of no importance to the story, and I doubt they’d enjoy the thought of being written about in detail at such a low point in their life. John was your average, everyday, ‘life is pointless’ punk at first glance. Ironically, it would turn out that his sense of calm and love for life would save me from my current lack of lack there of. He had gone through quite a bit to wind himself up in the hospital, though he never did tell more than what was required in our community help meetings, but he was so full of life and energy. The idea of him losing his job, parents, and long time girlfriend (all of which whom he cared deeply for), and still trying to make the best of things left me in total awe. Without his sense of love for living being instilled upon my life, I might still be sitting in that hospital wondering why I’ve yet to perish.
The other patient I mean to speak of will come to be known as Mary, but by no means merry, as you’d be hard set in trying to find a moment in which she had a smile perched upon her face. She wasn’t one to be looked at, and by no means gawked at, as she was obviously one to have been mistreated, for you’d have it merely returned with a cold stare. She struck no other emotional cord than that of pity until the third night of my stay came with an alarming start. It was hardly audible at first, but her screams were soon to be heard throughout the top floor of the hospital. There were shrieks for people to get out of her room, out of her sight, and out of her life, but just as I thought I would sleep through the ordeal; the ordeal came to me. The sobs became noticeably louder as she was being forcefully dragged down the hallway to the padded room where she began tossing threats like a crazed man would fire an automatic weapon. There were threats on our lives, and possible routes of murder she might take that came forth from her lungs with a near indescribable continuity until the effects of her sedation became manifest within the hour. The distinct mix of anguish in experiencing a real scene from a horror movie and sympathy for her misguided soul led you down a path with no other end than a psychosomatic head trip.
Even after experiencing the traumatizing effect of an outburst of this caliber under the already stress-filled circumstances, the thought of Mary was quickly drowned out of my consciousness as my thoughts drifted back to the reality of my own situation. It wasn’t until the following morning when I had to take the final seat in the mini dining room next to Mary that memories of the night before began to bore into my temple. The poor girl had been taken away from her home to be locked into a hospital where she had been locked away again for threats on our life, and yet I still felt sympathetic on her behalf. Was it never conceived that there may be a source of her pain? Was it ever thought that her consciousness may have been the sole continent amidst oceans of pain and abuse that use rivers to secretly inflict invisible wounds while eroding away at her sanity? Did it matter why she was the way she was, or did it only matter if the medication she was assigned fixed her? In all the talks we had about why we were staying at the hospital, it wasn’t about who or what the cause was, but what we had done and what we had to do to fix it. It wasn’t long before I realized blame would get me nowhere, even though I had an individual to blame, but that was merely a thought I would have to keep locked away in my stomach as the grumble that told me I shouldn’t have been eating that detestable food; that I shouldn’t have been there at all.
I saw no reason to hide my tears, as tears were the only medium in which I could communicate for the first few months after leaving the hospital behind. I spent all that time thinking of possible ways to live my life and ways to think about the life I was to live. I’ve concluded that you live little by little, as you can’t live all at once, and the same goes for dieing; slowly letting go of those little pieces of life that kept you going. The events I’ve spoken of, and many others I’ve reason to omit, have revealed to me that I’m dieing little by little, but as life’s balance of equality goes, I’m growing in ways I never thought possible. I’ve let go of all those things that I now realize have little importance, and I’ve rekindled my passion for writing. I’m glad to say this entire ordeal has given me the insight to see that the only way to be content with yourself is to be doing what you love. One cannot attain happiness by merely searching for happiness, and to support this I now leave you with a poem written by the man who helped save me from myself.
Eldorado
by
Edgar Allan Poe
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old--
This knight so bold--
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow--
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be--
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied,--
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
