Chapter 5

I woke up on day two to an older man tapping me. Instantly, I freaked out when I saw the syringe in his hand. 

"Can I get your blood, Young Lady?" he asked patiently in response to my wide eyes. 

"No way," I answered, struggling against the straps that held me down.

"I have to. Just hold still."

"No!" I screamed, yanking my arm, but the strap held. "No! I didn't sign up for this!" They couldn't do this. They had no right. No. 

"Just hold still," he reassured. 

"No," I shrieked again, tears of anger flooded my eyes. I couldn't imagine that I was crying again. I was such a failure. That didn't stop me from yelling again. "Let me go!" 

He gently touched my arm, and I freaked again. I slammed my head against the side of the bed. Fortunately, my thin hand finally slid out of the restraint, and I grabbed the syringe.

"BERT to room 232!" he yelled into his radio. In all the adrenaline. I wasn't processing anything that was going on. Nurses rushed into my room. One grabbed my head, another grabbed my arm, and the other two held my body down.

"No!" I screamed, struggling against the hands. Finally I was able to negotiate with the multitude of people. I looked away, panting as the needle dug into my skin. Overwhelming emotions boiled in my gut. Hurt, anger, and disgust filled my head. They had no right to take my blood. 

Finally, they finished, taking four vials of my blood with them. They undid the restraints, so I sat in the corner of the room with a thin, white blanket. The stone flooring hurt my ass, but I didn't care. I was in total misery. They made me pee in a bottle, and wear blue paper clothes that were three times too big. Three doctors from Crisis had already done reports on me, and I was tired of telling my story. Now they were just waiting for a psych ward to accept me. 

As I sat in the corner, I tried to sleep, but I was only able to drift off and on. Nurses asked if I wanted something to eat or drink, although I always declined. I was going to starve myself. I was going to die here. 

One of the nurses was kind enough to bring books in. For two days of headaches and dehydration, I devoured horse stories such as Justin Morgan Had a Horse and Misty of Chincoteague. On day five I finally ate a sugar cookie, my first "meal" since I came in. 

A couple hours after that, they strapped me to a stretcher and put me in an ambulance. The older lady that sat in the back with me told me stories of her daughter. For once, since I had been sent to the hospital, I felt like a human. I felt like my situation mattered.

Of course, after the hour-long drive, I became an animal again. Karrie, the lady that was in charge of intakes, met me at the door. 

"So your name is Kayla?" Karrie asked.

I nodded miserably as she walked alongside the stretcher, and they loaded me into the elevator. 

I thought my life was over. I could never change how I felt inside. Plus, He was never coming back. I'm just being honest with you. And what about Averie? I was tired of being alone and feeling numb. I wonder if she'll regret her decision when she sees where I'm headed. Some nights I just wanted to kill myself because I wouldn't hurt anymore. Why do we hold on to the people that promise us lies anyway? 

All those thoughts swirled in my head as I went through all the check-in requirements such as paperwork, skin checks, and a physical. I hated them all, but the skin check was the worst. They made me undress in front of them to see where I had self-harm. They found cuts on my upper thighs, my little secret. 

After that I had to wear a gown for the first day while they went through all the clothes that Mom had brought. 

Next they brought me on to a locked unit. A couple kids gave me curious glances in the hall. They directed me to a group room where about ten kids sat doing their own thing. One boy about my age sat in the corner while a couple other kids sat around a table coloring.

"Hey," a girl (I later learned that she was trans so I'm going to use he/him pronouns) from the table greeted me. "My name's Grayson." He then proceeded to introduce me to the other mentally-ill kids. It was like a family, I realized. There were two girls named Erin and Delilah. The boy playing solitaire in the corner was named DJ. Anthony was really into me at first, trying to flirt the moment I said hi, and Nassir was talking to one of the staff about his obsession with basketball. 

There was also Luke, who was apparently there for violence and being a fuckboy. The girls warned me, but Luke didn't bother speaking to me so I figured he wasn't much of a threat. It hurt my feelings a little bit. Was I that unattractive? For the most part I thought I was okay-looking. At the time, I had long brown hair, blue eyes, low acne, and glasses, and to be honest, I was mostly confident with my look. I considered Luke's ignorance a sign of a great offense. It really was unfortunate. 

Another thing that really bothered me was, because of COVID, there was a no-visitor policy. That meant for the next couple of weeks I wouldn't be able to see anyone from my family. One thing that was different from normal mental hospitals, though, was this: we were allowed phone calls to whoever we wanted, whenever we wanted. Isn't that a good deal?

There were plenty of things that I took for granted, including the phone calls and people. Even with all those blessings, this was going to be one of the most traumatizing periods in my life, and I'll tell you why.