My Journal

This is a real entry from my journal. I wanted someone to know what happened, because I can’t even talk to my friends about it. Friends… Someone, surely, is reading if I post it, so someone knows. I know it’s long, but… I’m not thinking too clearly. So… Well, the journal will tell you what happened. I was so upset at the time, so the wording is a little messy.

Friday, November 20, 2009
Dear Diary,
I’ve never been so angry in my life. I don’t even know what to say except that I’m going home. Right now. I’m sorry my writing is so messy, but I can’t think straight. I’ve never been… I can’t. I have to get out of here.
Sorry, I’m okay now. I’m breathing… I saw that goddamn practitioner. No, wait… First, Dr. Sarah came in before I went into the conference room where the television was set up. She said, “She’ll be straightforward, but be honest. Talk to her like you talked to me last night.” I agreed, not knowing what I had agreed to.
Dr. Alyson leaked everything I had told her to the entire staff. They had to know so they could take notes and relate them to what I had said in the past, I guess. And this practitioner knew everything. Even what I had told Dr. Alyson, that I can’t even tell you, Diary, this horrid woman knew. And she asked me about them like we were talking about the weather. Except, if she was asking about the weather, she might’ve shown more emotion, more compassion… No, she just looked at her computer, never at me. She typed the whole time.
She asked me if I loved my son. Asked me if I had thought about hurting him. I winced and tried my best not to start crying. She asked me if I neglected him, if I had hurt him in the past, if I picked him up when he cried. I couldn’t take it anymore. I finally said, “I love my son. I don’t feel like a mom, but I love him. And I would never, never hurt him.” She acted like I had said nothing at all and asked if I had bonded with him. The nurse sitting behind me watching everything and taking notes was reading off scribbling by other doctors, referring to me as “the patient” and that I was “depressed with psychotic episodes.” When am I psychotic? When I’m cutting? I didn’t understand. I still don’t. But my heartstrings were tearing. I knew right then, not one doctor in my life had ever listened to me.
And then, Diary, she asked me something she should never have asked. If someone had asked me that up close, I would’ve attacked them. But she said it over a television, so unfortunately, she was safe. But I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so badly in my life, and anger-wise, I’m a very calm person. My skin is crawling, because I know I’m gonna have to write down what she said.
That *****. With her lips pressed together to a thin line, her glasses on the end of her nose and looking down at her computer, she asked, “When you lied to your friend about the rape, did your dad believe you?”
She was going by what Dr. Alyson had told her and the notes she had given her from our sessions. That means Dr. Alyson doesn’t believe me. That means they all think I’m crazy and that I would lie about something so horrible, so damaging to someone’s reputation as rape. I would never do that, Diary. Maybe I was psychotic and thought it happened, right? Maybe that’s what they believe. Well, imagination can’t get you pregnant, can it?
I asked her what she had said, and she quickly changed what she had said. “When you told your friend what happened, did your dad believe it?”
“No, I believe you said ‘lied.’” My voice was shaking.
She began to say something, but I was done. I turned to the nurse behind me and asked to leave. She said we were almost finished and to just wait. I couldn’t. I just hugged my sides and didn’t look up at all. I answered with curt yes and no answers. Whatever she prescribed to me, I had already decided it wasn’t going to happen.
When she was finished, she had 100 milligrams of Zoloft ordered for me, something to help me sleep, and lab work. And she ended by saying, “The staff here will have to have much more faith in you than I do that you’re not going to hurt yourself when you go home. And I will highly recommend to them not letting you leave.” She thanked me, and I didn’t even nod to her. I just let the nurse lead me back to the main room. I went to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me.
A different nurse came in and told me to go to the pharmacy across the street to pick up the medicine, that it had been called in over there. And then she said that I needed to stay, at the very least, a couple of more nights to make sure I didn’t have side effects from the medicine. I said, “I want to be discharged.”
She just stood there looking at me. I guess I’m a mess. I’m sitting on my bed, my back against the wall, and at the time, I was holding to my sides with my knees pressed against my chest. Several moments passed before she said, “We can’t let you go home if you’re going to hurt yourself. And we think you will.”
I stood my ground. “I want to go home.” I don’t care what they say to me, because I’m not staying here any longer.
She said, “I’ll go tell them you want to leave, but I know what they’re going to say.” She stood there staring at me several moments before turning to leave. But she wasn’t about to shut the door behind her. None of them trust me at this point.
She came back with a composition notebook and said, “A counselor is going to speak with you. Write down a list of reasons to live and have it ready before you go speak with him. It’ll be about fifteen minutes.”
I can’t stop crying. Why can’t I just write a list of reasons to die? I could fill up the whole damn notebook. I grabbed you instead, but then Dr. Sarah came in. I looked at her when she first came in, but I never looked up at her again. I looked at my knees, you, and my arm, but not her. I couldn’t. I knew what she was going to say.
“You’re upset.” I nodded. “Why?”
I choked for a moment before telling her, my voice shaking, “That was the most… insensitive thing I’ve ever had to sit through.” My whole body is shaking.
“I’m sorry it was a bad experience. I thought you were going to get a different doctor. I didn’t know you were getting this lady. She can be like that at times.”
I told her I was done. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t.”
At that point, Sonya walked in. She said, “Everyone out here wants to know if you’re alright.”
Dr. Sarah said, “She’s fine.”
Sonya didn’t leave. “Well, dinner’s here. Can I have it?”
“No, Jessica needs to eat it. We’ll be out in a while.” Sonya left and shut the door behind her. Dr. Sarah returned to me.
“You’re going to meet a lot of people like that on the way to recovery. They’ll be insensitive and downright rude. But you have to overlook those people. You have to get better.”
I never looked up at her. We were both silent for a while. And I said, “I want to go home.”
She nodded. “I’ll tell them.” She grabbed my hand, and then I did look up at her. “Wherever you go, I’ll be thinkin’ about you.” I smiled feebly at her, then looked back down while she walked out of the room.
Diary, I can’t make that list. All this shows is that I’ll never be able to feel normal. Why did God make it so hard?! Please, why can’t I just… feel alright? That’s all I ever asked God for, now that I think about it. I only ever asked Him to let me feel alright, but I don’t think He’s ever going to answer my prayer. I don’t care about being happy. I just don’t want to hurt all the time anymore, and I can’t stand being like this! Why can’t someone fix me?! Why is life so horrible for me? Why can’t I fix it?

Afterward, a doctor came in to talk to me. No other doctor had ever told me that Depression was fatal. I guess I knew it, but I didn’t acknowledge it. He even said, “The nurse practitioner is going to be up in the air because we let you go.” Well, a bunch of people in that place deserved to be yelled at. It wasn’t a mental hospital; it was a crisis unit to avoid the hospital, but it might as well have been. The staff treated people horribly. They were rude and uncaring, and the NP was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Now, I’m just hurting. I can’t stand this. All yesterday showed is that I’ll never be helped because they’re not going to listen. So I’m done.