I went to a psychiatric ward after I tried to kill myself about a month ago. My first two days I wanted nothing to do with the place. I didn’t get out of my bed I just laid there not doing anything but sleeping. But after about two days I got up and went to one of the psych education class/support group they had in the unit. We sat down and did a collage of anything that made us happy/helped us cope with our conditions. Up until this point I had already gave up on living, I didn’t want to go on. I felt like there was no reason for me to try anymore, and it hurt just to be alive. Then I met her.
She walked in with one of the nurses that greets you when you first show up. She had blonde hair with the tips dyed red, she wore a sky blue knit beanie and a black shirt decorated with paint. She introduced herself to everyone, her name was Renaí. We all said hi and went around telling her our names and our age. After that she walked over to the empty chair next to me and sat down. At first she was quiet, and I couldn’t blame her. After a little bit she started working on her collage. I suck at art so I just sat there flipping through the magazines pretending to be looking for something to cut out, then I caught myself watching Renaí working on hers. By the time it came time to share what we had done our collage on and show it I realized my paper was blank. When it got to me I jokingly said I had done mine on the color white because clouds were white and I loved clouds. The instructor was not amused but I noticed Renaí was giggling at my lame as joke. From then she would call me “cloud guy”.
Over the next couple of days I got to learn more about Renaí, about how she and her mom and her step dad didn’t get along (that’s putting it lightly), and about how she tried to OD on pills after a lot of verbal abuse. I learned about how her dad had taught her Spanish and I told her I was Mexican and also knew Spanish. After that anytime we wanted to tell each other something that we didn’t want anyone else to know we would say it in Spanish (the nurses were not fans of that but we didn’t care). We talked all the time, about witch of the staff were assholes and who was cool, about different music and bands we liked, what we would do when we got out, and how terrible the food was and how you order different combinations of stuff to make it taste better (brown rice with 2 packets of brown sugar and a little bit of butter tastes awesome) . During one of our psych education classes we got asked what were our favorite color of eyes was, I learned she really liked brown eyes and when I was asked what color of eyes I liked I said I liked blue eyes like Renaí’s. She laughed and said thanks. I called her “blue eyes” after that. I learned how she had no hope of going back home, and she wanted to go to a more permanent psych ward that we called “Residential”. When my parents came to visit me I asked if it would be possible for us to adopt someone. They said because of our current immigration status it probably wasn’t allowed. They asked me why and I said I was just wondering, but I was crushed.
There were a couple of rules at the psych ward that we couldn’t break or risk being transferred or kicked out. Most of them were pretty simple like you had to ask for the bathroom to unlocked when you wanted to use it and let them know you were done so they could lock it again (we had bathrooms in our rooms but they were locked when not in use because of safety concerns) and no covering up the cameras in your room. But some of the rules sucked, like a absolutely no touching other patients, and no giving out personal information (except for age and first name). When I asked why I couldn’t give out personal information the nurses said it was because sometimes patients were homicidal. I didn’t care if Renaí tried to kill me. I trusted her with my life. She was the only reason I got up in the morning, the only reason I tried to keep living. When I was with her I was happy, for the first time in over 2 years. But I tried not to think about the future, only about when I was there. On Valentine’s day Renaí made me a card with a lot of glitter and hearts as well as some words to me. I tried to make one for her to but as I mentioned I suck at art, so when I finished my card I threw away the abomination. In the end I gave her my bracelet I had worn since I was 10 because I remembered her saying she thought it looked cool and that they took hers away.
Days came and went and sure my depression was still there but all I had to do was see Renaí and I would forget about it even if only for a little bit. Then I got a phone call from my mom saying they were going to bring me home that day. I froze. I hung up on her and went to my room and tried to cry or scream or something but I couldn’t. I laid down and just stared at the ceiling. When lunch came I got up and went to the day room (where we ate lunch). When I didn’t see Renaí I asked everybody where she was and they said she was having her family meeting. I remembered how much Renaí dreaded her family meeting (where you meet with a social worker your psychiatrist and your family to figure out what to do). I sat down and waited for her. When she came out she was really upset, I didn’t know what to say so I tried to crack a joke that fell flat about how her delicious food was gonna go to waste. She just got up and went to her room.
Later my parents showed up to pick me up and I went as slow as I possibly could packing until I saw Renaí come out of room. I went and told her that I was discharging (when you leave) and she and everyone else (12 other patients) got up and told me goodbye and good luck. When I got to Renaí I almost broke down. Instead I smiled at her with tears in my eyes and she told me in Spanish she loved me. I told her I love you too. And with that she went to give me a hug and remembered the rules and instead just smiled and showed me the most bracelet I gave her. And with that I said goodbye one last time and I left.
I miss her every day. I have never been so depressed in life. I want to die so bad. I tried looking her up but only running off a first name isn’t much. I hit my self every day for not breaking the rules and giving her my number. I’ve almost jumped off a bridge 3 different times since I’ve been released. Nobody knows this story other than me and her. I felt someone should know so I guess I’m just letting it all out here. I hate this fucking illness.