Serenity
Another Broken Spirit.
- Feb 8, 2020
- 79
Dear Jamie,
You haunt my dreams a lot. It was never any fault of your own, you were just as sick as me if not sicker when I met you. You liked to trigger me a lot, especially the voices. I don't know if I triggered you too, but I know you were jealous that I was so innocent and had so much passion - you talked about it a lot. You said I was "pure". They must have taken that away from you with the drugs. I hope you were able to get it back.
I remember you vividly, even though it has now been more than 3 years. At the time, you were significantly shorter than me with wavy, dark brown/black hair. You had a nice smile, and a few freckles around your nose. You were obsessed with make-up, and you received special privileges to use your make-up on the ward. Every time you saw me, you would ask if you could have a hug, even when we ran into each other outside of the ward while our parents were visiting us. While we were in the ward, you liked to pace up and down the hallway with your Bible and you loved to talk about your favourite religious passages. I think religion is what kept you going - it gave you a reason to fight, the hope that things would get better. You also were addicted to cigarettes - every time your parents came, you had a chance to get out of the hospital for a much needed smoke. In the ward you would get so angry when you couldn't go for a smoke. The only thing keeping you going was nicotine gum.
I was really jealous that you got to go to an actual high school for half of the day on weekdays. The Child and Youth Workers would tell you to get ready for school while the rest of us were still in bed, and you got to leave the ward and go on an actual bus to school. Holy shit, what I would have given to be able to go on that fucking bus with you. Anything other than the same fucking routine in that same fucking ward every single day. It was fucking Groundhog Day in there.
Sometimes the Child and Youth Workers would get really concerned when you were in the bathroom too long filling up the water too high. I think they were worried you were trying to drown yourself. Looking back on it, I think you were just overflowing the bath tub to give them a big fuck you. Seriously, there was no plug, all we could use was a fucking wash cloth in order to stop the water from going down the drain as long as possible, which was like, 10 minutes.
I'm not going to lie, sometimes you scared the living shit out of me. I remember one time I let you come into my room because I wanted to show you some of my things, and then you peed on my bed. I was quite disturbed - being 15 at the time, and considering your age, I thought we were past that point. But I don't blame you. You were really sick. We were really sick. You laughed about it after. Your laugh also scared the shit out of me. You would laugh at random times and I could always hear when you laughed, even when I had my door shut.
I remember how excited I was when, after a month of pure boredom and inescapable delusions and hallucinations on the ward, my parents went out and bought me a $50 MP3 player because we weren't allowed to have phones on the ward. They were able to put all my favourite music on it, and it helped me find myself again when the paranoia and delusions were impossible to escape. I remember the first time you saw me with my MP3 player, and you wanted a turn to use it. I was absolutely terrified of giving it to you to use - I didn't know if I would get it back, and I didn't know if I could cope without it. I didn't let you use it out of selfish fear.
Looking back on my decision, I wish I had given you a turn. I was so worried about my own inner demons, I never stopped to consider yours. How you coped with your inner demons. Whether you even had a phone outside of the ward, or access to any music besides the radio. I didn't even know if you had a home outside of the hospital. Jamie, I'm sorry I didn't let you use my MP3 player. You needed it just as much as I did, if not more.
I remember another instance when I was going on one of my delusional tirades about having rabies. It was late at night and I was crying in my room while the voices taunted me about how I was going to die all alone there. You were doing one of your daily paces up and down the hallway, but you stopped at my door when you heard me crying. I was crying about some delusion that I killed a cat but not before it infected me with rabies. I was terrified that I had killed the cat and was crying over it. You thought that it sounded ridiculous and started laughing about it, saying that I was a very kind person because most people wouldn't give a shit about the cat - they would be more worried about the rabies. Then you went on to tell me some weird story about how you killed a cat. I hope you were just making that up to make me feel better.
Sometimes I wish you had kept that piece of paper that I wrote my phone number on with those bulky navy blue pencils they had in there. You and I, we were dealt pretty bad cards early in life, and I feel like you would be one of the only people who would truly understand this PTSD thing I seem to have about the whole thing. Even though I spent 8 weeks in that psych ward, somehow you were there before I arrived, and were still there after I left. You were even there when I had to go back. God, I hope you're okay. I wish I took note of your last name, or at least wrote it down somewhere in the mess of my crumpled up papers from the ward. I looked through them, but your last name wasn't there. Only your first name.
I hope you aren't dead. I hope you didn't end up overdosing on meth or some shit. I hope you graduated from high school like I did and were able to move on from this mess and get into college or at least do something productive with your life. I hope the voices left like they left me. All in all, I hope you're okay.
You haunt my dreams a lot. It was never any fault of your own, you were just as sick as me if not sicker when I met you. You liked to trigger me a lot, especially the voices. I don't know if I triggered you too, but I know you were jealous that I was so innocent and had so much passion - you talked about it a lot. You said I was "pure". They must have taken that away from you with the drugs. I hope you were able to get it back.
I remember you vividly, even though it has now been more than 3 years. At the time, you were significantly shorter than me with wavy, dark brown/black hair. You had a nice smile, and a few freckles around your nose. You were obsessed with make-up, and you received special privileges to use your make-up on the ward. Every time you saw me, you would ask if you could have a hug, even when we ran into each other outside of the ward while our parents were visiting us. While we were in the ward, you liked to pace up and down the hallway with your Bible and you loved to talk about your favourite religious passages. I think religion is what kept you going - it gave you a reason to fight, the hope that things would get better. You also were addicted to cigarettes - every time your parents came, you had a chance to get out of the hospital for a much needed smoke. In the ward you would get so angry when you couldn't go for a smoke. The only thing keeping you going was nicotine gum.
I was really jealous that you got to go to an actual high school for half of the day on weekdays. The Child and Youth Workers would tell you to get ready for school while the rest of us were still in bed, and you got to leave the ward and go on an actual bus to school. Holy shit, what I would have given to be able to go on that fucking bus with you. Anything other than the same fucking routine in that same fucking ward every single day. It was fucking Groundhog Day in there.
Sometimes the Child and Youth Workers would get really concerned when you were in the bathroom too long filling up the water too high. I think they were worried you were trying to drown yourself. Looking back on it, I think you were just overflowing the bath tub to give them a big fuck you. Seriously, there was no plug, all we could use was a fucking wash cloth in order to stop the water from going down the drain as long as possible, which was like, 10 minutes.
I'm not going to lie, sometimes you scared the living shit out of me. I remember one time I let you come into my room because I wanted to show you some of my things, and then you peed on my bed. I was quite disturbed - being 15 at the time, and considering your age, I thought we were past that point. But I don't blame you. You were really sick. We were really sick. You laughed about it after. Your laugh also scared the shit out of me. You would laugh at random times and I could always hear when you laughed, even when I had my door shut.
I remember how excited I was when, after a month of pure boredom and inescapable delusions and hallucinations on the ward, my parents went out and bought me a $50 MP3 player because we weren't allowed to have phones on the ward. They were able to put all my favourite music on it, and it helped me find myself again when the paranoia and delusions were impossible to escape. I remember the first time you saw me with my MP3 player, and you wanted a turn to use it. I was absolutely terrified of giving it to you to use - I didn't know if I would get it back, and I didn't know if I could cope without it. I didn't let you use it out of selfish fear.
Looking back on my decision, I wish I had given you a turn. I was so worried about my own inner demons, I never stopped to consider yours. How you coped with your inner demons. Whether you even had a phone outside of the ward, or access to any music besides the radio. I didn't even know if you had a home outside of the hospital. Jamie, I'm sorry I didn't let you use my MP3 player. You needed it just as much as I did, if not more.
I remember another instance when I was going on one of my delusional tirades about having rabies. It was late at night and I was crying in my room while the voices taunted me about how I was going to die all alone there. You were doing one of your daily paces up and down the hallway, but you stopped at my door when you heard me crying. I was crying about some delusion that I killed a cat but not before it infected me with rabies. I was terrified that I had killed the cat and was crying over it. You thought that it sounded ridiculous and started laughing about it, saying that I was a very kind person because most people wouldn't give a shit about the cat - they would be more worried about the rabies. Then you went on to tell me some weird story about how you killed a cat. I hope you were just making that up to make me feel better.
Sometimes I wish you had kept that piece of paper that I wrote my phone number on with those bulky navy blue pencils they had in there. You and I, we were dealt pretty bad cards early in life, and I feel like you would be one of the only people who would truly understand this PTSD thing I seem to have about the whole thing. Even though I spent 8 weeks in that psych ward, somehow you were there before I arrived, and were still there after I left. You were even there when I had to go back. God, I hope you're okay. I wish I took note of your last name, or at least wrote it down somewhere in the mess of my crumpled up papers from the ward. I looked through them, but your last name wasn't there. Only your first name.
I hope you aren't dead. I hope you didn't end up overdosing on meth or some shit. I hope you graduated from high school like I did and were able to move on from this mess and get into college or at least do something productive with your life. I hope the voices left like they left me. All in all, I hope you're okay.
