I Wasn’t This Person

Image courtesy of Gabriela Juri via Scopio

“I know my rights!” I screamed when they wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom again.
They said I was addicted to urinating.

How did they know I liked making a mess?

I ran to an empty lounge with blue vinyl couches and tried to wedge myself behind the door, desperate not to be seen.

I had a paper cup of water in my hand. I drank it, pulled down my jeans, my purple underwear, and peed into the cup. A few drops landed on the floor. I couldn’t stop looking at them.

I wasn’t trying to prove a point. I just had to go. I stared at the yellow liquid. I couldn’t smell it.

I thought I was being incognito.

I forgot there were cameras tucked into the corners of the ceiling.

Two men came in and grabbed me by the shoulders. Calm, like this was routine.

Everyone was calm. Like this was another day in this neighborhood.
Where was Mr. Rogers when you needed him?

My heart started beating fast, loud enough I could feel it in my throat.

They walked me down a long hallway that smelled faintly like disinfectant and something stale.

I don’t act like this on the outside.

They took me to a padded room. Thin mattress. Off-white walls. A small window with thick glass and metal bars pressed into it.

I started singing that song in my head, “Come to my window, I’ll be home soon…”

Later, someone mentioned Lithium. Something about it making you feel like you have to go constantly. Like your body doesn’t know when to stop.

I remember thinking—
of course it didn’t.

I remember wondering if “public urination” was going on my “permanent record.”
This trip to the psychiatric ward probably was.

They pushed me down onto the narrow twin mattress. The vinyl crackled under me.

I stared at the window. The bars didn’t move.

“You can’t do this to me,” I yelled. My voice sounded louder in the small room. No one answered.

They left. The door shut heavy behind them.

I sat up, adrenaline still moving through me, sharp and electric.

“This is illegal!”

There was a part of me that liked it.
The volume. The attention. The drama.

A nurse in aqua scrubs walked past the small window in my door without looking in.

There’s invisible, then there’s invisible. This was not a superpower.

“I’m cold,” I said. “I’m freezing.”

She stopped.

“I’ll get you something,” she said. Her voice caught slightly.

I watched her for a second, trying to figure out if she was afraid of me.
Or worse—used to me.

She came back with an army green shirt, thin and worn at the collar.

“Where did you get this?”

“From the lost and found.”

She looked at me like a person. I didn’t want that. I wanted a fight.

“Is this some other crazy person’s shirt?”

“Try to get some sleep.” She pulled the door closed again.

I started pacing, barefoot against the hard floor.

“Fuck this. Fuck all of you.”

My mind stopped racing. They gave me Haldol. I tried to resist the needle, but the same two men held me down.

While they pressed against my body, I felt like an animal.
Not metaphorically. Just something being held still.

Like I had been caught.

When they left, I stood up.

“I’m thirsty.”

An older man stood outside my door, arms crossed, keys clipped to his waistband. He didn’t move.

“You can’t deprive me of water. I know my goddamn rights.”

His face flushed slightly.

I was affecting people.

Good.

*

I sat on the bed and slowly my heartbeat settled down. I fell asleep and woke up to Dr. Michaels saying, “How are you, Nina?” in a steady voice.

“Where have you been? Do you know what they are doing to me?” I almost whispered, half asleep.

“Do you know what you were doing?” he asked, his grey hair catching the light from the window. “I’m switching you to Depakote from Lithium.”

“You know you are nothing but a glorified drug dealer, don’t you?”

“You know you are a very angry woman? The staff has been complaining.”

“The staff?” I looked him in the eyes, his brown eyes soft for a moment.

“Stop acting out and you’ll get out of here. I have no control over that. Only you do.”

That didn’t sound like a choice.

When I dialed 911, I told them I was afraid I would fall out of the window.
Here I was, fallen.

*

A few hours later, they let me out.

I walked past a tall man who had drawn me a flower the day before. He told me he loved me.

I laughed at him.
He laughed with me.

Then we couldn’t stop.

I almost told him—this isn’t me. I’m a regular person.

But I didn’t.

He shook his head and gave me a high five.

No one explains this part—
how easy it is to belong in a psych ward.

*

I went into my room. Donna was there.

She was a stay-at-home mom. She told me she liked to bake cookies.

She told me she slit her wrists.

As I lay in bed, Donna sat on her side of the room, quiet.

She looked so sad I wanted to tell her—I knew.

I knew why she was crying.

Why we were all crying.

Why we were all laughing.

*

I can feel things other people can’t.

Highs that feel unreal.
Lows so deep I disappear inside them.

There are names for this.

None of them sound like me. ‍

I stared at my face in the mirror.
No makeup.
Hair uneven.

I didn’t smile.

You don’t usually smile at yourself.

You just look.

I looked at myself, trying to see something.

Something.

Was I still the same person as I was out there?
Or was this part of me always here?

I felt different.

In some ways more free.
In some ways completely trapped.

This place felt like a parenthesis.
A pause in the sentence.

I liked talking to the other patients.

That part felt too easy.

I saw something in the mirror I couldn’t place.

Someone I hadn’t met before.

She wasn’t smiling.

She was falling.

Or maybe—

this is where she landed.

nina

A couple of friends and I started a podcast called 2 Curries and a Ranch. Listen here: https://2curriesandaranch.riverside.com/  or wherever you get your podcasts.

Imagine two loud, dramatic, hilarious Indian women explaining to a white man what it's like to grow up and live in America. Join us for the laughter, deep thoughts, and witty banter about life, love and culture. We tell it like it is, with honest, bold and funny stories, discussions and arguments. We explore boundaries and challenge norms. Join us for a good talk.

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