Hello again. This is going to be my fourth blog post. In English Composition I, we read and discussed the short story Hills Like White Elephants by Ernest Hemingway. A theme I noticed was confused and possibly anger. My scene has those themes as well. Here is a little incite before you begin reading. This conversation takes place in a mental hospital. I had attempted suicide last year around this time, and got sent to inpatient. I was admitted at night so I didn't have the chance to see the doctor. Normally you see one right away. This is the conversation that went down while talking tot he doctor the next morning.
I Don't Care!! *tap tap tap tap* I can feel it. Stop tapping. This nervous tick, this habit is going to be the death of me. I’m waiting to meet with the doctor. Just remember what we rehearsed. “Jaime?” He walks in and scans the room until he meets my eyes. I freeze. My heart drops to my stomach as I feel my words begin to get caught in my stomach. I tell myself repeatedly, you know what to say. I get up reluctantly and follow him to a room, 2nd door on the right. Please don’t shut the door. I sit across from an empty chair as he shuts the door, leaving it open a crack. Oh thank God. “How are you feeling?*tap tap tap tap* I can feel it. Stop tapping. This nervous tick, this habit is going to be the death of me. I’m waiting to meet with the doctor. Just remember what we rehearsed. “Jaime?” He walks in and scans the room until he meets my eyes. I freeze. My heart drops to my stomach as I feel my words begin to get caught in my stomach. I tell myself repeatedly, you know what to say. I get up reluctantly and follow him to a room, 2nd door on the right. Please don’t shut the door. I sit across from an empty chair as he shuts the door, leaving it open a crack. Oh thank God. “How are you feeling?" He asks. "I'm fine" "Well clearly you're not since you're here" He tries to joke lightly, but I'm not in the mood. I need to talk about something important. "Haha. So funny." I say dryly, suddenly becoming aware of my tongue. He continues by asking basic mental health questions and I respond automatically as if by memory. As he speaks I'm observing everything in the room. One exit. Two chairs. Six cabinets. One desk. One computer. One overhead light. That's why its so dim in here. One clear bin. Light brown floor. "Did you hear me?" The doctor's words aren't muffled anymore and the sound throws me off. "Sorry. I got distracted." I dismiss his question and just stare. "I said, what brings you in to this facility?" I know this dumb bitch knows why I'm here. I take a deep breath and begin to speak. "Well I tried to kill myself, I went to the hospital and now I'm here." I take another breath as he waits for me to continue. "I don't want to take medicine anymore. When I was in the ICU, I was doing some research. The day program I went to diagnosed me with BPD, Borderline Personality Disorder, and-" "Why do you think you have BPD?" He cuts me off. I bit my tongue before continuing. "Well as I was saying, my treatment team diagnosed me with borderline personality disorder and I wanted to learn more about what it was exactly, so I looked into it. I read that medication isn't the only solution. Therapy, intensive therapies could work and I want to try that. I'm tired of trying new medication and it making me feel worse." He took a few minutes to respond which irritated me further. "I don't think you have BPD, and you can't go off medication without slowly decreasing. If you do stop all at once, there could be side affects, so it's better to put you back on the medication and then slowly ween you off." At this point I'm angry. I know I can't bite my tongue much longer. "That doesn't make any sense." I'm going to tell him how it is. "Since I decided to take 200 pills, I wasn't allowed to take medication for 2 days. Why should I have to start something that makes me think and feel like dying? I'm here aren't I? You all will watch me anyways." *tap tap tap tap* There it is again. The damn tapping. My leg is bouncing as I feel my throat close up, my words getting stuck. The doctor starts talking. Again. "You see, the way you are acting could be from not being on the medication. And switching your medication wouldn't be difficult. You could try something that may work." The rest of his words are muffled. I'm done listening to him. He doesn't listen to us! I'm done talking. I want to cry and yell at the same time, yet I can't. My body shuts down, my brain shuts down. I stop him from continuing. "I'm done talking to you." His words are inaudible as I stand up and walk out, shutting the door gently behind me. I continue down the hallway feeling the rush coming. Cold tears cool my hot face as I see the nurse's station getting closer. I know my face is red with anger. "I hate him, I want a different doctor. I wanna talk to my mom. He isn't listening to me." I feel myself losing control as I start to cry harder, trying to explain to the nurse. I can't do this, I can't do this. I'm going crazy. He doesn't understand how this feels. This gnawing at my brain. I want to talk to my mom so she can tell him. No one listens to us while we're here because we're all "sick". They act like we can't make our own decisions. I know what I need for myself. "What happened with the doctor? And we can't call your mom until you speak to your social worker." The nurse says apologetically. Can't she see I'm crying? I feel like I'm losing control. Thinking is getting harder and harder. I give a brief explanation of what went down with the doctor. "He's not listening to me! I said everything in a respectful way. I thought everything through. He doesn't fucking listen to me!" My breaths become short as I gasp for air. I'm desperately trying to calm down, and I know I can't do this alone. I need my mom. "I just want to talk to my mom. Can't you call my social worker?" I see the doctor approaching out of the corner of my eye. "Jaime, can you please come back to the room?" "I don't want to talk to you anymore." I say as I give him a death glare. The pain in my chest becomes noticeable now. He continues to try and talk to me, but I just turn away and ignore him. I notice my *one to one comes up to me speaking low enough for only me to hear. "Do you wanna talk with me in the day room? The doctor doesn't have to come in with us." "Yes please." I let my guard down as I sniffle and slowly nod my head feeling tired and weak. I'm tired of fighting. I just want people to listen to me.. please. I sit down in the day room and immediately start to cry, my one to one handing me a tissue. “Sweetheart. I think you should try and talk to him again.” I try to cut her off but she puts her hand up. “I know you don’t want to, but just finish talking to him and you won’t have to see him again.” I reluctantly say yes and the doctor comes in as she leaves. My guard is back up and I listen. Please, god let me get this over with. “Not everything can be solved with just therapy. A small amount of medication can be helpful along side therapy. Even if you stop, you’ll have withdrawal symptoms. You could attempt again, you’ll have mood swings. It’s not easy and it’s not fun. Are you willing to risk those symptoms?” The doctor talked as if he had me pulled in. I’m not falling for it. I know how medication makes me feel. I don’t want that.. not again.. “Yes.” I said with a monotone voice and dead eyes. The doctor seemed surprised with my short response compared to earlier ones. “Ok. Now do you think you still need your one to one?” ”Yes, I still need her.” ”Ok -“ That’s all I hear as I start to lose focus. I can’t do this anymore. If I’m stuck here longer than I have to be then I’ll lose it. I just want my mom. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I hate how he’s not listening to me. I can’t just scream.. I mean we can but okay. I’m too busy talking to myself that his next words throw me off. ”... and I’m taking you off your one to one, and..” His voice drowns out again. “Wait. I said I still want my one to one.” I speak frantically, afraid to lose the only person who seems to care in this place. “Well I don’t think you do. I think you’ll be fine once you adjust throughout the day.” He walks out and I stay where I am, not following him. My chest hurts, I can’t stop biting my tongue, and I want to cry again. My one to one comes in and says goodbye. “Don’t worry, I’ll see you around since I am a nurse here. If you need me let the other nurses know okay?” I nod and follow her out of the room. I sit on the floor opposite of the nurses station as my mind starts to go blank. Tears slowly roll down my face as I feel helpless and alone. I don’t hear anything, I don’t feel anything. I just sit and wait for the group I’m apart of to come back from breakfast. *one to one- Someone, typically a nurse, is required to stay with a patient due to high risk of suicide or aggressive behavior
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Hello and welcome to my third blog post in English Composition I. We were to read My Name is Margaret by Maya Angelou, a small excerpt from I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. In this short story, a young girl has lost apart of herself. She lost a main part of her identity, which was her name, due to someone else’s convenience. The theme here is loss, and my post also has a theme of loss. My father was the loss, but the object I have helped with it.
Soft Christmas music is playing, as my mother drives us to church. Tonight was just like any other church night, except there are more people in the parking lot than I remembered. My sisters and I all climbed out of the purple mini van. The van had a dent in it from my older sister, it’s by the gas tank. My sisters and I crowded around my mom as she told us the plan for the night. “Tonight you’ll all be getting a gift from daddy for Christmas!” My mom exclaimed with an excited look on her face. I jumped up excited at the fact that we are getting presents but also at the fact that I’ll be seeing my dad after 4 months. “Is daddy going to be here too?” I asked for my sisters and I, we all biting our lips in anticipation. My mom looked down at us and said “I'm sorry baby, he won’t be here tonight, but you’ll be getting presents like all the other kids tonight!” I knew this was her attempt to make me feel better but it wasn’t working. I smiled and nodded, playing along, and followed my mom and sisters into the church. I’m mad. I don’t understand why my dad can’t come see us. Doesn’t he miss us? The question played in my mind as I took in the smell of food. My stomach growled low as the scent of ham, Mac and cheese, mashed potatoes and so much more, hit my nose. Along the wall by the church’s kitchen door was three long tables of food, set up buffet style. My mom nudged me along and said I was allowed to grab food. My sisters and I didn’t move unless our mom did. We were always this shy. After I grabbed some food, I sat down, and it looked like everyone else got their food. Some people were still coming in, but someone in charge said it was time for prayer. I watched as everyone put their head down and closed their eye. I took this opportunity to look around the room. My eyes scanned over the food, across the tables of people. I looked at the corner in the far left where the tree and gifts lay. There were at least twenty presents under the tree. I smiled seeing that there were enough gifts for everyone. I heard prayer was almost up, so I quickly put my head down. "Amen!" Everyone said amen together, and all of the families surrounding mine seemed so happy to be together. Someone started to yell out last names in alphabetical order. I ate and talked to my mom and sisters for a little while. "Why isn't daddy coming?" I asked my mother again, hoping her answer would change. I was on the verge of tears because its been 4 months already and i was beginning to think he wasn't coming back. "Baby" My mom began, I could tell this wasn't her favorite question to answer, "He can't come tonight, but he made sure to get you each a gift for Christmas, to make up for it." She didn't exactly answer my question but I let it go. I glanced over at a boy that I thought I recognized at out table. He was the kid that bullied me on the bus ride to school. He seemed sad, even though everyone else was happy. I understood and we both looked away from each other without speaking a word. "Moore!" It came time for us to go get our gifts. I said thank you to whoever handed me the soft lump wrapped in snowflake wrapping paper. I stared for along time. Everything happened in slow motion. I blinked back tears that were trying to escape all night. I held a soft grey elephant. A stuffed animal. As I shifted it around in my hands, i felt the beads inside shift back and forth. The stomach of the elephant was almost as soft as silk. I squeezed the elephant close to my body and vowed to never let him go. He made the night easier. I lost my father for the past 10 years, and this elephant was the first gift I got from him. I didn't realize at the time that I used it as a place holder for my father. Anytime I look at the elephant I remember the moment I got him and how I felt and how it made me feel happy and safe. The moment I got the elephant everything changed. That night I felt so many things but after being given the elephant, I didn't lose as much of myself as I thought. |
Jaime M.I'd like to think I'm outgoing, but I know for a fact that I'm nice! Enjoy the website! ArchivesCategories |