This is a poetry/journal book about my experience in the Psych Ward.
It's all true accounts with names changed for privacy. I wrote this while in the ward, except for the last day.
Please take care in reading. If topics of suicide, depression, rap...
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Have you ever opened your eyes and heard the birds chirping and felt the sun warm on your skin? Well, on this day, I didn't technically because I couldn't hear anything beyond my reinforced windows and the sun rose on the other side of the building, but metaphorically speaking I did. I woke up and felt different. It was as though my breakdown the night before took all my rage and crushing depression and threw it out of me.
Don't worry. I know it is still there deep inside me and that it's just being suppressed by a special concoction of medication. But I'd been living with the weight of my depression for years and years; carrying it with me every single day. On this day, I woke up and it suddenly wasn't so heavy anymore. I felt... normal.
I was a lot more sociable at this point. I was willing to speak to other patients more rather than focus on just coloring and sticking by Rose's side. One such patient was a woman name Rebecca. She was born male, but was just beginning to transition from male to female. I talked to her a lot about a family member I know who was similar to her and her situation. She seemed thankful to have someone to talk to about how to change her name legally and other information.
Rebecca was a slow speaker; obvious depression leaking from her. Other than that, I never learned why else she was here. On this day, she would be released to the real world. They dressed her in male clothing and she left looking quite somber. I still think about her today and hope that she becomes the person she wants to be.
Nothing much happened today besides groups, so I thought I'd discuss these. The group therapies, or groups as we called them, varied. Some were meditation groups where we listened to a guided mediation and focused on breathing. Others were actual exercises, whether stretching or some sort of tai chi motion exercises. There were my favorite groups; coloring of course. One group was aroma therapy, too.
Besides those, the harder ones were the ones where we talked about ourselves. The therapist would ask us a question and we would each answer. Even I got too emotional during these, especially if I had to talk about my childhood. But sometimes it would ease into a road of laughter.
Another group was more like a lecture about coping and reaching for opportunities. The therapist talked about Cinderella and getting a ticket to the ball. I started calling discharge to go home the "ticket to the ball" and it was a thing for a little while.
Other than these, there were possibly other groups that I'm forgetting, but we would have them several times a day. They helped pass time because time moves extremely slowly in the Psych Ward. Anyway, groups and coloring with a new feeling of normal was the extent of what happened on Day Six.
