Spoiler! :
Like a dream. Foggy images, incomplete memories, jumbled bits of conversation.
I'm huddled in a corner, sobbing. I'm in a small room; my father sat in a chair watching me. My hands shook, I couldn't catch my breath, nothing made sense. The walls of the room were closing in on me. Outside the door someone was screaming. The doctors who worked there were yelling, trying to regain control of the situation.
"Put him in the Detention Room!" Someone ordered.
I didn't know what was happening. I didn't like this place. I was scared out of my mind.
But this was far from the beginning.
* * *
It started in the summer, after fourth grade. I didn't sleep. I was up for hours every night, feeling sick. My stomach churned, my phobia of vomiting took hold of me. It controlled me. I was stressed and exhausted all the time. I was afraid to eat because I was afraid of getting sick.
I went to summer camp, but I came home early. I was so wrapped up in my worries that I thought of nothing else. I drew into myself; away from the world.
The nights were long and lonely. Eventually my mother stopped staying up with me. I was on my own. I learned to distract myself by watching TV. That was the only way I could sleep.
I looked forward to the start of fifth grade. It meant a new start, another chance, and best of all, a distraction. School started on a Thursday that year, and the first two days were normal. I slept through the night; it was like that summer had never happened. But after that first weekend everything was thrown into reverse.
My nightly, sleepless ritual began again. I refused to go to school and I had panic attacks at least twice a week. I ran away at least three times when my dad tried to me to go to school. When he did get my to school I usually had to be carried in by a principal or the guidance counselor. I spent many long hours in her office, sitting in silence, trying to find myself. I was slipping further and further from the world.
As a last resort my parents called Rockford Center, a psychiatric hospital. I went in for a pre-examination to determine the kind of treatment I needed. It was decided that I would be "partially hospitalized," meaning I would arrive at Rockford at 8a.m. and stay until 2:30p.m. On my first official day of treatment my father and I were ushered into a small office in the children and adolescent section of the hospital. I don't know how long we waited there. Five minutes, five hours; it was all the same to me. I was crying so hard I couldn't see straight. The room was crushing me. The claustrophobia was only pushing the panic farther along. The doctors and patients were yelling. Doors slammed, a boy was screaming; I had never felt so trapped in my life. I was drowning.
From there I have no complete memories. There are bits here and there I remember. Foggy faces and half-remembered rooms are all I can imagine now. At some point I must have blocked it out. However, there is one thing I remember, and to me it symbolizes the whole of my experience at Rockford.
Twice a day we were taken to a gymnasium for some exercise. the first time I walked into the gym the number one thing I noticed was the smell. The musky scent was so out of place that it threw me off for a minute, and the longer I stayed in that gym, the more something just felt wrong. All the other kids took advantage of the "freedom." Many played dodge ball, some just played catch. I was the outcast. I sat off to the side, watching, hiding, waiting for the day to be over.
Just in one day, most of the other kids had some sort of episode. I stayed silent and stood in the background, in my own world. It was plain to see: I didn't belong there.
I don't know what it was about that place, maybe it had something to do with being kept behind multiple locked doors, but I hated Rockford. I pleaded with my parents and therapists to get me out. I said it was only making the depression worse. In all, I was there for a total of maybe 7 days, but I only remember two at most. Nothing the doctors did at Rockford helped me, but the experience definitely changed something in me.
I quickly learned that, most of the time, being strong is the best option. So far it has kept me out of trouble. The entire story stretches out over a period of about five months. Those months taught me what it feels like to be alone; where no one can reach you. I know what people in that position need most. They don't want medicine, they don't want advice, they don't want a doctor. What they want more than anything is someone who will listen. Rockford was a rough experience for me, but I got through it, and as a reward I was granted the gift of being able to help people in similar situations. My hardships were well worth the pain. I used to ask myself, "why me?" I couldn't figure out why I went through that, but none of my friends did. I think I'm finally starting to get it.
"In youth we learn; in age we understand."
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