As I mentioned previously, this is actually something I thought would be easy to talk about, but to describe it is just really weird. I wish I had a better word for it.
Walking up to the Adult Psychiatric Unit was scary; it was dark and we were escorted by security. I had no idea what to expect. The nurses for the unit told me to have a seat in a chair across from the nurse's station. They took my bag and went through it; I was able to keep my journal and colored pencils. I traded in my draw-string shorts for scrub pants, and my hair clip for a elastic pony. I was handed a paper cup with a toothbrush and toothpaste in it. They took my blood pressure, temperature, and asked me a bunch of intake questions while I was eating a box lunch.
I just remember being scared. Everyone kept telling me I was safe; but I was still scared. Of what? Well I am not exactly sure. Everything I guess. What was tomorrow going to bring? What was going to happen to my son? Sure he was with his dad that night, but I was supposed to pick him up from the sitter the next day. How was he going to react when I asked him to pick him up. Would I be able to ask him? What was tomorrow going to bring?
I was assigned my room, given a list of rules and told what time breakfast was. I was also given two towels and one of those huge water mugs/bottles that are so common in hospitals. It even had my name on it. I took in the room; it could easily be converted for two people if needed, two desks, two dressers, two chairs, two sitting chairs, but only one bed.
I laid down and tried to sleep, my mind was pretty numb at this point, but all I could do was cry. I cried for at least another hour. Who knew I had any more tears to shed. Eventually I fell asleep. I slept solid, for the first time in a long time, even though I had no idea what morning, as it was already tomorrow, would bring.
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