Master of None

Have you ever seen ‘Girl Interrupted’? No? Well think of any movie that takes viewers on the inside of a mental facility, what comes to mind? Straight jackets? Padded walls? Aggressive orderlies? This wasn’t like that at all. I imagined for a split second that I wouldn’t fit in because, after all I wasn’t crazy, crazy right? I managed to have a decent and productive life up until this point. And my current predicament was not of my own doing. However, I wasn’t afraid to be in this environment. Paralyzed by the fact that I caused my family’s destruction because I unknowingly let a monster in my home. I actually rationalized that I was more deserving of this than to be outside in regular society. Shortly after being admitted I felt welcome there. Not immediately. In the first few days, I was quiet. I was still trying to make sense of the circumstances I had found myself in. My thoughts continued to inspire continuous tears that poured easily from my heavy eyes. Somehow, in this controlled environment I began to sense a level of safety. The brightly lit interior of the facility, scheduled meals, and being closely monitored provided me with a stability and calmness that I had lost and couldn’t provide myself. For a few days, I was placed in an all female dorm. There were some women but mostly young girls dealing with eating disorders and other similar issues. Although my admittance was not for the reasons they were here, I began to recognize a common thread between us. We were all females, lost in our minds, trying to deal with and manage grief but most importantly self-forgiveness. Each of us damaged by the intrusive thoughts of shame, regret, guilt over how we caused pain to those we loved, directly or indirectly. Eventually, a space was available in the main co-ed dorm with people similar to me in condition and diagnosis and so I was transferred there. By this time, I had gotten used to daily life in the hospital. Early morning showers, temperature/blood pressure checks, coloring...yes coloring, and logging my emotions daily. Most of my logs from the beginning didn’t provide much insight because I couldn’t feel or at least I didn’t want to feel. I was numb. Inside of these walls, I felt safe from the ghosts I left in my home but that wasn’t enough for my rehabilitation. I imagined those ghosts waiting for my return, waiting to devour me. So I shut down. I didn’t have a back up plan. There was still no way out. I had no idea what my life would become after leaving this place. Who would I become? I didn’t trust myself anymore. As a requirement of my treatment, I attended groups where we began to discuss the importance of recovery and the steps that would get us there. The groups were interactive but didn’t force or even require that we share the intimate details of our fractured minds. Participation was left to the patient’s discretion. The group leaders were compassionate, friendly, human. I was amazed by this and began to come out of my shell a bit. During breaks or free time, I began to sit outside with everyone instead of going back to my room. There was something comforting about being in their presence. I’m more of an introvert and usually don’t speak in large groups unless absolutely necessary. Self-care beyond a quick shower was not a priority for me so my disheveled nest of hair was wrapped in a scarf. This scarf unintentionally became somewhat of an ice-breaker. Some of the other patients would ask if I wore it for religious reasons or tell me it added a bit of mystery to my vibe and so a conversation would start from there. We began to unravel and dig through the painful stories that got us there. This was therapy. I met people from all walks of life, men and women who were in that moment, deeply hurting. These people who just days prior were complete strangers, became friends. The nature of these friendships were pure and without judgement. These are some of the most intimate connections I’ve ever made. All of us bearing our souls, in moments of extreme vulnerability. My perspective began to shift. I was beginning to shed the tough girl exterior that I had grown fond of in former years. I was settling in my personal uncertainty. I was quickly learning that I knew nothing while simultaneously unlearning everything I once believed to be true. For the first time in my life, I had nothing to draw from for inspiration. I knew I could never return to being the person I once was, but there wasn’t an identity on standby to take her place. Welcome to Rock Bottom!