We sit. The room is stiff; complete with white wash walls and pretentious leather couches. I'm rocking slightly and my arms are crossed over my chest. My eyes are red from the tears I cried on the drive over here. I wonder, what will happen? Lock me away and throw away the key? Pretend everything is fine, just like everyone ever has?
I can hear the whispers already. The crazy girl. The girl who went nuts and attacked her arm with her daddy's switchblade. I just wanted to feel, something. Anything. My mother sits beside me and I can feel the disappointment oozing out of her. I want to scream.
They call my name, goody, my turn. They lead me back to a room, one that locks from the outside -the kind you have to be buzzed out of, just like when we visited my uncle in jail.
They keep calling it "attempted suicide". Haven't they ever felt fake? Like nothing, not even the blood coursing through their veins was real?
Lost in my thoughts, I gave the admin nurse half-hearted answers.I just want to go home. Hug my cat. Take a shower. Do my homework. I'm not crazy. Dammit. I just hurt!
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Here come the tears again. My Mother takes my hand and I feel a little slice of peace.
They give me the option. Do I want to stay? Hell no, I don't want to stay. I want to run out those doors and never look back. I should stay, I know that, but my answer is no. Let me leave, please.
They sign my release forms and set up my appointment with the psych. I need to be medicated. Severe depression with suicidal tendencies. I don't care. I just want to leave. Mom, sign the papers faster please!
Finally, we're out. It's over. I made it through. The sun is setting over the Behavioral Hospital. Deep breaths and cool breeze calm my twisted and bent soul. Then it happens, she -my mother, engulfs me in a hug. A kiss on the head and whispers what I needed to hear all along, "I see you. I love you. I've got you."
This is what it means to be crazy.