The Day that saved my life

It's like going back to my prior self; a person who I lost in time, but am now revisiting. I don't miss her... but that's a lie in and of itself. Just a simple touch, fingertips to scars, brings me back to that memory. Lying in a hospital bed, my head frozen over, a glacial pause as I focused intently on the television. The vibrant colors illuminated the room, and tiny figures moved across the screen; but I barely acknowledged their presence. Just a mere three hours stood in front of me and my supposed freedom. I could hear the soft sound of machines beeping through the thin walls, and rather irritating me, they acted as almost a substitute for a lullaby. I pushed myself back into my pillow, counting each monotonous beep on my hands. Until finally, I was swallowed into the belly of a black cloud of sleep.
I woke up, my forehead covered in perspiration. I wasn't ready for today, but this is what I needed. My head felt clear, and that was good. A doctor approached my room almost immediately after I woke, informing me that the ambulance was here to take me. I stood up, my feet making contact with the cold floor, the only clothing on my body being a hospital gown; even though I was completely covered, I had never felt so exposed in my life. I lied down in the gurney, and the nurses began strapping me in; practically suffocating me with the straps. I was finally rolled outside. I felt as if I was being paraded for all the doctors and nurses to see me.
The air outside was fresh, unlike the stagnant hospital air. I feel like that air alone could suffocate someone to death; maybe that's why so many people die in hospitals. I was pushed into the ambulance, or for some, a casket, and finally my feelings of self-conciseness subsided. The walls were concealed by various medical tools, and I wondered when each of them had been used. I pictured someone else lying in my gurney, pulling against the straps to escape the physical pain they were feeling. And here I sat, silent. I didn't deserve this attention.
For the hour drive, I watched out the window; mentally waving goodbye to everyone I passed. I waved to the woman walking her dog down the sidewalk, the mailman who was placing someone's package on their doorsteps, the student from school who's name escaped me but I recognized him. It was as if I was being extracted from my safety, a dome in which I stayed in. I noticed the familiar welcoming sign into town. Vines caressed its worn paint, as if they were trying to hold its aging body of wood together. I waved goodbye.
As I watched each yellow line disappear, one of the men in the ambulance came and sat next to me. He was rather tall, his slight beard unkept. As he pressed the stethoscope to my chest, his hands carried a slight lavender aroma and I deeply inhaled the scent. It reminded me of home. I examined his face which looked untouched by any wrinkles, and noticed a smile barely touching his lips. His mouth moved, uttering out the words, “You're getting the help you need, sweetie,” and for once I felt safe. He stood up, his boots scuffing the floor loudly, and I knew we were almost there. I dug my fingers into the scratchy material of my blanket. This blanket made me feel safe too, it had been with me throughout these past two days. It's a shame how inanimate objects can make you feel safer than most people do.
I was pulled out of the ambulance and greeted with a dully colored brick building; the ground was littered with pieces of brick. Before I was pushed through the glass doors, I inhaled the scent of the freshly cut grass hoping that it would cling to my lungs and linger within me for the next week. I was finally introduced to the floor I'd be staying on for the next week. Children and nurses greeted me as I was pushed down the hall, still strapped into the gurney giving off the impression of instability. The ambulance driver unstrapped me, and wished me luck before exiting through the heavy metal doors, leaving me with these foreign people.
Still in my hospital gown, I was assisted into a chair next to my gurney still in nothing but my hospital gown and a blanket wrapped around me. I tightened my grip on my only remaining piece of comfort as I began to have a panic attack. My heart accelerated as a counselor approached me, and I was taken into a separate room where he asked me an obscene amount of questions. The room wasn't spacious, and one wall was only windows looking out into the world I had been cut off from.
I could see the people outside continuing their lives freely, walking to work perhaps, or going home. I could see the sky, a dull gray threatening to rain at any moment, but none the less, it was still gorgeous. I could see myself reflecting back at me, a portrait once beautiful now painted over by an amateur artist. I looked sick. The counselor handed me clothes, because I couldn't have my clothing until it was washed thoroughly; every piece of me that defined me was taken within the first five minutes.
I walked shakily to my room, gripping the blanket against my waist. On the vibrant blue walls of my room, poorly drawn sea creatures stared at me with ridiculing eyes. I hurriedly pulled the jeans that weren't mine over my pale legs, and the striped shirt over my body to leave my scars visible. The day went by rather slowly, and I spoke with numerous doctors and nurses who all asked me the same questions. Dinner time finally approached, and I barely ate any of the food in front of me. My anxiety becoming so overwhelming that I would starve my self because of my fear to eat in front of people. They gave me pasta which tasted like rubber, and was cooked poorly. But I give them credit, considering it's a hospital and most dead people don't eat.
The other patients there were kind, and experienced some of the similar issues I was going through currently, and that gave me a sense of tranquility. I didn't have to act like someone I wasn't for once. We watched television for the majority of the day, and just enjoyed being ourselves. It felt innocent. It was an escape from the emotional barriers in my everyday life, and I felt like a child again sitting with friends watching a movie and laughing.
I went to bed that night with a sense of accomplishment. I was still alive. I could've killed myself a long time ago, but I fought through it and now I'm here. I fell asleep quickly that night, the immense exhaustion from the day blanketed over me. I dreamt of home, but I almost wouldn't consider my house a home. That was the place where it all began, and here, this room I was lying in, was where it all was going to end.
The next morning, I was woken at 7:30. I stared at the white ceiling for half an hour, before pushing myself out of bed. Each morning, every patient had to get their vitals taken, as well as their medication. I rose and stretched my weak and tired body, turning around to notice the sunlight bathing my mattress. It was the first beautiful thing I had seen in a long time.
The nurse put her stethoscope to my chest, the cool metal felt pleasant against my damp skin, and listened to my erratic heart. It felt as if it could quite literally beat me to death. I was escorted to a small room with only a blue cot and computer, and a nurse handed me my medication. Afterwards, the five other patients and I were given breakfast, and then allowed to sit in our rooms alone for half an hour.
I took this opportunity to take a quick shower. The water came out of the shower head languidly, and would turn off every 30 seconds. How convenient. I washed myself with the shampoo they supplied me. I could find no comfort anywhere, even the soap I used on my skin was foreign to me. As the water cascaded down my chest and onto the tiny shower floor, I felt cleansed of all my impurities. I felt ridiculous treating a shower as if it was some form of baptism. After I felt somewhat clean, I stepped out of the shower and stared at myself in the mirror. I noticed some pigment had come back to my skin, and I looked young without my makeup or hair done. I looked innocent.
I was finally allowed to have my clothing back, and that brought me some much needed comfort. I could've almost cried when I was handed my black and white sweater; I finally had something that defined me. I reintroduced myself back into the group of patients, and we sat around coloring pictures, and watching movies. The rewards room was the biggest on the floor, and had a slight urine- like odor, but besides that it was my favorite room. There were a few small windows lining the walls. The youngest boy there would always be staring out them, even though they only looked out into a parking lot. He'd tell us who he saw walking outside, and what car they were driving. He was only nine years old and reminded me of my brother.
One of the boys there was sixteen as well, and we discussed video games and food. We were children again. He had a strong fascination for technology, and although I was ignorant to the subject, it was enjoyable to see someone express their interests to me. Everyone here gave off the impression of innocence, yet our issues were far from it.
As the days passed by, blurry at first but becoming more focused, I could see a drastic change in myself. There in the counsellors cubical office I sat. The walls were blindingly white and decorated with nothing but a simple painting of a fish. She had me sit on the sofa in the corner of the room while she typed rapidly on the computer. In that bare room, my life changed. “You're being discharged by Friday,” the counsellor informed me. She had a bubbly personality, and perfect white teeth. In that room the walls were no longer bare. I began to see that that painting, although small, was necessary in this room.
By Friday, I felt content. There was no euphoria, but just a feeling of neutrality. I was so grateful for that. When I got into the elevator for the last time, my finger made contact with the smooth button and we began descending. I waved goodbye to this place that had saved me more than any person had before. My first step outside into the humid air was exhilarating. I stopped holding my breathe; I wanted to keep breathing.

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