A Fractured Self
18,19,20. I counted in my head wondering if that was the amount of pills I had taken. My school
counselor asked me if I had ever tried to hurt myself or ever had thoughts of dying. I responded
with “just last night.” It was a normal day regarding the fact I tried to disappear the night before.
I woke up with disbelief and disappointment. “Why? Why didn’t it work?” I stared at her face
analyzing her reaction but she quickly turned and said, “I’ll be right back.” I was clueless as to
what she was planning next. It was only my second time walking into that office due to my
mom’s worrisome self. She had seen my scars 2 days ago and decided I needed help. I had kept it
a secret this long, why was I suddenly someone to worry about? As she returned, her eyebrows
had furrowed and her eyes were full of concern. Her lips were pressed against themselves as if
she were holding back the weight of the news she so desperately wanted to tell me. She
explained that an ambulance was called and I would be leaving early to go to the hospital. I
never knew that counselors were obligated to inform others about my actions as I never even
knew talking to others was an option. My throat tightened and suddenly the air wasn’t enough
for me as I was now crying wondering why I was being punished when I was already in misery.
Fear and sadness came over me. I knew what was coming but I was wishing it was all
disregarded and I could go back to the comfort of my bed. I had only seen and read about it in
books. A psychiatric hospital. It seemed straight out of a horror film, something that frightened
me severely. I was questioned by the doctor, “Why did you do it?” “You’ve seriously harmed
yourself.” My eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape in this rectangular room full
of equipment. The nurse guarded my room and the cabinets continued to stare at me. My mom
sat next to me as I laid in the bed. She told me I was stupid, “Those pills won’t do you any
harm.” “After you get out of here, you’re going to church.” Her voice drowned into the
background along with the beeping of the monitor. My will to live was nowhere to be found, a
piece of me died in that hospital. I was trapped with nowhere to go, no one to go to besides the
lonesome thoughts in my mind.
It was now midnight and I was being transferred over to the psychiatric hospital. One.
“One night” said my mom. “I’ll come to pick you up in the morning.” I never realized then that
even at 16 years old I still fell for the same tricks she pulled when I was 6. “I’m just going to the
store, stay here with your aunt.” I stayed with my aunt until moonlight peeked through the
windows. I walked into the room full of beds examining it and seeing a group of people sitting at
a round table. Each of them having their own stories just as I had mine. I sat down with them and
began to play uno. It seemed so unreal, such a drastic change from the school counselor’s office
to a wide, lonesome room that seemed like it didn’t want to be a part of the hospital. “What are
you here for?” I said insensitively but he was a kid. I was wondering how someone like himself
could ever get into a place like this and understood as soon as he said the words “Stabbing a kid
with a pencil.” “What about you?” he asked. “Attempting.” “Oh.” he said with a frown and
continued to place his card down. I stayed in that area for 4 days until I was moved upstairs
where the long term patients actually stayed. I stayed there for 2 weeks. I met some nice people
who I related to and my mother came to visit me everyday, she brought me food which became
my only sense of comfort and familiarity. It kept me sane. I had a routine of eating in the
morning, taking my meds, going to “school”, playing uno, eating the food my mom brought me
and finally sleeping in the same room, the same bed along with the same light that gleamed
through the door which often kept me up at night. I never slept with a lamp nor understood why
people did but I had no choice but to endure the consequences of my actions. The day I left was
not a day of celebration since I had lied my way out of the hospital. “How are you feeling?” The
doctor said, “Good.” I responded with. “What do you plan to do moving forward? Out of the
hospital?” “I plan to think more positively and change my outlook on life.” I was lying to him,
lying to myself. I thought of myself as irreparable. I was too far gone, a lost cause.
My house was quiet and everything felt uneasy. The world had moved forward without
me. I stayed in the same place for 2 weeks while everyone around me continued to live their life
normally. I asked for my phone wondering what was currently going on. So many changes in my
life happened all at once and it took so long for it to feel just alright. It never went back to
normal though since thoughts of getting worse overflowed my mind. “What’s the point of school
if I won’t be here to get credit for my hard earned work?” “Why do I continue to care for things?
When I leave, it will no longer be my responsibility.”
2 months later, I relapsed and attempted once again but a way too graphic to describe. My
mother found me and rushed to get the car keys. “Why Sherlin?” The angst in her voice still
shatters me. Her voice quivered as her eyes started to well up. Was she asking me why I had
done it? or Why did I continue to hurt her? I left for another 2 weeks, the experience much better
than the last. I wasn’t able to see my mother due to it being upstate and covid restrictions but at
least the food was good and people around me were kind. After I returned home, I continued to
feel uneasy with myself. I thought, “When will it end?”
Things like this don’t end after a night’s sleep. 2022, 2023, 2024. Over these years I learned to
cope with my problems and learned that it was okay to lean on people around me. I
communicated with countless people. I learned to not give up on myself nor my goals in life. I
felt reborn. I accepted the way I was and learned around it. I could no longer pretend I was
helpless because I had many people around me willing to help. Their encouragement was
significant throughout this journey of recovery and I will forever be grateful. I am finally feeling
normal.