A Fractured Self
Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. 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. The pressure of everything around me and the fact that I was being
treated as someone who needed “help” caused me to break down fully after holding on for so
long. 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 to reach out to a
counselor.
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. “I contacted emergency services. An ambulance will be here shortly to take you to the
hospital,” She said. 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 as I was in the ambulance. I was going to a regular
hospital but I knew what was coming after all of it. 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 medical 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. I
felt lost and 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
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. Just as when she said “I’m
just going to the store, stay here with your aunt.” and she didn’t return until late. 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, it never went back to normal 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 due to this mindset once again but in
a way too graphic to describe. My mother found me and rushed to get the car keys. “Porque
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 since I went to a much better facility 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 few 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 and even reopened relationships that helped me change my
behavior. Some days it felt like it would never get better but 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 disregard the fact that 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 once again.
