A Letter from the Hospital

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. Tomorrow I'm supposed to go home. How did I get here? It all started when I was born. But more recently it started about 5 weeks ago. It started with a plan. A notion in my head. It was a peaceful notion. A calm consignment to the inevitable. It stewed inside me for a couple weeks. Then it's "Today I buy the pills." So I buy the pills. And on top of my refrigerator they sit for another week. Stewing. Then it's "Today I gather the pills into a bottle. Today I take the pills." But that didn't scare me. My lack of emotion--that's what scared me. How could I be so calm? How could I be so depressed and yet so numb? And as I sat there, pills in hand, water on the table, I realized I needed to make a phone call. I didn't want to make the call. I avoided it for more than an hour as I sat staring at the pills. The water. The phone. The pills. The water. I dialed the number. Hung up the phone. Looked at the pills again. Maybe I should take the pills. Maybe I should call again. I dialed the number again. "Maricopa Crisis," they said. Was this a crisis? I felt so calm. So at peace with myself. With my decision. But this time I waited. This time I set the pills down. And in only a few short moments a woman was talking to me. She asked me what was wrong. Nothing. Nothing was going wrong. School was good. Everything else was good. So why was I about to take these pills? I didn't know and no amount of talking could get me out of this situation. So she sent me a team. I requested an all female team. Ever since "the incident" I can't seem to handle strange men in my home. I had to make the promise. The promise to wait. Distractions. Quiet contemplation. Then finally a knock at my door. A pair of women came into my home. Asked me why I wanted to do this. I had no answer. Why was I depressed? No idea. Could I relinquish these pills? No. I needed them...just in case. That's when they broke the news. I could go to the hospital voluntarily or I could wait to be petitioned. What about not going to the hospital at all? That was no longer an option because I wouldn't give up the pills. I opted to commit myself voluntarily. So here I am, six days later, counting down the hours. The minutes. I want to go home. Am I still suicidal? Well I decided on my own to purge myself of the hoarded medications I had. Of course telling the psychiatrist that made my stay longer as I had to then be escorted home to ensure I really did rid myself of the old medications. And what I really want is to get my freedom back. I hate the hospital.