Day one in the psych ward

I forgot to take my meds today. I feel like a drama queen, making my way into the psych ward, rolling on the floor and crying like a toddler, but it had to be done, otherwise the dark thoughts would have gotten me this time for real.

I feel held here in the most artificial way by the doctors and nurses, except for K, who appeared out of nowhere like a hero. K doesn’t hold me artificially; he looked like he was close to hugging me. I’m probably his favorite patient.

My room smells like hospital food and there is no window that can be opened, which makes sense. The other patients look blue, dark blue. There was one woman I didn’t dare look in the eye. She was on the kitchen floor squeezing frozen water for her strawberries. Do you know what that means? Me neither, but that's how the nurse who gave a tour described it.

It’s midnight and I am in bed. This is the first evening, and it feels like chaos. As I’m waiting for my pills to kick in, I hear snoring from the other room that sounds like an elephant. How in the world am I going to sleep next to him? "Oops, he stopped. Maybe he died," I think to myself. No, he just turned over and is ready to torment me again.

But soon the Lorazepam will kick in and I’ll be able to sleep.

What a comfortable/uncomfortable place to be in. Responsibilities stop when you enter but grin at you as you leave. I want my pills; I need my pills to sleep next to the elephant. My house will feel like a castle, even if I can only keep it for a while. The landlord said he is selling the apartment I live in and that I need to move by the end of September.

Now I’m seriously worried about the elephant in the other room. It’s incredible, and I know I sound judgmental, but people here really do look like they are crazy.

There’s a man who looks like a character from a Coen brothers movie and others who look cheerful with food drooling down their chins.

Indie introduced herself. She was the girl busy with strawberry juice on the kitchen floor. I was scared of her when she said “hi” because she was slowly walking to her room in red pajamas.

“Hi! I’m Indie. Who are you?” “I’m Alex.” “What a beautiful name, Alex.” “Thanks! Yours is beautiful too!” We shook hands. “Well, have a good night of sleep,” she said while locking the door to her room.

Damn, the elephant in the other room disappeared. Now there is only the distant sound of cars from the street and a little house music coming from I don’t know where.

Ha! And here comes Ann, the psychiatrist on shift this weekend. She has ratty hair and blue mascara. I was about to charm her with my stories and my ways when, BAM, thought she was a hippie easy to fool kind of woman but two sentences into us meeting she switched her tone from motherly into a guard’s like . “So, this is where the lights go off. You can switch the other one on from here. We’ll give you the meds for the night.” She said, “You won’t fool me. I’ve been working here for thirteen years; I’ll figure you out.”

Oh, there it is! My Lorazepam. How seductive! They said that if I don’t wake up tomorrow, they will knock on my door. “Breakfast is from 7 until 9,” Ana said, then left.

P.S.: I've got some gut-wrenching news. K can't be in love with me. Turns out there are too many smart, powerful girls around here who seem like towering mountains of positivity, whereas I’m more like a little molehill of meh.