The First Morning

(These are a series of posts I hand wrote while I was inpatient on the crisis unit)

Trigger Warning: Suicidal Stuff

August 16, 2019  5:30 AM.  Approximately Twelve Hours on the Unit

This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

Written with a tiny pencil

On paper

While sitting on the side of a bed.

Surrounded by stark white walls.

Woken up by the screams of a woman who wanted her meds.

Security was called.

Again.

It’s 5:30 in the morning.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just great.” I reply “That’s why I’m here.”

Too many people packed into this unit, but more beds are needed.

Psychiatric Crisis.

We count the hours till we’re allowed out of our rooms.

We count the hours till meal time.

We count the hours till groups are over.

We start over again.

They count the hours till they can go home.

I’m not ready for home, even though I don’t want to be here.

My brain is still trying to kill me.

Even sitting here, among these four white walls, I look for ways.

I don’t want to

But my brain is like radar

Searching, searching.

Bedtime last night and they offer me something for sleep.

“Yes, please, I’m ready to not exist.”

“Wait! What? You’re not suicidal, are you?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

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