I watched Super Bowl in a Psychiatric Hospital

    Well, here I am again. These hospital walls are all too familiar. I'm 33 I should have out grown this by now. When will I get my life together? They tell me it's a life long disease and not to feel bad about it. It's embarrassing. I try to be strong. I try so hard to be normal. This battle always ends up here, in recovery, seeking meds to stabilize me. It has won.
     The OxyContin filled my anxiety ridden body with numbness. I should have taken those before I decided to slice up my wrists. Always making the wrong decisions. They take me to ETS where those purple chairs are all too comfortable in a place where most would be afraid to see the inside of. I like it here, I know help is on the way. A tall young man with schizophrenia is brought in from jail. He sits up in the reclining chair with his feet stretched out. he draped a blanket over his head down to cover his feet. He is wiggling his toes, the whole blanket  shakes, and he laughs. I think to myself, I wish I was as happy as he is. It's getting late and the guy next to me is yelling for his Seroquil so he can go to sleep. They won't give it to him, but they give me 2 plus a Vistiril. Thank god I can finally relax.
      There's so many young kids here tonight. They keep fighting. Seems to be a "Code Green" every 20 minutes where the staff gathers together to carry a kicking, screaming patient into a secluded room and tie them to a bed. 10 minutes later after medicating them they roll them out on a wheel chair and into the hospital into a bed. One girl won't stop screaming. She just got out of the hospital after being there a year. She doesn't want to be here. She irritates me and the guy who wants his seroquil. Everyone else is sleeping, medicated heavily. I cover my ears and scream at her to shut up. SHUT UP!
       They finally knock her out and I fall asleep finally, around 2:30 am. I haven't slept in days. Every time I close my eyes floods of negative thoughts fill my head. The voices grow loud at night. Kill yourself. You're worthless. No one will love you. Everything you do is wrong. You don't deserve to be alive. Kill yourself. I stopped eating for days. I can't remember the last time I showered. I pushed my boyfriend away, said hurtful things. Afraid to let him see me like this. I forced myself to visit my sister in law to get myself out of bed. I couldn't eat the food, I sat there silent while she talked. She told me later that at one point we made eye contact and all she said she saw in them were "crazy". She knew something was wrong. I wasn't there anymore. Something else had taken over.
        Sometime around 3:30 am they call my name. There's a bed ready for me. I stand up and pass out. I wake up not knowing where I am and the staff scurrying to me. Yeah, that happens a lot. I pass out for no reason. Hiking, grocery shopping, everywhere. It makes me never want to go into public. I'll probably become a recluse. The staff argues if they should call an ambulance or put it in my record. They decide not to, the first of things they did that are not too professional. I don't even care, I just want to go to sleep.
        I wake up at 6:30 by a Nigerian nurse yelling "Lisa get up! Come take your vitals". Are they serious? Yes. I walk out if my room in a daze. I'm really here, again. This hospital isn't the nicest one I've been in, nor the worst. It's a county psychiatric hospital filled with mostly homeless and prisoners. This is my life. After vitals I fall back asleep only to be woken up again by the same Nigerian accent, this time yelling, "breakfast!". My roommate mocks her and I laugh. Hey, I'm laughing.
        I still can't eat, and it's my favorite thing to do. Too depressed and nauseous. They tell at me. "Lisa EAT!". I want to cry. I want to throw my tray on the floor. I want to burn this place down. How did I let it get this bad? I feel less sane than anyone in here. They shower, brush their teeth and change their clothes. I'm still in the same clothes from a few days ago and have no plans in taking them off.
         A male nurse comes over and talks to the old homeless lady next to me. He asks how she knows the patient that just gave some of his food to her. She says that's my god son. The nurse laughs  so loud I jumped  a little. He tells her she doesn't know him. The old lady tries to explain that it's a street thing. She calls him her god son and he calls her his grandma. They watch over each other while they're in here. The nurse laughs again. He continues to make fun of her and say she doesn't know him. What a dick. He obviously doesn't get it.  I think it's beautiful. Actually these people who are mentally I'll are the nicest and polite people I have ever met. Each time I've been hospitalized I see the same thing. People sharing their food and saying please and thank you. That doesn't happen in the real world. You don't ever talk to the person eating next to you in Fast food or  restaurant.  Let alone share your food you don't want with them.
        It takes me a few days to manage a couple bites every meal. Eventually they add ENSURE to my tray because I am losing weight. One morning I took a few bites and drank half my ENSURE. I brought my tray to the nurse collecting them and he screamed at me for not eating my food. I told him I wasn't hungry. He told me to drink my ENSURE. He yelled to the other nurses that I didn't eat my food. Tattle-tail. A rage grew in me and I threw my ENSURE at him and stomped off to my room. I cried. I'm definitely not better yet.
       After a few days passed I started to feel a little better. I finally came out of my room. It was Super Bowl Sunday. Felt kinda like an American holiday. Wasn't the first "holiday" I had spent in a psychiatric hospital. Some of us sat in front of the security encased TV on soft rubber chairs. We talked about eating ribs and chicken wings. One girl seemed to be the only one there actually interested in the game. She was rooting for Seattle.
      At one commercial break the Ozzy Osborne song "Crazy Train" came on. The schizophrenic guy took a break from talking to the voices in his head and started singing along. I thought it was ironic. In fact a lot of things were ironic. Like how I was watching the patriots play and a few years ago I had found myself at a now Ex Patriots house. Playing in his pool in my bra and underwear and relaxing in his mermaid painted grotto. What happened to that life? Also ironic that the nurse sitting next to me taking reports on our behavior looked like the comedian Brody Stevens who has been open about his Bipolar disorder.
      Everyone watched the game silently except for the one Seahawks fan. Slowly the patients would
wonder off. I myself when back and forth to my room. I felt I could only bare the light and the noise for a few moments at a time. At one point my roommate, also there for a suicide attempt, found a pill on the floor. She brought it to the nurses and told me, "they were all excited and shit, like I found gold." I laughed at the thought of them finding out the patient before them had managed to fake taking their pills. I'm laughing again.
       I made it out of my room just before half time. Katy perry came out in some weird outfit and started singing. One of the older lady patients said, "oh lord, what is that?!". At one point giant beach balls came out dancing and someone said, "ooh I love M&M's!". Juicy J's part came on and a patient wearing a green hospital gown stopped pacing back and forth and started dancing. It was good, like he listens to Bobby Shmurda on the reg. He had the nurses in tears laughing hysterically. When the song was over he continued back on his pacing route. He was old and looked homeless. Bald was his head but his face full of dark hair. Shortly after his dance display he walked by a young man and pretended to do karate. The boy took it defensively and punched him in the face. Bloody, he ran from the nurses while professing for the kid to Come at him. When the nurses had him cornered he turned around,bent over, lifted his gown, and bared his ass. At this point I knew there was a God and he was fucking with me.
      By the 4th quarter the patients had all disappeared from the make shift living room and only the staff and the Seahawks fan was present. I sat there and stared at the TV but wasn't comprehending what was going on. I just stared off like a zombie. That's what I hate about the medication. At this point in my life maybe I need to be a bit zombie like. My brain needs a rest.
       The Seahawks fan didn't seem to disappointed in the Super Bowl loss to the Patriots. Maybe it was from the medication. It's hard to show much emotions. I sat and stared at the TV until my name was called for my meds. I quickly swallowed them anticipating sleep. I'll be ready for the world again. I just need some sleep.
        A couple days later I was released, back into the wild. I stopped at the grocery store on the way home. While I was picking out apples to buy I thought to myself,  look at me, doing normal people shit.