In patient facilities can be very effective for people struggling with mental health. That being said, Amaya is a fictional character that carries biases that are not accurate and are harmful. They in no way reflect my feelings as the author and should not be taken as truth.
A psychiatric hospital. They wanted to send me to a nut house. Why does it feel like this is them giving up on me? The doctors, my parents, everyone is giving up on me and pushing me off to a crazy house. But it's not like I have a lot of options. My parents won't stay home with me all the time and that's the only other way the doctor will let me go home.
What if I stayed with my grandparents? They only lived like three hours away, I could do online schooling and go to college over there. That is, if my grandparents would take me. I'm not exactly close with them, given that my mom's parents are dead and my dad's parents think I'm not his child. Let's just say, they like my sister more who is apparently more like my father. Story of my life.
Maybe I could stay with one of my friends? I would hate to impose on anyone like that, but what else can I do? No, it's not fair for me to burden another family just because I'm unstable. Not every family is as well off as mine. Taking me in could be a huge financial and emotional burden.
I guess that's it. I have to go to the nut house. They'll make me sign away my freedoms and drug me up so I can't think. I'll stop being a person because it would be too hard to actually care for me. I get it, it's not the first time that I was too much to care for.
Three knocks on the door interrupt my thoughts. At the door I see Little Miss Southern Hospitality, the nurse with the faint southern accent. "Ms. Matthews, what would you like for your meal?" She hands me a laminated leaflet with various meals on them. I point to something random and hand the menu back to her. She turns away like she was going to leave, but she abruptly stops. Southern Hospitality turns back towards me with a soft look on her face. "Ms. Haynes, I hope I'm not intruding, but I wanted to see how you were doing. As a person, not a patient."
I'm honestly taken aback a little bit. She seems very genuine in her empathy for me. But I'm not sure how I actually am. "I'm not sure. I. . . I feel like everyone is giving up on me. Which I guess I get, because I gave up on myself, you know. It feels, like, I don't know. . . Like it's easier to ship me off to a crazy house than to try and help me. . . Sorry. That's probably not great to tell a nurse."
She smiles and sits on the edge of my bed. "I get it. I know why it feels that way, but if you need that type of care then it's there for you. You don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with. The most important thing is that you want to get better. Whatever way that happens, it's okay." She pats the bed next to me, probably to avoid touching my body but still wanting to offer comfort. "I've known a lot of people that have been in inpatient care, none of them are crazy and neither are you." She stands up and turns back towards me, "It is okay to ask for help. It doesn't make you weak." Then she walks off to get me whatever random meal I accidentally got.
It's not weak to ask for help. But isn't it? Aren't you supposed to be strong enough to do this on your own? Everyone else does, so why am I not strong like them? To me, it feels like asking for help is like admitting defeat. I just, I don't want anyone to think that I'm not strong enough.
Thoughts of what a psychiatric institution would be like flood my head as more knocks appear at the door. Blake peeks his head into the room and gives me a gentle smile.
"Hey, can I come in?"
I nod and direct him towards the chair next to my bed. Having Blake so close to me after remembering everything he said to me before my attempt is awkward to say the least. Especially now that I know that there is a possibility he was being genuine. Even if I could never accept it as fact, the possibility of him being honest is on the table.
My brain inserts the memory of him kissing me in my living room and I can feel my cheeks heat up.
"So, uh Liam said you're memory was back." Blake sits stiffly in the chair, avoiding eye contact with me. Guilt written all over his features.
"Yeah, the doctors said it's normal to be confused when you first wake up, but I'm all good now." I hold my hands in my lap and keep my eyes trained on my fingers.
"So then you, uh, remember what happened. . . before all that." Blake still refuses to meet my eyes as he rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably.
"Yeah I remember all that stuff. Don't worry, I won't hold any of that against you." I knew it. He felt guilty, like he had something to do with my attempt. Meaning that he was probably just joking. I just want to put all of this behind me. "Me being here has nothing to do with anything you said, so let's just drop it. I know you were just joking." My chest tightens. It hurts a little bit knowing that he might have been making fun of me, but I want to move on. Forget everything.
Blake finally meets my eyes, his face tense as if he was shielding his emotions closely. "Amaya, I've said it before and I'll say it again. I wasn't lying. Honestly." I could hear just how tight his voice was.
I wish I could believe him. Everything tells me that he is telling me the truth, but I can't. It just can't be true. People like Blake date people like Ava and people like me die alone. I've spent a long time coming to terms with that.
I shake my head, trying to dissipate this conversation. "Let's just forget it, we can talk about it later." I want to forget everything about that day. I just wish the memories weren't so vivid. I can almost see my naked body sitting in the red bath right now. My naked body. I was naked. Naked? So some poor EMT had to not only see, but also touch my naked body. Wait. How would the ambulance find me? I live alone. How am I alive? Nobody should have come home for weeks. My eyebrows scrunch in confusion. Are there cameras in my house?
"What's got you all worked up?" Blake laughs as he smooths the space between my eyebrows, relieving the tension.
"Hey Blake, do you know how I got here?"
"Ambulance. I know that they're super expensive, but I didn't know what else to do-"
Wait. He didn't know what else to do? "Woah woah woah, hold up. You called the ambulance?"
Blake's face turns bright red in a matter of seconds. His eyes start darting around the room. "Well, yeah. I uh, found you like . . . that. And I called the police and got you out of the water. I heard that water draws more blood out of wounds so-"
"You. . . You what?" I asked shocked beyond belief.
"I. . . Um, found you in that state and called the ambulance." Blake said looking at his hands. Blake saw me fully naked. How could he have seen that nightmare and not stabbed himself in the eyes with a rusty fork or katana blade? He touched my naked body and is still here. Does he hate himself? Did he get blunt force trauma to his head and isn't quite right up there? Is he an alien that doesn't know what a disgusting human is supposed to look like? I'm still debating that last one when Blake speaks up again. "I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, I- I just couldn't lose you."
"No, I mean, yes it does make me kind of uncomfortable that you saw me naked, but I'm not mad at you or anything." I reassure him. "This may sound a little weird, but I'm glad I'm still alive. I'm glad that you saved me."
"I know that you don't want to be here, but I hope that you don't try that again. A selfish part of me wants you here."
"I'm the one that should be sorry, it's not your fault but you got dragged into my whole mess." I breathed a humorless chuckle, "I don't know if you know this, but I'm pretty fucked up. You should have never had to see that. I'm so sorry." Blake smiled warmly at me and I smile a genuine smile back at him.
Blake grabbed my hand comfortingly, "I'm just so happy that you're okay."
"Now let's talk about you breaking into my house." I jokingly glare at Blake as the color drains from his face.
Before either of us can say anything, the door burst open to reveal a thin, old bitch.
Otherwise known as my mother.
The only reason I call her Mother is because I popped out of her. All other signs say that she is barely my acquaintance. Or maybe arch enemy? It depends on the line we draw for insults on either side. And boy, does my mother love insults, especially when they are directed at me. She's too classy to outright say horrible things, making her the most passive aggressive bitch I've ever met. Any attacks on my depression, weight, or my being single all the time is like her Christmas, because she is too busy to celebrate real Christmas.
I don't really look like my mother, maybe if I was thinner I would and that is a damn shame. She's a beautiful woman in the eyes of society, I wonder how she got a daughter like me. My mother is a successful lawyer that married a world renowned psychologist/author. At first glance one might think she is not a day over 30 but upon inspection, you can see the wrinkles appear on my 47 year old mother's face. Her hair has probably started to grey, but who can tell, she dyes it a bland dark blonde every week at some million dollar salon. To visit her suicidal daughter in the hospital, she wore a business suit in a dull, dark blue.
Her face was pretty, she had outrageously high cheek bones, razor sharp jaw line, and neatly trimmed eyebrows, but her eyes were soulless, dark blue pits of death. They stare straight into your soul and make you see the fiery clutches of Satan himself in Hell. And she used that to her advantage every time she looked at me.
Take right now for example, I'm here, lying in the hospital bed she put me in, and she is staring into my soul and making me feel worthless. She took one look at me, looked over at Blake then looked back at me with a disapproving snarl. I ripped my hand away from Blake's as fast as I could, but I know she saw it.
My mother plasters a fake smile on her face. "Amaya, sweetie, I thought we were going to try dieting." My mother tilts her head to the side in a demeaning manner like she's talking to a dog or a child. She is holding her punches in front of Blake, which I am grateful for, even though it's probably so she doesn't look bad. "That's okay, we can always make an appointment for lypo or something. You know, I bet you could get dieting pills or appetite suppressants."
From the corner of my eye, I see Blake's jaw drop in disbelief. I really wish he wasn't there for this. This isn't too bad, but I get that to a normal person this sounds harsh. These are the first words my mother has said to me in many months, it's not surprising that it's about my weight. That's what bothers her the most.
"Hey Mom." I give her a tight lip smile and she raises an eyebrow at me. It's not often that I call her Mom, but I figure I can put on the facade while Blake is here.
"So, did you get all the attention you wanted?" She whips out her phone and starts texting, not even making eye contact with me. "I mean, are you satisfied now that you have jeopardized your father's career?" She pauses and looks up briefly, the tap of her nails on her phone screen stopping. Her voice remains impassive, but her eyes hold immense anger.
My throat tightens and my eyes blink back pressure. I don't know what to say. I didn't want attention. I wanted to die. But I've never been able to talk back to my mother. Something about her makes me keep quiet. I guess I just want her to approve of me just once.
"Seriously Amaya! You're father is going to be featured in Psychology Today for his effective parenting strategies and you pull this?" My mother sighs and grips the bridge of her nose. Because this situation must be so difficult for her. "If this gets out, it's over for him. This is why you weren't included for the photo shoot." She continues to type away at her phone while shaking her head.
I didn't even know Dad was going to be in a magazine or that they had a photo shoot without me. It stings, but I get why they wouldn't include me. I'm the fat, ugly daughter. I would just ruin the perfect family image.
"I'm sorry." I weakly answer as I keep my gaze fixed on my hands.
"And the hair, I thought we discussed that you would go natural. I'm sick of this blue hair. It's gross and ugly." Her pseudo kindness is starting to slip and her words are getting more aggressive. Could she bother to look at me when she tears me apart?
Blake is tensely wired next to me, his nostrils are flared and he keeps opening and balling up his fists.
"Honestly, I don't see why you couldn't just hate yourself silently until your father and I retired? God, do you think of anyone but yourself?" My mother took a break from berating at me to stare down Blake. "And who's this? Is he like a court issued friend so you don't try to kill yourself again. God knows no one would willingly be your friend." She laughs quickly to herself. "Or did you cave and pay someone to sleep with you?"
Blake started to stand as if he was going to confront my mother, but I grabbed his arm to stop him.
"It's not worth it." I mumble, my gaze still on my hands. Blake looks at me with a loaded expression. It's not like me to roll over and take whatever people have to throw at me. At least, not in front of him.
"I see. Well, I wouldn't put it past you, but really? I didn't think you were that desperate. I guess it makes sense. Girls your size don't have the luxury of choice." Her phone starts ringing and she immediately answers, effectively ending this conversation. "Hello. . . Oh Jeremy. . . No I'm not busy go ahead. . . Well I'll be back in Paris tomorrow. . . Yeah I had to sign some papers for my daughter. You know, that thing I told you about. . . Right, right. I'll be on a plane in an hour. . . Alright, bye." She hangs up the phone and starts typing. Did she tell her fucking assistant about my suicide attempt?
I genuinely think she forgot she was in a hospital room with her daughter because her daughter tried to kill herself. I mean what kind of mom just glances over that?
"Right, Amaya I signed whatever papers I had to so just follow the treatment they give you. I tried talking them into some kind of gastric bypass, but I don't think they went for it. Oh well. We'll figure out the weight situation once I come back into town." Who knows when she will be back in town next. Could be months. "But the way you look now is unacceptable. You're sister was never like this. She's so perfect and you're so. . . not. I guess some people are just born wrong, I can't imagine that's my fault-"
"Okay, STOP!" Blake shouted while standing abruptly. My mother looked taken aback for a moment but recovered quickly.
"Right, you. Whatever she is paying you, it is not near enough. I can't even imagine the horrors you have had to see. If you want a real woman, my other daughter is a beautiful girl that is 1000 times the woman that Amaya is." A tear silently falls from my cheek to my hands as my "mother" turns to leave. "Amaya, I get it, I really do. If I looked like you, I would kill myself too." Blake stands to yell back at her, but I held his hand.
"Please." I whispered never looking up. With one last scoff, my mother left the hospital room. More silent tears left my eyes as Blake and I sat in a suffocating silence.
Blake stares at me intently, but I can't possibly meet his eyes. How could I after that?
"Maya-"
Blake starts, but I'm quick to cut him off. "Don't."
"Is- Is she why you, you know-"
"Yes. Part of the reason why, anyway." My voice sounded weak and pitiful, nothing like my usual confident, booming voice. Neither of us want to be the person to say that she is the reason I tried to kill myself, but she is. I hate myself because my family hates me. I hated it and I hated that my mother could do this to me. She could easily destroy me with a couple of words. Because I am weak.
"Amaya Haynes, whatever you are thinking, you stop that right now. I don't care what that woman has said, she is more than wrong. Do you hear me? Wrong!" Blake grabbed my chin lightly and softly pulled my face up to meet his gaze. There were so many emotions swimming in his eyes. Pity, sadness, anger, and something that I couldn't quite define. "You are the most perfect person in the world. This world doesn't deserve you. You never have to change anything about you, because I love everything about you."
I gathered my voice to sound as much like myself as I could to say, "Thank you." Blake's strong gaze softened to a warm smile.
"Anytime." Just as Blake finished talking, the doctor opened the door to the hospital room.
She seems so nice, but I don't want to be near her. I have always hated doctors, because with doctors comes the obvious news that I was still fat. Every time I went to the doctors, they would tell me what I already knew, I was fat and at this rate going to die young. That everything wrong with me would be solved if I wasn't fat. Even so, Dr. Young smiles warmly at me and I offered a weak smile back.
"Well, Ms. Haynes, it seems that you are healing nicely and the week of rest that you got-"
"Wait, what? Week?" I interrupted.
"Yes, well you were in a comatose for six days. It's not uncommon for people with such extensive blood loss." Dr. Young said calmly. "Have you given the next steps of your treatment any thought?"
I really haven't, but what choice do I have? "I haven't thought about it, sorry."
"It would be best to have an idea of your next steps today so that we can make plans for your release. Your current health is at a place where I feel comfortable discharging you after a good nights rest." The doctor sits in a chair across from my bed and crosses one leg over the other.
Blake raises his hand slightly to get our attention. "Hey, I'm sorry. I'm just a little confused here. What's happening?" He looks between the two of us in confusion.
"I need a babysitter and nobody can live with me, so I'm gonna get shipped of to a psych ward." A heavy weight is on my chest as I tell him. It feels like I'm a child that needs a babysitter. It's embarrassing.
"You can't leave. We'll figure it out, don't worry." Blake reaches over and grabs my hand for what feels like the millionth time today.
"Like what? It's not like my family will come home. I don't have other family or other options. It's okay. Don't worry about me." I make sure to look in Blake's eyes the whole time, he needs to understand that this is my best option.
Blake looks between Dr. Young and me for a few seconds before settling on the doctor. "Could I talk with Maya for a minute?"
The doctor sighs, "I'll be back in a little bit. Let me or one of the nurses know if you have any questions." Blake watches as she leaves the room and closes the door behind her.
Neither of us talk for several seconds. Blake just continues to stare at the door, allowing the silence to remain.
"So are you going to say anything? Or am I supposed to read your mind." Blake ignores my sarcastic comment and keeps his eyes focused away from me.
Without facing me, he finally talks. "Would you be happier in the psych ward?"
Happier? It's a fucking psych ward, nobody is happy. "Yes. No. I don't know." I sigh and run my hand through my tangled hair. "I don't know what will make me happy. I don't know what happiness feels like. But something is wrong with me and maybe this is the way to fix me."
Blake whips his head in my direction. "Fix you? Nothing is wrong with you." His eyes hold so much emotion, it's scary. It's scary to know that he cares for me. He wants what's best for me. He thinks nothing is wrong with me. Blake swallows, my eyes catch the motion. "Maya, can I ask for one more selfish thing from you?"
I nod, not trusting my voice in this moment. Blake stays silent for a few more seconds, he just stares into my eyes. I feel like I couldn't look away even if I wanted to.
"Stay. Please don't leave me." The air between us is tense enough to cut with a knife. I don't know what to say.
"Blake, do you understand what you're asking me to do right now? I tried to kill myself, Blake!" Emotion finds its way into my voice. Before I can choke it down, I start getting louder and louder. "I'm fucking crazy and I belong in the fucking nut house!"
Blake stands up quickly and turns towards me again. "Why are you giving up on yourself?"
"I'm not giving up on myself! I'm out of options Blake! I have no where else to go and no one to help me!"
The door opens slowly, revealing Liam awkwardly looking inside. "Hey, I'm- I heard yelling. So."
"What is going on in here?" Dr. Young walks into the room too. This became a mess quickly.
Blake, completely ignoring both of them, continues shouting at me. "How about I live with you, huh? Then you can stay!"
Liam steps forward between the two of us. "You expect me to let you live with her alone? Fat chance! Count me in!"
"Great! Sounds like a great alternative for you, Ms.Haynes." Dr. Young say optimistically.
Too many things are happening all at once. I barely know what's happening anymore. My head is spinning, everyone keeps talking. "Fine! Fine! FINE! If everyone will shut up I'll do whatever!"
"As long as it makes you happy, I'll go ahead and get the discharge papers ready for you. Your mother already signed the papers, so you'll be good to go once I update your treatment plan. Sounds good to everyone?" Dr. Young looks between the three of us like a mother would her children.
Blake and Liam nod, satisfied with this result. I sigh heavily, "Okay, yeah it sounds like a plan."
Dr. Young walks over and puts her hand on my shoulder comfortingly. "Great!" And with that, she left.
Once again, in patient psychiatric facilities can be effective and helpful for people struggling with mental health issues. The thoughts and perceptions described in this fictional story are in no way accurate and do not represent my own feelings as the author. The biases that Amaya presents are harmful and prejudiced and should not be considered in regard to medical treatment.