Station 37

I was placed in station 37 at abbott northwestern hospital. I had a roommate named Lexi who was schizophrenic. Since we were watching Fight Club the day before I entered the hospital, I made a guess to see if the person in her head was named Tyler. She said I was right. I didn't know if I should believe her anymore now based on that statement, because after I asked about her conscience I told her that her name should be Jack. She then said that people called her that and forced herself to believe I was psychic. Honestly, I thought she was fake. She made up her inner being to help herself get away from everything. Some people like to do stupid things to put themselves into a "safer" environment. I'm not going to lie, staying at station 37 was a break, a good break at that, in my life. I needed it, but however- rooming with Lexi was interesting a tad bit scary. She would talk in her sleep, saying she wasn't fat and she wasn't ugly. Then she would have back and forth conversations with herself about numerous random topics. I thought I was going crazy, I barely got any sleep, I couldn't eat, and I wanted to leave. Well, I wanted to leave the room. I was there for a week. But it was by far the most interesting week of my life. I learned a lot about myself and well being. I learned to control my anxiety and my depression. Coping tools to help with my problems.

The unfortunate thing is, I want to go back. The stress is starting to get to me again, and I don't know how long I can take it. Thinking about it is making me breath heavily. Don't you ever wish you could just go away for a while, space yourself from everyone and everything and just be by yourself? I feel like this all the time. I try to distract myself from trying to be antisocial. So I force myself to converse with others to make people believe theres nothing wrong.

The other night I was balling my eyes out. I came to realize that I'm actually a terrible person. I'm a terrible daughter and have put my parents through hell, I manipulate people to get my way, I use people and dump them after they get old, I only think about myself or Rob. These thoughts really got to my head, and I felt like my world was spinning. This made me want to go back to the hospital. Is there something wrong with me? I always ask myself this question. Why? Because I just don't understand myself or why I do the things I do sometimes.

I used to question why people would cut themselves. I always thought it was just an attention getter and to show that they're "emo" and that it was a trend. But then one day. I tried it. My medications made me feel emotionless. I looked at my wrist and questioned myself "can i do this?" I lit a cigarette, grabbed a razor blade, opened it to get the actual blade out and started slicing away. I didn't feel anything. I was bleeding, but I didn't feel anything. I couldn't cry, because there was nothing to cry about, I couldn't scream because I didn't need help. I just wanted to feel.