Journal Entry #1: Listening to my Roommate Snore

I didn’t think staying as a patient in a mental hospital would be so bland and predictable. It’s late at night and I’m listening to my roommate snore her f***ing head off. The bed’s uncomfortable and the sleeping medicine I took about twenty minutes ago is not kicking in in the slightest. I’ve also been prescribed an antidepressant that I have to take in the mornings, but I’ve only been here for one morning so far so that’s not even beginning to take any kind of effect.

So here I lay wide awake, staring at the white ceiling, feeling so bad I just want to throw myself out of a building just to get a moment that could possibly still the raging inside of my head and bring about a sense of silence. Being in a hospital sure does make me poetic.

I got here two days ago and I’m thinking this isn’t the kind of environment someone with depression should be in. It’s not really anybody’s fault, though. I just got here when 5 South was totally booked. So I ended up here, chilling with a bunch of addicts in 5 North, listening to a recovering alcoholic snore.

But I guess that’s why I have this journal. I get to write down how I feel instead of cutting my wrists open. Sometimes I just rip scratch marks on the cover of my journal, pretending they are my wrists. It makes me feel better and the idea of breaking the skin of something makes me a little bit more content.

Nothing here is helping me. I’m nothing special. I’m barely eighteen while everyone else here is over forty. I guess that makes me kind of special. But not really the good kind. Why am I having to go through this while I’m so young? Why I am in a gross bed listening to the sound of mucus clogged in a middle-aged woman’s nose? F*** this s***. F*** me for being so messed up. I belong here, I belong in this messed up place and that is so lame.

Everything is so meaningless. Thank God I’m falling asleep.

Journal Entry #2: New Bed, New Environment

I transferred to 5 South today. It’s completely different. The group room is not a small kitchen like it was in 5 North. It’s a very spacious living room with so many movies I can’t wait to go through. That’s honestly the only thing I’m looking forward to. Even though 5 South is specifically for suicidal and depressed people, it’s still not comfortable. I don’t think this place was made to make patients feel completely comfortable.

My new roommate is eighteen just like me. We’re the youngest. But I haven’t really talked to her yet. I haven’t talked to anyone besides my new nurse. I thought she was going to ask me all of the same questions but she didn’t. I guess it’s because the nurses here know how to talk to depressed people, thankfully.

“When did you start feeling depressed?” My nurse, CJ, asked. She must’ve seen me roll my eyes because she kept going. “I know you’ve answered this questions a lot, but I’m going to try to get to know you a little more personally than the administration and even your doctor. So let’s try to start from there. When did you start feeling depressed?”

“I’m not to sure…” I said honestly. I’ve never had the best memory. I’ve only remembered cutting myself in seventh grade, not any of the feelings or anything. I held up my left hand and pointed at the scar at the top of my wrist. “I did that at the end of seventh grade.” I looked from the scar to Nurse CJ. “That’s the earliest I can ever remember being so upset.”

Nurse CJ leaned forward to get a closer look at my arm. The scars almost resembled a bracelet around my wrist. I’ve never really looked at them before now. They are sort of like an ever-lasting piece of jewelry.

“Did anything significant happen around that time?” She asked, not letting the topic of self harm become an uncomfortable one. I appreciated her for this. Even the doctors and diagnostic experts would always bat an eye when I talked about cutting myself.

“My little cousin died back then.” My voice was hushed like it always is when I talk about him. “..Maybe it has something to do with that.”

I’ve never really made a connection before. I’ve always been existential and the idea of death has always comforted me. Seeing life as nothing but a race to death is what I’ve always known and believed. I didn’t even try to think about where this idea came from.

“What did you do when he died?” Nurse CJ asked, her pen moving quickly over her notepad.

“I didn’t cry, that’s for sure.” I laughed. “My sister was so mad at me for not crying. The memory is so clear in my mind. I just sat there and she nearly yelled: ‘Why are you not crying?! Your little cousin is dead!’” My smile fades as my nurse just looks at me.

“You’re very cynical, aren’t you?” Her eyebrow was quirked.








“Yeah, that’s pretty much all that I am.” I crossed my arms and leaned back in the plastic chair I was sitting in. The conversation was getting annoying and I just wanted to go back to my bed and sleep some more.








Nurse CJ could see that I was ready to leave. “Just a few more minutes then I’ll let you hole yourself up in your bedroom.”








I nodded, looking at the floor. I was starting to get very sick of people prodding into my personal life, but I guess that was the point of it all.








“Why did you decided to finally seek help?”








The question of the year, isn’t it? Why does anyone look for help? Because they’re scared and stranded and lost but they don’t want to be there. Not when they go looking for help.








“Because I’m tired of being okay with dying.”








Nurse CJ looked up from her journal and gave me a meaningful look. “I’m glad you realized that your way of living isn’t the only way.” She look back down at her journal. “From the information I have, this isn’t the first time you’ve tried to kill yourself, correct?”








“Yeah.”








“Why now? Why did you realize now and not then?”








I took a deep breath. I don’t really get to talk about what I think about suicide. “When my cousin died, I thought life was meaningless. I constantly thought that there had to be more and eventually I got to a point where I knew for a fact there was something after death. So I tried my hand at killing myself and I failed.” I cleared my throat, not feeling upset, just a little uncomfortable. “I failed at killing myself. I thought I was pathetic.”








“That’s when I was sixteen. Witnessing death made me existential; coming so close to it made me feel longingly. How could I not have that eternity of silence? Why do I have to go through all of this just to get there?”








“You wanted death more than anything and it wasn’t until now did you realize how scary that was.”








I nodded.








“What made you so scared of dying?”








I honestly had no idea. There must be something that made me want to get help. I’m still not sure what it is though. I only shrugged.








Nurse CJ finally waved me away, telling me to go interact with people even though she knew I wouldn’t. I could tell she had never been what I’ve been through, though I could also tell she has worked with a lot of people who had gone through what I’m going through. I’m glad she’s my nurse.











Journal Entry #3: F*** This S***



I’m getting used to having my blood drawn at 3am every morning and I’m getting used to waking up at 8am with a couple of pills going down my throat. What does it say about me that I’m finally comfortable with always being monitored and taking pills to make me less extreme?








I’m writing this in a group session. If I go to these and “make an effort” to try to get better, the staff will give me a blue band. That means I get to go down to the cafeteria for lunch instead of having to stay in 5 South. I just wanted to get out of this area of the hospital, even if just for a little bit. I don’t hate it here, I just need a change of scenery. I think I like change.

Sometimes I wonder if I put myself through these intense emotions just so there is some excitement in my life. That would be messed up but not surprising. The human brain can really convince itself of anything.

Journal Entry #4: Medication

My doctor pulled me out of the group session, thank God. I hate being talked at about “coping skills”. I don’t want to cope, I want to not have these suicidal feelings in the first place! Anyway. She just wanted to see how I was feeling about my antidepressants and my sleeping pills.

“Nurse CJ says she’s seeing you improve a little bit and interacting more. That’s good.”

I don’t tell her it’s because I want to get the f*** out of here.

“You’ve never really tried any medication before, right?”

I nod. “I tried to medication once when I was seventeen, but it didn’t work out and I was never motivated to try again.”

“Ah, I see. Medication is really helpful for youngsters like yourself. Younger adults are always more impulsive.”

I nod. I don’t really like talking to her. It might be the way she looks at me, always studying me. It’s a little creepy but I do trust her. I guess I have to in here.

She studied me more and closed her binder, resting her elbows on it and her chin in her folded hands. My leg started to jiggle uneasily. Why is she so awkward?

“You should get out of here as fast as you’re ready to.”

I nodded again. What else was I going to do? “That’s the plan,” I say under my breath.

“The medication we prescribed you here is helping. But I think you’re strong enough to fair on your own, you just need the right motivation. You’re a strong person, your ideas are strong. You just have to have the right ideas.”

That made sense, I thought. But I didn’t really care. The medication is working and I’m getting so used to not having these raging thoughts constantly at war with each other. I don’t mind taking medication for the rest of my life, honestly, if it keeps me like this.

Journal Entry #5:Jess



Jess came to visit me today. She’s been a patient in here before so she knows what it’s like being amongst unfamiliar faces, alone.








“Parker and Henry started dating.”








I laugh out loud when Jess tells me this. “What the hell? I thought Parker didn’t like him at all.”








“Yeah me too!” My excitement got her excited, like usual. “But I guess Henry just kept pestering her until she finally gave in.”








I sighed and leaned back into my bed. “That’s crazy.” Abby was reading on her bed when visiting hours started. I asked her if she wanted us to go somewhere else, but she said she was fine with us staying. I’m guessing she misses the company of other teenagers as much as I do.








“So, how are you doing?” She asks, kicking her feet up.








“Eh, y’know, in a mental ward. It’s pretty nice actually, like a vacation almost.”








Jess leans over to punch me teasingly as Abby chuckles quietly from her bed.








“No but really.”








I shrug. “Better, I think. It’s really foggy in here. Not, like, actually foggy, but…. I just don’t really feel like a real person.”








“I feel ya,” Jess says, nodding.








“I want to go home but at the same time I don’t think I’m ready. I’m actually pretty scared.” I pulled my knees into my chest so I could hug them.








“Don’t be scared. You have a lot of support when you get out.”








We sat there in silence for a while. It’s kind of hard to talk to anybody from the outside world because they’re living in a completely different universe. Hanging out with Jess like that made me feel so much more of a freak than I already felt like. Even though she was a patient here, it was only for one night. I’ve been here longer than that and I don’t even know when I’m going to leave.








I feel like I’ve made progress though because I’m not constantly thinking about killing myself. The thought of death is always lingering, but I think at this point of my life, that’s just who I am now. That doesn’t scare me. I’m okay with the death constantly lingering.








“I slept with Larry.” Jess said, seemingly ashamed.








“You. Did. Not!”








Whatever. I’m used to ignoring my negative feelings.








Journal Entry #6: Gahhhh!!!



My nurse gave me a blue band! Going down to the cafeteria was much better than I thought it would be. I actually got to PICK what I got to eat today. It was really nice, actually.








And the Blue Bands (that’s what we call the patients with blue bands) all teamed up against the nurses today to convince them all to let us go down to the gym and shoot hoops. It was so refreshing to hula hoop and listen to the radio. It was like I was just hanging out with my friends, even though nobody really talked to me. It was nice going there.








But now we’re outside! There’s a patio that they let us go to and I got to climb all over the wooden benches and whatnot. It’s dark and I can hear all the cars pass. It’s so good.








Alright, I may or may not have started crying about being out here, haha. Not only is it fresh air, I can feel the vibe of my city. I can feel the energy and hear the streets crowded. I don’t even remember what day it is, but it doesn’t matter. Being in the hospital has made me so claustrophobic and being out here is almost like a dream. Why am I writing in my journal instead of climbing? God, I feel like running.








Journal Entry #7: Why Am I Titling My Entries



I don’t know why I’m so upset now. I think it’s because I’m ready to go home. I’m ready to get out of here. I’m antsy. When it comes to my mental health, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to get out into the real world. I just want to leave. I miss my life.








Journal Entry #8: It’s a Metaphor



I’m in a boat, stranded in the middle of an uncharted ocean. I live day to day not knowing what’s going to happen, when I’m going to run out of food, or if I’m ever going to be found. I never know what the weather is going to be like and it scares me. I’m always thinking about the calm before the storm. I’m waiting for everything to come crashing down. I’m not safe in my own skin, I will never be safe anywhere.








I just want to throw myself in the ocean. I want to give up. Even when I’m not consciously thinking about jumping over board, I know it’s always an option; I know I can always be the one who ends it.








But then I find an island. I am so hopeful, so ready to get off of this damned boat. And when I finally reach it, I cry. I am so happy that I finally have something different, something concrete to hold to. Finally I am not surrounded by the ocean that constantly reminds me how meaningless I am, how I am nothing but some thing trapped in its’ never-changing flow.








But then there’s these… animals. These beasts who are attacking me and trying to eat me and I’m going to die, I’m going to die, no matter what I try to do, I am going to to die.








Not today, though. I make weapons, I fight them. They’re beautiful and majestic, but I have to kill every single one of them to survive.








I have brought on an entire genocide. This island is driving me crazy. Something that once gave me hope turned me into a murderer. But I didn’t have any other option. When Did my life become like this? When did I start having to kill to live?








I leave the island. I take my boat and go back into the ocean. What else can I do? Where else can I go?








Journal Entry #9: Revelation



I’m okay, I think. I had a talk with one of the younger nurses today. Her name is Nikki.








“Hi.” She sat on the couch opposite of mine. I’ve seen her around sometimes since she’s the nurse to some of the other patients.








I look up from my book. “Hello.”








She continued to look at me, so I sighed and flipped my book shut and set it aside.








“You’re pretty young,” she says, not really studying me like i’m used to the rest of the nurses doing. “It sucks being around all these adults, doesn’t it?”








“Not really. I hate people my own age.”








“Why?” She smirked. She was making fun of me.








“Because they’re dumb. Granted, so am I, but it’s not fun. I don’t like being with myself as much as I don’t like being with any other teenagers. We think the world revolves around us and it’s dumb and annoying so I prefer adults over teens, though I prefer no one over anything.”








Still smirking, she raised an eyebrow. “So you think you’re nothing special, huh?”








I scoffed. “No one is special, Nikki.”








“Saying no one is special is saying everybody is special.”








I stared at her. I’ve always done this thing where I didn’t budge no matter how much somebody tried to prove me wrong. But since I was here, that meant I had to try to get a different outlook on life. So I went along with it.








“Everyone is special, believe it or not,” she continued, “everybody sees the world in their own way, therefore they experience life separately from everybody else. As humans, we take in as much as we can and some people can experience more than others at one time. That’s what many people with existentialism feel like; they feel, at times, the whole world is on their shoulders.”








Nikki’s smirk changed into a knowing smile, maybe an empathetic one.

“I always feel like I’m the only one who is thinking about this.” I start, “I’m the only one I know who thinks our world is a cycle of meaninglessness and it’s so isolating.”

“But you’re not.” Nikki leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Maybe in your school and out of your friend, yes, but you’re not the only one. When you get out of here, go online and into some forums and find other people who think the same as you. Existentialists feel at least a little bit better knowing that they’re not the only one who thinks along the same line.


“I just want you to realize that life is what you make it.” She sees me roll my eyes. “It’s a cliche because it’s true and meaningful.” Smiling she stands up. “Just try thinking about what you could create for this world if you felt like you could improve it before you leave it.”


What can I do for this world to improve it?


Journal Entry #10: Improvement

Before I improve the world, I have to improve myself. I can be a positive person if I try, I think. If not positive, at least sympathetic.

I think i’ll always hate the world, but I can’t really hate the people who were born into it. It’s not their fault they were brought up in a f***ed up system. This might be the antidepressants talking, but I’m feeling better now. I don’t feel like I’m trapped within myself anymore. I’m ready to become the person I’m meant to be and that’s not only scary but also exciting. I’m done sitting on my ass feeling sorry for my existence when I could be doing something with my existence instead.

The world is a terrible place and people generally suck dick. But I don’t have to be like that. I don’t have to follow a specific pattern, I don’t have to have a certain way of life. It’s whatever because life is whatever. Nothing mattering in the end doesn’t mean I don’t matter. The end is not now so I might as well do something to be happy. Meaninglessness doesn’t have to be destructive.


Journal Entry # 11: I’m Leaving Today

Meaninglessness doesn’t have to be destructive.