Remeber the Name
they come to me sometimes in bits and pieces. today i read a book by norah vincent about how she went to 3 different pysch wards, one public, one private, one alternative.
mine was private. there were groups and goals and levels. sometimes they come back to me. sometimes i remember brooks, the blond boy who i always remember in his white tank, who got in trouble, once, for breaking a mirror (i think) and slicing himself. ava, who i mostly remember lying in her bed, wailing, remembering the time she’d tried to kill herself, hoping someone would come and help her, and the time she hugged a girl goodbye, said resentfully that she didn’t care that they’d moved her down a level (NO TOUCHING!). and tim, who sat on the floor next to me and asked me what was the matter, after i knew my mother had cleaned my room. the girl who asked me if i regretted it. the guy who said something like “this is small, this is medium, this is really far.” the 12 year old anorexic who wasn’t allowed to move a chair. the little tiny black kid, who said he was stealing cars, but really apparently was playing grand theft auto. kathleen, who, as we discovered eventually, lived 2 blocks from me and had the same therapist. theresa, the tiny anorexic girl who told me the first day that being there was like climbing a monument–i think she meant mountain–and going up was really hard but coming down was easier. she’s the one who said that she was going to a treatment center in germany and if that didnt work, she would die. i heard several years later that she was ok, but i dont know for sure. i wish i did. of all the people i met, she’s the one i wonder about the most.