"I think this is yours," the nurse says, looking back. Nurse Juay sits at a desk behind the counter. She looks up and sees my glaring smile.
"Thanks, Carrie." She stands up and walks around the the counter.
I follow her as she begins traversing through the rabbit warren. Instead of being baffled by the number of doors, I simply walk with confidence. The barrage of doors eventually stops and I am met with his office. Day by day, it becomes more and more familiar. My last appointment. 48 hours later. Not much has changed, if anything. I have met people and the growing tedium of this hospital begins to nag at my patience.
I walk through the door and sit in the closet waiting room. The room begins to look bigger through eyes which have seen it 3 times now. The peeling wallpaper resonates as loud as ever. My anxiety continues at it treacherous pace, keeping me hostage, and my leg shakes like a rumbling avalanche until the door finally creaks open. He peers out with a look of curiosity. He knows I'll be here. I am probably the only person who is excited to come to his office today. Today I am set free. After I get this appointment over with, I will set loose like a bird from a broken cage. I can't wait. His eyes rest on my figure and he nods his head.
"Ready?" He asks. He knows my answer. His question is obviously rhetorical but it seems like a rite of passage for doctors to repeat that phrase until patient's ears are bleeding.
"Of course," I reply.
I walk confidently anxious into his office. I am so scared that even after my 72 hour hold, he will suggest that I stay longer and 'get more out of the experience' or whatever bullshit he'll most likely spew. I sit on the couch and look at him, awaiting his words. Awaiting his goodbye speech. Please.
"So you have been here for all of the required time," He says, "And you seem to have benefitted."
I nod feverishly.
"How are the voices?" He asks, "Under control I presume?"
Not all.
"Yup," I say with a faux smile, "I'm feeling way better, thank you Doc!"
He groans and looks at me suspiciously. I am a terrible actor.
"Are you sure?" Dr. Simmons asks. I can hear the doubt in his voice, "Not many patients come in with acute schizophrenia and bipolar symptoms and leave feeling completely free of symptoms."
I hold my breath. Shit.
"Maybe I pulled through against all odds?" I say unsure. I know I'm not going to fool him at this point but may as well go out with a bang.
"Ana," He says, "It's ok if you don't have the voices total in your own control."
He pulls his chair closer to the couch so that he can see me a closer view. Maybe he can smell the lies on me.
"You will eventually but schizophrenia does not have an overnight cure," He says, "Neither does bipolar, especially without mood stabilizing medications."
I nod my head. My facidious smile melts and he is met with my true emotion: overwhelming anxiety.
He sees my face change and his scowl of doubt moves into an empathetic frown.
"You'll be ok," He coos.
He takes out his damned clipboard and scribbles on it. He knows I hate it.
"I'm going to refer you to a therapist." He says, "I would suggest you go once you get out."
I nod my head slowly. I don't want to go to a therapist. I want help but I don't want someone to softly babble to me like I'm a toddler which is exactly why I want to get the fuck out of here.
"The therapist will then decide if you should get medication and if so, they will refer you to psychiatrist who will decide what medications would be appropriate for you."
This is all too complicated so I zone out. I don't want to remember it and I don't have to remember it if I am never going to act on it. He pulls a piece of paper off of his clipboard and hands it to me. On it, in chicken scratch, are assorted dots and tiddles which I assume direct health care providers to what the fuck they are supposed to do with a nut case as myself.
"Thanks," I mutter.
"This is also for you," He says as he hands me yet another paper from his clipboard, "Give it to your nurse on the way out."
I grab it and inspect it thoroughly. Thankfully, this is a printed form that is all typed minus Dr. Simmons signature and date. A real smile comes across my face. It is my dismissal paper.
"You have gone through your 48 hours and you can leave," He says. He sounds mournful. He knows that I am not at all mentally stable but I am on my way. I have a future. It may still be blank but it is not always unending and perhaps I can predict some things in this tedium of existence. Maybe, just, maybe, will I then understand the reason why I exist. Maybe I am more than just a lucky sperm.
I get off of the couch and hold my ticket out gently in my hands as I walk out. I walk straight through the closet room and into the hallway. Nurse Juay looks at me with an all knowing smirk. She has seen this many times and knows exactly what I am going to do when I get out: completely ignore everything I have been told. She is wrong on one account though; my diagnosis will never leave my mind. It is something that I will carry with me to my death bed like dead weight. I hand the slip to her and she inspected it for a minute.
"Alright," she sighs.
"I can go pack my bags?" I ask, the smile glued to my face.
"You can go pack your bags." She rolls her eyes and gestures for me to follow her.
My heart beats with joy. I am finally going home. She walks me to the nurses station and hands me my black pair of Chuck Taylors. Thank the lord. I hold them in my hands like my child. She turns and keeps walking. We walk along the corridor towards my room. I march with a strut in my step. I am ready to get back out into the world. Truth is, I am probably going to stay with Tabitha for another couple months. At least until the baby is born. I doubt that Noah will want to talk to me anymore and I don't even want to attempt to contact Kane. Don't even get me started on Brook. I can't go back into old habits when I am actually making a difference in my life. I may not always want help but naturally help comes to me. It as if my mother has grown into an angelic form and lead just the right people back into my life. She stopped my suicide attempt; I am sure of it. I just wish I had stopped her's.
I throw my assorted clothing in my bag as fast as possible. I pause in front of the Juilliard sweatshirt. It is folded neatly from my mental shit storm last night. I grab it and hold it in my hands carefully. My sophomore dreams may be gone but the reminder of them does help. I was a person before Kane. I am a person. I know I can't protect Noah. Life will happen. Goddamnit. I am a person. I am finally get out of here. I grab my backpack and pull off my zip-tie shoes. I place my Chuck Taylors on the floor and slowly put them on. The smile on my face doubles when I stand up and feel the soft cushions under my toes. The only thing that has ever given me comfort is being with things that I have kept with me for my whole life. My Chuck's being one of them. I sling my backpack over my shoulder. The walk out of my room is one of glory. I am excited. I want to express that - but somewhere, buried way down deep, is uncertain. If I am sick enough to wind up and I don't remember it ever getting that bad, how do I know that I won't come straight back here? I shove the doubt aside and glue a smile on my face. I think of the beating sun, the busy streets and the smell of gasoline in the air. I want it back. I want the city. Being stuck in a medical building is like living in a clorox wipe. Not a single bacteria touches me other than the nasty germs that slip through the cracks. Sadly, those germs tend to be the worst kind. Vomit, snot, and lots and lots of Hep B positive tears.
When I step out of my room and into the winding hallway, I look around. This place is still a labyrinth. Whether I look left or right, the hallway looks like a trick mirror causing you to see through 'inception' vision. It is identical on both sides. I have only learned through recognition. Repetition is the mother of memory. I say a silent prayer for whoever occupies my space when I leave. Lord have mercy on them. I hope Jamie comes out ok and more than that, I hope Brook comes out even better. I know that's a lot to ask. I have the voices attack me as ferociously as they do him. The only difference is that mine reject the use of razors. I just hope that Brook's do too at some point. I walk to the nurse's station and smile at Nurse Juay.