Day 1

Before I could even fully process the day’s events, I was staring into dark nothingness. The clock above the nurses’ station glowed an eerie shade of red, the only form of illumination in sight. It read 2:13 AM, which meant it had already been three hours since I left the emergency room, six since I was originally forced down into a hospital bed and hooked up to a never ending rotation of IVs. I had been sitting in a supervision area before I suddenly heard a click of heels coming down from the hallway. The volume of the clicks increased until a short, slender lady wearing scrubs greeted and gestured me to follow her. The nurse led me down the never-ending hallway and abruptly halted at one of the last doors, fiddled with her keys and pushed it forward.

Once inside, the only break of silence came from a snore in the bed across the room.  Just as quickly as it was broken, the silence mended and draped itself over the room yet again. The nurse pointed to an empty bed, and hustled back down the hallway.

I sat in my new bed, trying to file through all the events of the past twenty four hours, but any sense of the situation I stumbled upon was quickly dismembered by the continuous flow of thoughts running through my mind, one toppling over the other. Although physically exhausted, I was completely unable to sleep most of the night. The screaming in my brain was much louder than any single person should be able to tolerate, let alone sleep with.

Day 2

“GOOD MORNING, LADIES!” shouted a chipper voice through the now wide open bedroom door, which revealed the early glow of the morning sun to all of the room’s occupants.

“Obviously a morning person…” I groaned, as I  awoke from my brief night’s sleep. I rolled over in my bed and swung my feet to the floor. The other girl didn't budge a single muscle in response to the ringing voice that appeared out of nowhere. Not thinking much beyond her being a heavy sleeper, I forced myself completely out of my bed and begun my morning routine. After finishing my starting-the-day rituals, I joined the group already waiting near the nurse's station.
           

The rest of the day went just as casually as any other minus, of course, the overflow of doctors lowering their voices, gentling their obvious stare and asking, “Why DID you do it?” along with a million more questions, looking to be provided with detailed answers I wasn't quite ready- or even willing- to give them. There was, however, one question I did answer that day, completely and with brutal honesty. The question didn't come from a doctor, a nurse, or even any of the therapists. It rolled off the tongue of a curious heavy sleeper, going by the name of Megan.
           

“So, what're you in here for?”

Day 3

The number of patients changed slightly throughout each day. Some unlucky enough to be admitted, others on the opposite end of the spectrum walked freely back into real life, envied by all still within the confines of the hospital. With the number of patients changing from day to day, the group therapy sessions varied as well. The topics discussed ranged from overwhelmingly hopeful to pure torture, meant to crack open even the toughest patient’s shell. My shell was not too difficult for anyone to penetrate.
  Before the introduction of the group's topic, each patient went through and told their story to the newcomers, which briefed the same set of questions from the therapist, regardless of how many times they already answered.
            

No matter the difference of where the story came, they all seemed to have the same song and dance intertwined within. None of the tales specifically captured my attention long enough to create a lasting difference in my mind at that point. Not until one scrawny, messy-haired boy with scars and tattoos lining his pale skin aired out his mind, that is.
           

“My name is Jerad,” he paused, with a thoughtful look on his face, “my story isn't anything special. To keep it short, I'm a suicidal kid that shouldn't be suicidal. My life should be great, but my mind hithers that reality for me, and I don't really know why.” He shared the details of his failed suicide attempts, and the group moved on to its main event. Regardless of whatever the day through at me,I couldn't help but be amazed at the similarities between my life and Jerad’s.

Maybe I wasn't in this whole thing alone after all.

Day 4

Since I expected to make my venture home this day, it seemed to drag on to absolutely no end. Every group session I attended my leg was jittering with the energy I wasn't allowed to release any other way. I had full hopes in a nurse would walk in and share it was my turn to escape, to finally go home. But with every group passed, the jitters of anticipation became the stillness of disappointment.

Eventually, my name was called, and I bolted up from my seat to make my way into the psychiatrist's office. Not the place I exactly desired to be, but it was better than drowning in the boredom of the supervision area.
“Now, I know you expected to leave the hospital today, and as much as I would love that to happen, after some convincing your mother as agreed to put you on an antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication. We would like to keep you for another day just to see if there are any immediate side effects.”  The thought of medication made me cringe; the next thought was immediate, I had to stay another entire day. There was absolutely nothing I wanted more than to walk out the same door I walked in that very first day.

Day 5

The day had finally come, the day every patient yearns for. The day we have the ability to leave this Godforsaken facility. Much of my time was spent daydreaming, imagining all the adventures I could go on the very moment I stepped foot outside these four walls. The other portion of my time was spent reflecting on the days I spent looked down upon as a poor, troubled girl that made a failed attempt to end her own life. I came to the conclusion that I was, and always will be more than that tragic image.

As I stepped back into the real world, I pictured myself as a butterfly. And maybe that's the reason my shell hadn’t been hard to crack, as it was never really a shell at all, but instead, a cocoon; its purpose to protect me while I grew and developed into something much stronger. Now free to fly about the skies, I wasn't going to waste a single second.