More needles, Another hospital

I had myself convinced that the psych ward was my rock bottom and that my life was taking a turn for the better… 

One week later I woke up in an empty hospital room —again— more needles in my vein. No one beside me. I fell back asleep. I awoke again with still an empty room, confused. I hit the nurse call button, she came in and told me I wasn’t sober enough yet. How long had I been here? What Happened? I wondered. I fell back asleep. I woke up next to call a nurse back in again and instead this time the doctor came in to let me know that I’d been arrested and now that I was sober enough, I needed to go to the police station and my parents were in town and they were coming to take me there. My heart went to my butt. What on God’s green earth had I done now? The dread and  heaviness that took over me was something I cannot put into words. And I thought my pain was bad before… Now I’d really messed up my life…

The officer at the police station was nice. He tried getting me into court that morning so I wouldn’t have to spend the night in jail. That didn’t happen. I went to jail. For 36 hours. The longest 36 hours I’ve ever endured. I thought the psych ward was a wake up call, ha! The psych ward was heaven compared to this.

I sat handcuffed in the back of the police car, trying my hardest to keep my tears in as the officer thought trying to have conversations with me would help. When we pulled up to the jail, I couldn’t keep the tears in. The officer turned back to look at me and said, “just remember, you are not these people in there.” That made me cry more. How terrified I felt getting out of the car, seeing the handcuffed roughed looking men that were behind the doors. The officer walked me in, I could feel his sympathy for me. He all of a sudden felt like home to me and I did not want him to leave. The jail officers were mean. I understood why but like the officer had told me, I wasn’t one of these people. I didn’t belong in jail. The officer left and my name was called to go give my information and I choked out answers. I was handed the ugly, orange jumpsuit, all my attire taken. It’s funny that the thought that came to my mind was, “wow, orange is not my color.” 

I was the first one in the cell. It was a long room, dirty and cold. There were plastic, brown stained mattresses which I chose not to lay on. Instead, I sat on the metal bench, using the one wool blanket they gave me as a pillow wondering if it had even been washed. There was a tv to my surprise with, to my humor, judge Judy playing. I immediately started praying. Praying for the hours to go by. Lord help me. Give me strength, give me peace. Lord help me. Give me strength, give me peace. Over and over. I began thinking of the bible and how disciples were put in jail for spreading the word. How I wished that was the reason I was put into jail. I managed to control most of my crying, pursuing the power of prayer, knowing it was my only way to get through this.

My head started aching and started feeling nauseous. Great, not only was jail going to be terrible as is but now I’m going to be sick on top of it. It became unbearable. For 15 hours or more of the 36, I was puking every hour, every time I would sit up. The officers and nurses DO NOT CARE about your well being. It’s torture. Your an animal in their eyes. I later realized me being sick quite possibly was God protecting me.

At this point I’ve given up on my outside life. My job, my boyfriend, school, finding another apartment to move to, everything. I knew I was going to have to give up my Colorado life I’d made and go be with my family for awhile. I’d come to accept that. I needed the help.

Morning finally came and it was time to go to court. The officer called my name and a group of girls and I were led to another holding cell where we waited to go be in front of the judge. Walking from cell to cell and down the halls to get anywhere we were told to go, it felt with each step that my brain was on the verge of exploding, imagining blood seeping out of my ears. I managed to get through court without vomiting on my lawyer and I was soon to be released. Thank you Lord! 

Back to the holding cell I went to wait to get released. This was a different cell, right next to the one I was being held in before and boy, was I ever so grateful. You could hear the girls in there screaming at each other and pounding on the door, yelling to the guards “to open the door and clean the room!! This girl is vomiting and pissing herself!!!” They had to clean the cell out so the girls that were in that cell had to come and squish into ours. There were now about 25 of us squished into a small, dirty, stinky cell.  My head at this point felt like death…

“SCHRIVER!” they yelled as I heard the key turn on the cell door (sounded like music to my ears!!) “grab all your stuff!” YAY!!! I WAS LEAVING!!!! I have never felt such relief in my life. The officer handed me my bag of clothes and instructed me to change. I could hardly walk the pain in my head was so unbearable, needing to vomit. I managed to change and found myself a trash can to run to and dry heave into. The officer curled his lip at me disgusted. “Are my parents about here? If not, I need taken to the hospital” I told him. I was allowed to call my parents and to my luck they were pulling up to the jail.

I saw my mom first as I was coming up from the jail stairs. I saw her pink coat and I left the officer who was guiding me and ran to hug my mom. I burst into tears, let go of my mom and ran out the doors. it’s all surreal when you walk out of jail. “Did that really happen?” It’s like you're free again but you’re still caged. All the punishment that lies ahead of you. Free but bounded…

**to be continued**