I still don't remember the the night I got here very well. I wasn't feeling well and still wasn't in the right frame of mind. I just hadn't completely recovered from my own actions as well as what I was put through in the ER. Fill this, drink that, put this on, we need some blood; it just all bewildered me, especially with its fast pace and my frantic state of mind. What had I done? Why did I do it? So many questions yet no chance to answer any of them.

I was wheeled up to the psych unit, signed a few things and was quickly given a room and a bed at the late hour. My roommate, coming off a herion binge was fast asleep. I attempted to join him but failed even with my total exhaustion. Unfortunately, as I began drifting away I was aroused by a nurse to inform me off breakfast.

I walked apprehensively from my room, curious as to what I'd find in the daylight hours. I wandered around somewhat lost, somewhat exploring in an attempt to find the dining room. A social worker found me and directed me to follow her. I nodded and did so without saying a word.

I walked into a room full of sullen faces seated at various tables. You could see in their eyes the desire to be home with their families and not trapped within these cold, barren walls I took the tray handed to me and made my way to a secluded table in the corner of the room. I was careful not to attract any additional attention to myself.

I ate quietly with the exception of a 'good morning' in response to the same from an older woman at the table next to me. I was hungry, not surprisingly since they had pumped my stomach, and ate rather quickly. As I ate I noticed that my order card was marked to only give me plastic utensils and paper plates. 'Suicide watch' I thought to myself. I then laughed to myself as I noticed that the china plate which the paper plate was supposed to replace lie directly underneath it's foam counterpart. Before long I was sitting back, sipping my coffee and surveying my surroundings a bit. "At least the food and coffee are good", I muttered to myself. This was a surprise since I had always heard the opposite about hospital food.

I made my way back to my room, still exhausted, hoping to get a little sleep. My roommate ( I later learned his name to be Andre) had declined his invitation to breakfast in favor of more sleep. I laid down for roughly 20 minutes before I was awoke again, this time for the purpose of speaking to my social worker, Lyan.

She led me out into the hall, so as not to disturb my slumbering roommate. Once we were seated we exchanged the usual pleasantries. She then began to ask me the questions that would become all too familiar and annoying over the next few days.

"So why are you here?", she began.
"I think that should be obvious. Besides shouldn't you have a chart that tells you that or something?", I replied irritably due to lack of sleep.
"Actually I do have your chart but I need to know that you understand what's going on so it can be determined whether or not you're competent to understand the situation. So would you please answer the question, sans attitude?"
Sans attitude huh? Looks like I'm dealing with a real intellectual here.
"I attempted suicide."
"How?"
"Bottle of sleeping pills."
"And how many did you take?"
"Fifty. The whole fucking bottle. Too bad I didn't succeed."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I'd be in Sweet Oblivion instead of talking to you."
"You almost got your wish?"
"What do you mean?"
"You were unresponsive when you came in. Do you know what that means?"
"That I didn't look or say anything to the doctors."
"No. You stopped breathing in the ER. Another fifteen minutes and your parents would be making funeral arrangements instead of helping you get better. Why don't you think about that for awhile and we'll talk later?"

With that she sat up and walked down the hall.