It fulfilled every cliche my 18 year old brain could dream up. It was bad enough that I was being taken to an inpatient mental health facility for what I’m told will be a few short weeks, but to have the gray sky crying with rain as my parents pull around the curved drive? It was all too much fuss. To my parents, I had attempted suicide and they didn’t know where to begin to deal with it. What they couldn’t possibly understand was that I didn’t do it because I wanted to die. I did it because I wanted to feel more alive. Everything and everyone around me made me feel exactly nothing. Zilch. Nada. At least it had been that way since I lost Blythe, the girl of my dreams. You know the one, the girl that makes the world stand still and spin uncontrollably all at the same time. I know, I’ve heard it all before, “you are so young, other girls will come along,” or “just give it a little time, this too shall pass.” The thing is, when Blythe’s family moved to Tokyo for her father’s job, she was ready to call it quits. I had a promise ring at the ready. It has been a year and I feel nothing. I’ve lost my friends, I don’t want to attend college in the fall, and my family can’t-according to them-seem to reach me. So, here I am, walking lazily up the stairs to Lambert’s Inpatient Facility which will be my home for the next few weeks.

Long after the papers are signed and my mother’s tearful goodbyes, I begin to scope out my surroundings. Not before long my ward is called into group session which I can’t help feeling is somewhat for my benefit. Another cliche down. We sit in chairs in a circle donning the same attire right down to the shoes—as if we are in prison. Nurse Jeffries leads the session and has each of us, six including me, make a small introduction. I go last. After hearing from everybody, it’s a wonder what the hell I’m doing here. Three out of five of my fellow patients (who we refer to as the kids) clearly cannot take care of themselves outside of a patient care facility. Their functioning age at the most is probably 7-8 years old. Then there was Hubert. Hubert was in his early 70s and you can tell he had incredible stories bottled up inside of him somewhere. One of the kids told me he was in the Vietnam War. I tried to ask him about it once, but he just got a faraway look in his eyes. He said what he did at 18 shaped the rest of his life and ended the lives of many others. Then he began yelling hysterically for his wife who had apparently been dead for some years now. The orderlies ushered me out so that they could sedate Hubert with god knows what cocktail they had prepared. Finally, there was Lena. Lena made me the most uneasy. She was mysterious and seemed like the queen of this ward. You want cigarettes or a special outside snack? Lena is your person. Her source? Unknown. The orderlies and nurses clearly favored her. The problem is that she had no discernible problems! Why was she here? She couldn’t be more than a few years older than me, yet one of the kids said this was her third time at Lambert’s. Whether politically correct or not this was a home away from home for the insane, so what was someone normal doing here? It was almost offensive. I didn’t even think I belonged here but at least I had a reason.

As the first week went by, I bonded with one of the kids named Imogen. She was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, so you didn’t always know which Imogen you were going to get. Seven year old Imogen was named Raven, was timid and couldn’t articulate her needs very well. Sarah was her older counterpart at age 45. Sarah was like a second mother to me. Unlike Raven, Sarah was communicative, nurturing, and outgoing. When Imogen was just herself, she was a 32 year old just trying to make it in the world. She had married her high school sweetheart young, at age 20 and divorced by 23. She had lots of encouragement for me about my situation with Blythe. The other two kids were named Billy and Clea. While I’m not sure yet what troubles Clea, I heard an orderly say that Billy suffers from severe “Peter Pan Syndrome.” Trust me, it’s a thing.

I didn’t want to get anything out of this stay at Lambert’s. I just wanted to suffer through it and then go back home to my parents house, safe and sound in my bedroom. I thought feeling numb to the world was literally the worst thing to be felt after having known what deep love and happiness can feel like. But these fellow patients in this ward, they are teaching me things I hadn’t counted on. Like how to grieve and come out the other end of it. How to go through what I feel is the worst possible situation and come out all the stronger because of it. How to embrace and hold onto my inner child…and so much more. I know one thing is true after this past week, I have a lot more to learn before I can connect with my happy self again, but I think with my new friends I am on my way.