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My maternal grandmother died on May 4th, 2018. I haven’t fully processed her death, how I feel about it, or how it affected my mom during the challenges that followed throughout the year. Here’s a brief timeline of the deaths when I say “everybody”…
May 4th, 2018- Maternal grandmother
July 14th, 2018- Maternal grandfather
August 3rd, 2018- “The old me”
August 14th, 2018- Maternal step grandmother
August 3rd, 2018
I got out of the minivan that had just run out of gas, left the keys in the ignition, left all my belongings in my purse on the passenger seat, and started walking north on I-71. I was somewhere between Strongsville and Snow Road, and had been following a white car with USMC plates to the airport, when I ran out of gas. I said car, not rabbit, but let’s be honest, it might as well have been a white rabbit.
I was wearing my red converses, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, had my vape in my pocket, and was pretty sure that someone would pull up any moment in a white sportscar to give me a ride the rest of the way. I was fully convinced that I was on some sort of prank show that was recording me/my reaction and everyone around me knew it, except for me. They just didn’t know that I knew that they knew. It made complete sense to me that someone had been following and watching me do all the things I had done in the days before leading up to this moment and that I’d be safe to start walking along the highway.
After walking for a little while, along the white line, I was like this doesn’t make sense. I’m clearly on a journey of some sort, and should be following the yellow line. So, I waited for traffic to slow, and then crossed to the middle of the highway to keep walking. Red shoes, yellow line, ok, THIS made sense.
At some point, a woman in an SUV pulled over and tried to talk to me. I explained that I was fine, I was walking to the airport, and not to worry about me. She was very nice and I thanked her for her concern, but I didn’t have time to stay and chat. So, I went back to the white line side. (Me to myself: I’m pretty sure she was wearing contact lenses that were cameras. She probably was just doing a wellness check. I’m good.)
As I kept walking, I started to question this so-called plan of mine, and was like this can’t be right... It was at that point, that I decided I was done playing this game. I stopped and said, to no one, but also to anyone who may have been listening, that I quit.
I literally stood on the side of the highway and yelled that I declared bankruptcy in this game of life, ala Michael Scott. I kicked off my red shoes because I was done playing Dorothy and was ready to wake up, I threw away my salt nic vape, and kept walking.
A little while later, two Sheriff cruisers pulled up. One of them was a female, and I kept calling her Taylor. I was positive she was the older sister of some former students, but she was not. She asked me my birthday and I said today is my birthday! She enthusiastically replied back, Well, Happy Birthday! Let’s take a seat in the cruiser and talk for a few minutes. Where are your shoes? I explained that I left them back there along the road, because I didn’t need them anymore. She asked why not? I explained that when I get where I’m going, I’ll have everything I need. People are waiting for me.
So, we took a trip to the hospital in an ambulance, and as they rolled me into one of those observation rooms, I invited everyone we passed to my birthday party. I told them, Idk what room they’re taking me to, but that’s where it’ll be. literally rolling my eyes as I’m typing this
The first person who asked me my birthday as my vitals were being checked, was not amused. He was like today is NOT your damn birthday. When is your birthday? I asked if he meant the day I was actually born, and he said yes, so I told him. Shortly after, I was pink slipped and taken to Highland Springs for the next 9 days.
So, what happens when we die? If you believe in reincarnation, you get another chance as someone/something new. On I-71, I was leaving the pain pill addict that I had become, and thought that was going to help me move forward. At that point, I had not yet been to the police department to confess my offense, and thought I could continue living with the secret, and that this hospitalization was just a fluke. Turned out, it was the first of 4, but this first one was absolutely necessary to help prepare me for the other ones, as well as jail and prison.
When I first got there, I paced the entire area for a couple of hours. The day room was split in the middle with a doorway and a large desk area, so I decided that if the overhead of this room were shaped like a brain, one side is the right and the other is the left. As long as I balanced my time between both sides, they'd see that I'm fine. Logical, right? I was very focused on feeling balanced at this time. #Libra
When I got tired of pacing, I sat in the doorway, 'cause ya know, balance. When they told me I couldn’t sit there, I moved to one side just a little, and then to the other side 20 minutes later. I wasn’t friendly about it, though. I was mad that I was there, I was glaring at everyone who tried to talk to me or flat out ignoring them as I walked by on my insanity laps. An employee behind the desk told me if it were possible, I’d have been shooting lasers from my eyes, on my first evening there.
The staff offered me a patch for nicotine withdrawal; I declined. They offered me a sedative to help me sleep; I declined. They offered me grape Uncrustables, soy milk, jello, or pudding; I declined. It wasn’t until I finally collapsed in a chair and started bawling that I was so scared and felt so alone that I finally agreed to listen to the guy behind the desk, and try something to help me sleep.
The next day, I didn’t know what to expect, but this facility had a schedule that they printed each day. It showed the classes they were offering, what time smoke breaks were, outside time, etc. THIS is not standardized, but should be. The first thing confused people NEED is a schedule and a way to have their questions answered. Psych ward/rehab employees hate answering the same questions over and over, and at a certain point they just start making shit up to amuse themselves.
My first group sessions, I refused to participate because I thought this is literally the stuff I teach in HS 101 level classes. I don’t need to learn to regulate my emotions. I need to get the fuck out of this place!
I asked how to get out of there several times, and one person behind the desk said, "Oh, you just need to write your doctor a letter and say if your medication is working, and that you feel like you’re ready to be discharged." They gave me some paper and a pencil, so I wrote a letter to my doctor and gave it to them. They were like, no, you can’t write it to your primary doctor, it needs to be written to the doctor that prescribes the medication you’re on. So, I wrote a letter to my OB/GYN and turned it in. Then they said, no, the doctor that you see here, who prescribes your medication. I was like, I haven’t seen a doctor yet and I haven’t been prescribed anything. They told me that when I meet my doctor, I can tell them then. Rage doesn’t begin to explain what I felt at that moment and that's why it felt like an escape room.
One day, while sitting at lunch, someone mentioned that they’d always wanted to pull a fire alarm. I was like, you know what, me too. So, I got up, walked over, and pulled the alarm. It felt exactly as satisfying as you think it does. But, the shot in the ass to immediately sedate me wasn’t as great. A different day, when I used the puzzle pieces from the day room to spell out “HELP” on the floor in front of a camera, they did it again. They’d really be throwing those shots around like cups of water instead of trying to talk it out with you.
I “escaped” this place when I stopped trying to escape and started talking to the people around me. Someone in group said that it seemed like as soon as I got to know someone and cared about them, they were discharged and that I was an angel there to help everyone. I told her to shut up and to go back to talking to herself. Later that day, she and her friend started singing “Halo” by Beyonce to me after I replied to a group question, and I got up and walked out. Once she pointed it out, it did seem like that to me too. Like, aw, "I was just starting to like that person, but good for them". I remember telling people that I was there earning my stripes so that I could be a better
teacher, but I couldn’t handle someone calling me an angel, knowing the secret I was still living with. I really did care about the people I got to know, and I think about them now and then, and hope they’re ok.
To be continued…
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