I woke up in a clean, bright white room with no windows. The LED institutional light buzzed above me, but it wasn’t a steady buzz. sometimes it would get unbearably loud and then suddenly I couldn’t hear anything. The room spun like someone had spun me on a giant swivel plate. When I tried to move, it felt like the bottom half of me was glued down, and the top half of me stretched like taffy. My forearms ached slightly when I tried to push myself up.

What was this? What happened? And come to think of it, where was I? I had no memory of how I got here. A dull pressure behind my eyes had started to build. My eyes stung. I realized I was shivering-- but it wasn’t cold. It was hot, actually. I was hot. The air was cold. Maybe I was at the hospital. I felt dread sink into me as I remembered my lack of health insurance.

I woke up, not having remembered falling asleep. I could tell there was someone in the room this time. Sleepily, I managed to lift my head. My forearms hurt much more now. Then I noticed that I was restrained with leather straps. My heart began to race.

“Hey, w-hat’s going on? Why am I here, and why am I strapped to the bed?”

The doctor remained calm and turned around. He was pale with dark hair and glasses.

“Don’t worry, you are safe. You fought me when I tried to hook up your IV, so I strapped you down,” he said as he approached, “You are in Salus Care mental hospital. I take it you do not remember what happened?” he asked carefully.

The doctor began to remove my straps. I glanced at the tube bandaged to my inner elbow, and the bandages on my forearms. Did hospitals have leather straps on all their beds?

“No…” I confirmed.

The doctor finished unstrapping me and turned around to continue writing on a piece of paper on a countertop before he answered.

“You... tried to kill yourself,” he informed somberly.

I sat up, causing my head to throb, this time avoiding the use of my arms to hold myself up. I tried to kill myself? That seemed plausible. After all, there was no point in being alive, I wasn’t important to anyone (not even my mom) except Mac, who had disappeared three days ago after we got in a fight about the fact that I spent all our money on bullshit. It was probably longer depending on how long I’d been here. I didn’t know if I was important to him anymore. I was a complete loser-- I had no money, no life, no friends, and I was a high school drop-out.

But I didn’t remember any part of my attempt.

“You were drunk and left a note to Maxwell, or as you called him in your note, Mac. He brought you here when he found you bleeding out. He found you just in the nick of time, too. You would have died.”

I looked down.

Dammit.

At least Mac came back. I guessed I did have one friend.

“How did I do it? Or, try to do it.”

“You cut your wrists vertically,” he said, gesturing toward the bandages around my wrists.

I blinked,

“Oh, that’s what these are.”

“Yes.”

He removed the IV from my arm.

“ Do you have any other questions?”

I paused to think.

“How long have I been here?”

“3 days,” the doctor replied simply.

“Wow, really? Okay… Um, Do you know where Mac is?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention. He was completely delusional when he found you, claiming someone else had done it to you despite the razor blade in your hand. We admitted him as well, seeing as he had relapsed.”

I let that sink in. He’d come back and saved my life. I almost killed myself over the fact that he was gone, and he wasn’t gone. I was such an idiot. Now I had traumatized Mac even more, and he really didn’t need more trauma. Poor Mac. I was a terrible friend.

“Oh.”

I wanted to die. I started to get angry at Mac for saving me. I wished he had never come back and I could have bled out; he screwed me, and now everything was a mess. A mess I didn’t want to have to clean up.

“Anything else?” the doctor asked.

I shook my head.

The doctor nodded and gestured toward the door,

“Follow me, I will take you to your room.”

I got up and followed him out the door. Non-slip socks had replaced my shoes and I noticed my clothes had been changed to a T-shirt and pyjama pants.

“My name is Dr. Feranandid, but you can call me Rafael. If you ever need anything or someone to talk to, feel free to come find me. My assistants, Dayo and Ashley, are also here to help.”

He turned around,

“How do you feel? I gave you something called Wellbutrin, do you notice any side effects?”

I told him that I had a headache. He nodded,

“I will get you something for it.”

We entered what I guessed was my room. The door was thick metal. Again, the room was all white. There were two sturdy wooden bed frames and one had a mattress that was about 3 inches thick. Between them was a large wooden shelf with a change of clothes on it. On the other bed frame, there was a piece of paper with a crayon next to it.

“The paper right there is for you to read and sign before you leave the room.”

He directed.

“Would you like to go meet the others? They are awfully curious of you. Maybe you would just like to catch up with your friend.” he suggested.

I didn’t want to be around anyone right now. Not even Mac. I just wanted to sleep.

Forever.

I laid back on the plank of a bed in the bright room with no sheets. I didn’t deserve anything better.

“Maybe later,” I mumbled and turned onto my side, facing the wall away from the man.

“Suit yourself,” he turned around again, flipped a switch that dimmed the lights, and left.

I laid on the bed for what seemed like hours. I had no way of knowing how long it had been since there was no clock. I thought and thought, trying to remember what happened. The last thing I remembered was coming home from work to a locked door, wishing the lights were on when I unlocked it. It was as if my memory had been erased. I tossed and turned until laying in every position hurt. Eventually, a woman knocked and then came in, “ It’s dinner time, you have to come out now.”

I was facing the door already when she came in. I sat up, my back hunched, and looked at her for a moment. She was short and her makeup was flawless. Her khaki shorts reached mid thigh, and a blue t shirt with small yellow writing in the top right corner fit her top half. I rubbed my eyes and stood up.

“Sign the sheet first. Make sure you read the rules.”

I walked over to the sheet of paper lying on the second wooden bed frame in the room. There was a crayon next to it. I remembered mac telling me that pencils and pens weren’t allowed in mental hospitals. I skimmed the rules: no touching, no going in others’ rooms, no going anywhere without permission, must follow all directions from the doctors, respect others, everyone in bed at 10pm, and everyone at breakfast at 7am. I didn’t know how I was supposed to know what time it was. The rules seemed pretty basic. I signed the paper in tangerine, or whatever damn word they put on the side of the crayon. I picked up the paper and gave the lady both items. I read the name on her shirt: Dayo.

She led me past other doors into the common room. There was a tv attached to the ceiling playing some commercial. On the ground around it were brightly colored bean bags. In the middle was a short coffee table with a board game set up on it. Behind the bean bags were two small cafeteria tables where everyone was eating— including Mac. There was a carton of milk on the seat across from him. Mac must have saved me a seat. I walked over, realizing that all the patients were looking at me. Someone greeted me, and I muttered a ‘sup’ and sat down. A petite woman with glasses, Ashley I presumed, brought me my food. She wore something similar to what Dayo wore, but she didn’t wear makeup.

While the other went back to talking amongst themselves, I glanced at Mac.

“Hey…”

“Hey…”

I looked at my food. Pasta with red sauce (which stunk), buttered bread, milk, and a mini salad.

I looked back at Mac.

“Were you awake the whole time we’ve been here?”

Mac was chewing, so he shook his head and finished his bite before answering, “I woke up this morning.”

“Oh.”

I fell silent. There were things to talk about, but none of it was exactly appealing to bring up. I brought a bite of pasta to my lips. That shit wasn’t appealing either. Nevertheless, I ate it. I was pretty hungry anyway.

“So what’s your name?” asked the girl next to me. She donned a blue pixie cut and captivating dark eyes. Her voice was pleasing to the ear, like ASMR, but smooth and silky. I glanced over,

“I go by Howie,” I replied.

She nodded,

“I go by Ali. Nice to meet you. I would shake your hand, but I can’t, Obviously.”

I nodded and kept eating. She looked down at her food and took a bite too. When we’d both finished, she kept talking,

“You and Mac know each other right?”

I nodded again, “We live together.”

“Nice. you guys live on your own? How old are you? Im 20.”

“18.” I answered.

“How about you, Mac?”

“I’m 19.” he said.

She nodded, “Cool. Keith over there is the oldest, 21, and Vince is the youngest, 16. So we’re all kinda in the same young adult category. Ya know? Anyway, welcome to SalusCare.”

“Thanks,” I said and took a bite of food.

She finally seemed to get the hint that I didn’t really want to talk and started talking with the guy named Vince.

Dinner went on, Mac was the last one to finish. I wasn’t allowed to sit with him once I finished my food, so I sat in a bean bag and watched tv. There wasn’t much else to do, and it was clear that I wasn’t going to sleep any time soon. Mac finished and sat next to me.

“I know you’re not okay. I just want to say I’m sorry for leaving you like that. It was probably the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

“That was a dick move, but it was my fault. You saving my life was also a dick move.”

“Oh please. Saving your life was not a dick move and you know it. It wasn’t all your fault. Don’t let your depression get the best of you.”

That was something I was definitely doing. I couldn’t fight it. It had gotten too heavy this time. I would be in this hospital for years, if not the rest of my life. Mac would get out and I would be alone like I was in 9th grade and like I was a few days ago.

“I can’t help it Mac. I’m a terrible friend to you and you’re all I got.”

“You’re not a terrible friend, dude. You’re an awesome friend. What you did was bad, but it showed me how much you care. That makes you a good friend. And I’m not all you have. You have a good job, an apartment, tons of talent, clothes, food… some people can’t say that. Remember our plans? We’re gonna move out into a bigger apartment, get nice furniture, make a good life for ourselves, just you and me. We don’t need anybody else. We’ll get there. We just have to take care of ourselves first. Okay?”

I nodded slowly. I didn’t believe it.

“Okay.”