Eighteen is an interesting time in life. You’re either convinced you’re invincible and welding the key to life itself or you feel like you’re one step away from six feet deep. Unfortunately, I wasn’t with the kids on top of the world. 

On a chilly spring morning I was sitting in my dorm at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. My roommate, Sammy, wasn’t supposed to be home from vacation. She went to San Francisco with her parents for “family bonding”. But bonding wasn’t that easy when your little brother Max threw a temper tantrum every 2.5 seconds. Sammy was a kind soul, but easily irritated when it came to her little brother. So it wouldn’t be out of character if she came home a day or two early. Nevertheless, it was still a shock to me. 

“What the f Allison?” Sammy’s sudden voice rang in my ears, causing my teeth to clench. 

I had been in a rut of sorts the past few days with Sammy gone. When I became unaware of my own mental state, Sam was there by my side to snap me back to reality. But the past week I felt my mind slipping from under me like I never had before. The days felt incomplete from my brain failing to fill in the gaps of memory missing. Thoughts were jumbled and misplaced. But somehow that all lead me up to this point. 

I couldn’t recall what day it was but I knew I had left the bathroom door open. Who needs privacy when you’re all alone? 

“Allison!” Sam’s demanding voice brought me back to the present. 

I saw a mark of concern across her small face but failed to connect the dots until I looked down to her white vans slowly shuffling towards me. A pool of crimson blood sat on the floor beneath me. I had to hold back a gag when a strong whiff of iron crept into my nose. 

“I, I-” I began stumbling on my words. All the days of wondering what my purpose is couldn’t have prepared me for this. 

“Dude what happened?” Sammy asked as I sat there wondering what excuse would possibly work in a situation like this. 

“You know what, nevermind. We need to get you to the hospital.” 

Sammy grabbed my other arm and helped me up. The tile floor looked fuzzy for a moment as I tried to balance on my own two feet. I even reached for towels to clean up while unknowingly creating another mess next to it from the fresh wound. 

“I’ll clean it up when we get back, the bathroom floor isn’t the top priority right now.” 

Sammy was half dragging me to the car. She was a good pretender but I saw her legs shaking and I could tell she was freaking out inside. She saw my highs and lows but never anything this bad. 

We got to the ER and a sheer curtain separated me and a screaming child with a lego lodged in his ear. This little detail didn’t make me any less anxious. I listened to the stomach churning screech as a precise needle went in and out of my wrist. After the nurse was done Sammy left the room to talk with the staff. Another nurse swept her aside, I watched and Sammy crossed her arms and swayed side to side. I turned my focus to a loose hangnail as she walked toward my bed. 

“Ally, they think it was pretty bad,”

“I guess,” I replied.

“The nurses are concerned, I am too,” Sammy took a seat on the vacant chair next to the bed. 

“I was just having a rough few days, but I’m fine now.” 

Sam wasn’t one to cry, but her brown eyes had a tint of red surrounding them. 

“No,” she stopped, “you need help, higher help than I can give you. They want you to spend a few days in BroadHill mental facility to get you back on your feet.” 

My lip started to tremble at the thought of pushing through even more than I’ve been through the last few days mentally. 

“I know you Allison Gene, okay? You want to get your psychology degree and get married and have 2.5 dogs.” A smile crept on both of our faces and that’s when I knew I couldn’t say no to her. 

BroadHill was strictly an adult facility to help treat mental illness. Because I was eighteen I was sent there. My schedule consisted of breakfast, group therapy and goals, break, lunch, creative therapy/group activity, dinner, reflection, and individual therapy depending on what time you’re assigned. 

The walls were painted pale warm colors along with cool blue hints. Tightly secured windows linded the halls and dining room. The hospital tried it’s best to present itself as homey as possible for a place where pencils had to be under lock and key. One of my roommates went by C. She was an older woman who liked to keep to herself. The tips of her hair were light brown, while the grey roots looked like they haven’t been dyed in months. 

“I’m Allison,” I felt forced to make small talk. 

“Allison? You look awfully young to be in BroadHill.” C replied, her light brown eyes looked me up and down, stopping for a second at my arm. 

“I’m eighteen, but I’ll probably be getting out in a few days.” I laughed nervously, looking down at the clean table. 

Muffled laughs came from across the cafeteria. 

“So,” C said, “what’s your damage?” She joked.

“ Well my roommate took me here after an incident of sorts. But Dr. Lang thinks I have dissociation with occasional derealization, and he wants to put me on medication ASAP.”

“Ah yes, they’re so quick to give you any med that will vaguely fit the case here.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah, trust me, I think I’m only back here because they gave me the wrong medication in an effort to get me out.” C sighed a little, “But that’s only me of course.” She added reassuringly.

“Good to know.” I made a mental note. 

In creative group therapy we could pick a form of art to express our feelings as long as our art wasn’t inherently negative. The art room was cluttered with collages of sunshine and clouds, cut out images from magazines, and crayon drawings. Mrs. Kay explained how art was a healthy form of coping with emotions. And how art comes in many forms, and it could make a world of difference if we found the one that works best for us.

A young mom, the closest to my age, with purple glasses shared with the group how much simply coloring has grounded her and helped her bond with her three year old. It was easy to listen to melody talk. She talked like an old woman about her childhood days and growing up in california. Melody was freely speaking about her struggles. The topic of dissociation came up and melody opened up about her battle with it when she was pregnant. She suggested journaling, and that it helped her become more aware of her emotions. 

I started to create a makeshift journal when I saw a staff member look at C’s picture and take it out of the room, leaving C irritated and empty handed. I started to rubber band the pages together and Melody tapped me on the shoulder.

“Looks who’s having a fit again.” 

“Again?-” I got cut off by Melody motioning over to the door to see C’s delaced shoes abruptly turning out the tall wooden door. 

Throwing out my scraps, I notice a crumpled up paper. I took a glance around the room to make sure no one was watching, and picked it up out of the trash. I straightened the paper out to find detailed sketches of knives and guns. I wrote this down in my journal. 

At individual therapy, my doctor thought it was a great idea to have a journal to catch my dissociation and depression before it gets out of hand. 

“How about you write down some characteristics of your episodes to make yourself more aware of the signs and the results.” Dr. Lang sat across from me in a small white room  with a single desk and three chairs. 

“I get disconnected, obviously. I guess I get fuzzy and have a hard time being present or focused.” I jot that down. “I can be easily manipulated because I get distant from reality. Also depression and stuff.” I continue the list. 

“That’s a good start,” Dr. Lang says while writing down some notes of his own. 

“Maybe you can show that to loved ones so they can better help you when you are struggling?” 

“Maybe, but I live with my roommate Sammy at UMA campus, I’ll show it to her, and she’s super good with this stuff. I don’t know if I’d be here if it weren’t for her.” my heart warmed a little bit while thinking of her. 

“I can tell you are close.” He said, “It’s important to have someone you can confide in and trust.” Dr. Lang stated, looking at the clock. 

“Our time is over for today, but keep working on that list and then we can discuss solutions to cope with the dissociation and depression tomorrow.” We shook hands to close the conversation. 

I walked back to my room to put the journal away and head to dinner. When I walked in I saw C sitting alone, picking at the bottom of the thin blue fabric on her pants. 

“Hey,” C greeted me, sounding more optimistic than this morning. 

“Hey” I replied back. 

“Whatcha got there?” C was curiously looking at the cover of my journal.

“Uh, It’s what I made in art therapy today, It’s actually kind of helpful.” I replied. 

I almost felt the need to keep my journal to myself but I didn’t want to get this evening’s muck on it. 

“It can be,” she smiled fakely. “I wasn’t feeling all that well today though.” 

“I get it,” I smiled back. “Anyway do you wanna go to dinner now?” I asked, trying to be as friendly as possible. 

“I’ll catch up to you, I think I’m going to rest my eyes for five minutes or so.” C laid back on her bed and closed her eyes. 

I nodded and slid the journal between my shirts and sweatpants on the bland wooden cubby. I took one last glance at the thin book and walked out of the room to see Melody waiting for me. Her eyes squinted as she smiled and her curly light brown hair bounced while she walked. 

The red stools squeaked when C joined us ten minutes later. Melody put her hand up to cover the side of her face and rolled her eyes. In unison, C did the same without covering her face. An awkward silence filled the air as we ate our mashed potatoes. 

When I got back to the room I noticed my journal had been moved. I thought it was odd,  but staff do a room check once in a while so It wouldn’t be uncommon for your things to be moved around. I said goodnight to Melody and covered up in the thin hospital blanket and got onto the hard bed. 

When I woke up I knew that today wasn’t going to be as easy going as the past two days in the hospital. Oddly, I wasn’t that unstable when I got into the flow of things at BroadHill, but I could tell that the shift was happening. I stayed in bed for as long as possible. I wanted to isolate myself in my room but Melody came and convinced me to go to morning group. I shuffled my feet in the hallway, somehow already drained from the day. 

On the way to morning group, C approached me. 

“I need to get out of here Allison.” Her voice sounded urgent yet monotone. 

“What?” I felt that fuzzy feeling, like I was floating away from my own thoughts and actions. 

“I said I need to escape.” C never broke eye contact, making it harder for me to concentrate on her words. 

“They’re trying to set me up.” She said. 

I blinked hard at the light yellow wall in behind her. 

“Since they failed to keep me out of here the last time, now they want to keep me here forever to make me suffer.” C ignored my lack of conversation and continued to talk. 

At this point, my memory was losing words she just said by the second. I tried to take deep breaths to ground myself. They didn’t work. 

“You’re going to help me, right?” C stared at me intently with a pleading look in her eyes.

“I’m not so sure about that” I said blankly. That’s when she grabbed my arm, right above where my stitches were. I felt a shock go through my body, either from pain or from the realization she broke a strict no contact rule in the hospital. And she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Tonight.” She stated. Her eyes had a glazed look in them. 

“Get away from me you crazy bitch.” I jolted my arm back and walked back to my room. I didn’t know what she was talking about, and I didn’t want any part of it. 

I sat in the empty room for what seemed like hours. A staff member came into my room. 

“Doctor Lang sent these for you.” He extended his hairy arm to hand me two white and blue colored pills with a tiny paper cup full of water.

“Thanks,” I replied, cupping the pills in my hand. “Do you know the time?” I asked.

“Quarter to seven.”

I had been sitting in the room for hours. I decided I needed to go to dinner at least, so I took the pills and went to the cafeteria. It was almost time for it to open, I waited outside the double doors when I saw C. Turning away from her direction I heard a voice from behind me. 

“Allison,” C confronted me. She was like a virus that just kept coming back. 

“What?” I was clearly annoyed with her and there wasn’t any use in trying to hide it. 

Now the doors were opening and I was greeted by two cheery female staff. 

“You know Dr. Lang?”

 I nodded, paying as little attention to her as possible. I scooped up some corn and grabbed a plastic spork. 

“He’s poisoning you.” C whispered abruptly. Her leg was bouncing in anticipation. 

“Yeah sure.” I could tell she was trying to get into my head. But now wasn’t the time. 

“No really, Melody said it herself. Don’t you remember?” C glared at me like I just got thrown in jail for stealing a candy bar. My mind raced to try to recall Melody’s conversation with me earlier today. In my dissociated state I couldn’t think of anything. I instantly felt stupid for not being able to do the bare minimum. 

“You need to distract the staff while I go out the cafeteria door. I’ll get us help. Melody has the guards distracted outside of the cafeteria too. Allison this is gonna be big, like across country big.” A smile slapped across her face and I couldn’t decipher if this was C manipulating me or if this was real. I knew C was lying, but was Melody? Melody wasn’t in the cafeteria, and she wouldn’t lie to me, would she? I was weighing the options in my head when I felt a sharp pain on my left cheekbone. My world went even more blurry when I was collapsing on the ground. A figure in a white staff vest ran toward me.

Suddenly sirens sounded and alarms flashed white light. Panicked voiced spread throughout the room. I looked toward the exit door, it was wide open. C was gone. That was the last thing I remembered before I blacked out. 

I woke up on an even stiffer bed than usual. The smell hit me like a truck. I was in the nurse’s office. This wasn’t surprising, but what was that Melody was next to me. Melody’s loud gagging sobs increased in volume as I woke up.Melody was a beautiful girl, but not such a beautiful crier. An older television sat on the white table in front of us. I awoke to the news station displaying a familiar face. 

“I knew her,” the old, wrinkled nurse sighed. “She was here for seven months so far. No one knows the real reason, but the staff rumor it’s because she was conspiring to commit murder. Others say it’s because she was killing neighbourhood pets. shame .” She had a seat on the plastic blue chair in the corner. 

The news stated that C escaped last night and was caught in the early afternoon. She used Melody and I as distractions. She saw our vulnerability. C made a scene, distracting nurses and staff by punching Melody in the hallway and me in the cafeteria and running out the exit. C went far into the woods. The first house she came across was an old man named Henry Tomson. He was murdered with his own kitchen knives at 4am, Tuesday morning. 

Connie Charleson’s mugshot picture sent chills down my spine. She had the biggest smile I’d ever seen.  

Sometimes I still wake up in a cold sweat thinking about that week. But I’m glad I wake up. This morning I woke up to Sammy’s arms wrapped tightly around me. Our two dogs at the foot of the bed. A calendar with dates that Sam is going to babysit Melody’s daughter. And my degree neatly framed beside my graduation photos, and our wedding pictures from last year. Those pictures send chills down my spine. I’m smiling the biggest I’ve ever seen.