Categories > Original > Drama

Months of Deterioration

by BloodyAbattoir 0 reviews

They've saved your body, but they've lost your soul somewhere along the way.

Category: Drama - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama - Published: 2014-10-24 - 1572 words

10 months ago, they took her freedom. They plucked her from her home, calling her unstable, insane, crying out for help, needing structure, mentally ill, among many other things. They took her from her home, and tossed her into a secure unit, over a hundred miles from her home.

They put her into a building that was split into parts, full of bulletproof glass, chickenwire, locked doors. The unit she is in, is tiny, only 10 tiny shared bedrooms, 2 to a room, a day room, a nurse's station, public bathroom, quiet room, food room, office, and laundry room. Some of these rooms, mainly the laundry and food rooms, and the public restroom were barely the size of a closet.

They lead her through 3 sets of locked doors, each time having to either be buzzed through, or swipe a keycard to enter. She shivers at feeling how cold it is. The ceilings are low, the styrofoam tiles yellowed with age. The puce-coloured walls are peeling, and the dim fluorescent lights cast an eerie glow over everything. There are few windows, all of them double-layered bulletproof plexiglass, a layer of chicken wire in between them, heavy bars on the outside. She can't help but feel like this is a prison, not a place to recover.

They lead her into the unit she's going to be staying in. A short corridor leads to the other end of the unit. It's tiny. On her right is the nurse's station. On her left is the rooms that she'll soon find out is the public bathroom for visitors, the quiet room, and the office. They lead her into the last, making her take a seat.

The couch is uncomfortable, hard plastic feeling. There are childish drawings on the walls, with notes written on them, signed by the creators. In the corner is a wooden doll house with plastic furniture, and dolls that are painted pegs with cheap yarn glued on as hair. Their smiles make her realize just how sad she felt. Just yesterday, she was hanging with friends, and today, she was in here. What went wrong? Nothing that she could tell.

There was a window behind the couch she sat on, escape-proof like all the others here. A glance out of it lead to her seeing a gated courtyard, all cement, with a few sparse trees and shrubs dotted around. This just made her feel all the more severely how prison-like this place truly was. Anyone would go insane in a place like this, even the most level-headed of men.

She couldn't judge how long she sat there, stomach doing antsy little flips and flops, before a man walked in. He carried in a laptop, which he set up on the table. It was quiet for a moment, her sizing him up, unknowing of her future in his hands, yet fearing it all the same. Then, he turned to her, gesturing at the table, indicating the hard plastic chairs grouped in front of it, asking her to sit there insted. She did so, wryly noting that he got the comfy chair, a cushioned computer chair with armrests, while she sat in a chair that seemed like it'd been taken from the local kindergarten.

Then, it all started. He opened a file on his computer, reading over it, glancing up at her every so often. She sat there, quietly shivering and wishing she'd brought a jacket. But then again, when those people had shown up to her door, and insisted that she needed to come wi th them, she didn't know what to expect, especially since they refused to answer a single one of her questions. Now, she chided herself for not having foresight. Really, when something like that happened, it always meant bad news. She should have known that, from all the CSI shows she watched.

Now, the questions began. Who was she? How old was she? Where did she live? These were just the typical questions, to correlate what was already saved in the file. She answered these questions easily enough. But she couldn't help but wonder why she was here, so far from where she started.

Then, came the obligatory questions. Did she smoke? Drink? Do drugs? Have sex? She answered negative to all of it. Even though she was lying, she didn't care. Sure, her conscience twinged faintly, but something told her that it was best if she didn't give them excess ammunition. She didn't even know what they already had against her.

Now were the questions that they always asked at these places. Did she see or hear things that didn't exist? Was she suicidal? Homicidal? Was she depressed? Were her thoughts racing? Could she concentrate? Was anyone out to get her? Did she have any irrational fears? Talk too fast? Talk incomprehensibly?

Of course she wasn't hallucinating. Her thoughts and concentration was fine, as was her speech. No one was going to harm her, and she didn't have any phobias. She didn't wish death upon anyone, especially herself. Depressed? This place was already starting to make her feel that way, not as if she was going to admit it.

The barrage of questions continued. It looks like they were trying to give her a full psychological inventory.

Was she social? Have friends? What qualities did she seek in a friend? Did she date? How was the relationship? Was it abusive? What made her choose this person?

Yes, she was social, had friends, and had been in a relationship for nearly 5 months by this point. None of her relationships were abusive, all were actually pretty good, and she always chose people based off personality.

How was her school life? Her home life? Her relationship with her family? How were her grades? What were her plans for the future? What was she going to do this summer?

School and home was fine. She got along with her family. She got decent grades, though her math grade could be better. She planned on going into college, with plans to be a professional pastry chef. She planned to get her learner's permit this summer, and practice with the marching band since she'd made the tryouts they'd had earlier in the year.

The guy kept grilling her about every single aspect of her existence, before he was exchanged for another man, who was older, and seemed to have more authority here. He, too, questioned her, the same questions all over again, plus some rather bizarre ones. What would she do if she had a time machine? If she could go anywhere, where would it be? What century would she most like to live in? Where did she see herself in 5 years?

She'd go back to the 60's if she could, because she loved the cars and music, and would enjoy seeing history unfold. In 5 years she saw herself done with highschool and in college. She'd go to France, or maybe London, just to see how people in other cultures lived. She would love to live in the future, and see what new creations they had and took for granted that we would never even dream of in our wildest dreams.

The man nodded, before asking her other questions, these on the subject of her physical wellbeing. She answered that everything was fine, more than fine. He nodded, taking notes, before sending her out to the hallway.

From there, a nurse quickly took her height and weight, jotting the figures down, before sitting down with her at a table just outside the dayroom, a stack of papers with her.The girl finally managed to pluck up enough courage to ask what was going on. Why was she here?All the nurse said to her was that the doctor saw fit to admit her, and she had to fill out these papers.

The news came to her as a shock. A cold feeling washed over her, and she felt the pit of her stomach drop. She couldn't help but ask why. The nurse admitted that she didn't know either, and she would have to ask the doctor.

She only nodded, choking down a lump in her throat. She didn't want to be here, in this dingy prison. She wanted to be safe at home. She asked how long she would be there. The nurse told her that if she behaved herself and participated in group, and took her medications, that they might let her go as soon as 3 months.

3 months? She asked if there was any chance of her leaving before those 3 months had passed. The response was that was highly unlikely.

After filling out the copious papers, most of which asked the same information that the doctors had already noted, she was lead into the visitors bathroom, and searched. Every single scar and scratch was questioned, noted, and charted, from the small scar on her left knee from falling off a bike when she was 6, to the burn on her finger from grabbing her curling iron the wrong way 2 days ago.

Then, she was lead into a dayroom with the other kids. She quickly found out that some had been there over 6 months, and she felt even more unsure than before. She wanted to go home. That night, a bag of her clothes and toiletries were dropped off. They were documented, before some of the items were given to her. Some things, they told her, she had to earn.
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