Chapter 13: Can We Not Talk About That?

Without Roger, Mark felt small again. At dinner, he shuffled his feet to get his tray and then sat by himself to eat off of it the bits and pieces of food that he could stomach. Without Roger, Mark was scared. He didn't like feeling so alone. The worst part was, it was only his first full day there. He had no idea how he would survive much longer.

He stood up to dispose of his tray and was met with disapproving looks from the nurses.

"Mark, you're going to need to eat more than that. You need to get your strength back."

Mark stood, staring, unable to answer her. He felt incapable of forming words.

She slowly approached him, aware of his condition, and led him back to the table.

"Here, honey, just take a few bites, it will make you feel better."

Mark's stomach gurgled in response, rudely awakening his gag reflex. He jumped up and ran to the bathroom as quick as possible to expel the miniscule contents of his stomach.

The same nurse followed him and rubbed his back while his stomach wretched, but somehow he just felt worse. The awful taste brought tears to his eyes as he grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser next to the sink to clean his face off. He couldn't explain his sudden aversion to food. It started with him just not feeling like eating, but now he was absolutely repulsed by the idea of it.

After the situation at dinner, the nurse allowed Mark to leave for group activities, but assured him that she would make a note for his physician and psychiatrist. Fan-freakin-tastic. If there was one thing he thought was the most deleterious part of his treatment, it was the group activity time. They wanted people to feel better about themselves and not want to kill themselves. Throwing them in a room with strangers who have the same desires just doesn't work, in Mark's opinion.

Somehow Mark made it through and could finally make his way back to his room – one of the only highlights of his current residence. It was a room he had all to himself. There wasn't anyone to bother him, or make him upset, or make him angry, or examine his every move. Just him inside his small, quiet room, with the exception of the fifteen minute checks from the techs. But again, that was the downfall. No Roger.

Mark sat on the bed and went over the events of the past two days in his head. He couldn't take much more. It was only about thirty minutes before they would require all the patients to turn off their lights and go to bed. Mark was terrified. He was given his sleeping pill before being sent to his room and the idea of being lost in the dark of his room was a scary thought. The first night, he barely noticed– he was nearly unconscious anyway, but now that he was aware of his situation, he had no interest in turning the lights off or sleeping.

Despite his fears, the lights were turned off and he was lying down in his bed. His mind took advantage of the situation and used the shadows in his surroundings to create horrible images on the walls and ceiling. Mark began to sweat and quickly threw the blanket off the bed, leaving only the sheet, in an attempt to cool down. He didn't like the feelings he was having. He wished more than anything that Roger was there. He felt horrible for how he had treated him back at the loft. Roger was helping him, not hurting him. He missed the safety he felt after nightmares when Roger would take care of him. In the psych ward, there wasn't anyone to give you that kind of care.

He soon became hyper-aware of everything going on around him. The scratchy sheets rubbed against his legs like sandpaper. The bed was too small and the pajamas too big. Everything was wrong about the situation he was in. Every single noise, no matter how big or small, made Mark jump out of his skin. He fought the tears rising to his eyes. He was sick of crying! He had been crying his whole life. When would it finally stop?

Mark became more agitated as his thoughts pounded through his head. He gripped the thin, white sheet and pulled it over his head hoping that it would somehow muffle the cries escaping from his mouth. When he did, his feet were suddenly uncovered. That was the last straw.

Mark stood up quickly, threw the sheet to the floor, and did the only thing he knew how. He collapsed on the bed and screamed as loud as he could into the scratchy, thin, pillow. It was getting harder and harder to breathe as his sobs kept him from catching his breath.

Despite his best efforts, the commotion was heard in the hall by the charge nurse. She rushed in with two techs on her heels and walked in to find the man curled into a small ball sobbing and punching the mattress. Her heart ached for him, though it was nothing new. The first few nights were always the worst. She approached the bedside and attempted to get his attention.

"Mark, Mark, can you hear me?"

His wracking cries continued through her words. She softly placed her hand on his shoulder and tried getting his attention again. Mark screamed in response with a resounding 'no'.

"Come on Mark, I know you can hear me. I need you to relax, take deep breaths."

Her words fell upon deaf ears. She looked up to one of the techs and slightly nodded her head, "let's do five of Haldol." He left the room and returned with a sedative. A quick poke in the thigh and a several seconds later, Mark was quiet.

The nurse turned him over and gently covered him again with the sheet and blanket to make him as comfortable as possible. Things could only go up from here.

The next morning came too quickly. There was a knock and soon Deb came in.

"Mark? Are you awake?"

He slowly opened his eyes, but then quickly closed them, fighting against the rays coming through his window. He rubbed his eyes trying to wake up.

"Hey, Mark. I hear you had a rough night." Her voice was so gentle, it made it hard for him to hate her. It was easy to be distracted by her bedside manner.

He only looked at her in reply.

"Well hopefully we can get you sleeping better real soon. I've got you set up for an appointment with the psychiatrist, Dr. Loren, who you met yesterday. It will be a good opportunity for us to talk and try to figure out a good medication regimen to start with. Roger mentioned that you weren't liking the Ambien, which is okay as we only meant for that to be used temporarily."

He finally seemed to find his voice. "I… I don't want to sleep."

Deb's expression changed to one of concern. "Why not?"

He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts before speaking. "Because when I sleep…that's when the nightmares happen. But after I take that stuff, it's like they're worse than normal. I can't get myself out of it and everything becomes so real."

"Like what?"

This was always the part he wanted to skip over. The details were the things he wanted more than anything to forget. If he could just forget the details, what would be left to further destroy his life?

"Can we not talk about that just yet?"

"Well, Mark, I want you to get out of here just as much as you do but until we start making progress, that won't happen. You were doing really well yesterday. Remember, you're strong enough to get through this and you have lots of people who care about you."

"I know, but it's hard to talk about it without Roger here."

"Well, unfortunately, Roger isn't always going to be there when you're struggling. You're going to need to learn how to pull yourself through these issues. And I hope that in a few days, we can start moving towards that."

"Okay, but can we not do this now? I mean, can I at least have a few hours?"

She smiled and nodded. "Of course. We can talk about it in a little while when we meet with Dr. Loren for your medication review. Does that sound okay?"

He nodded and took a deep breath. It was going to be a long week.