tues. 25 july, 2006

…

"Well, they called me, and they said that they're looking to send you home within this week. That you're good to go." Charlie informs with a relaxed tone; he was slightly anxious.

"Is that what yesterday was? When you came to see me?"

"No. Actually this was a visit to talk about everything we just discussed. They were thinking Wednesday or Thursday."

"Today's Tuesday."

"Yup."

"Holy crap."

"Yup."

"Is there a conclusion?"

"Not yet… Do you want to come home?"

Was I ready to go home? I would love to sleep in a comfortable bed and not have to watch my back not to get jumped like the staff had no knowledge of. Or sometimes they just stand there looking like they were regretting going to school for this job.

Was I ready to go back to Forks? Have lunch with Nana once every two weeks? I don't know. I do have a therapist and I'm guessing they'll have the clinic in Forks on speed dial for my psychiatrist. Just lunch every two weeks. School, no brainer. No boys, that'll be easy. And I'll still have time to spend with Charlie before the summer is over and get my ducks in a row before school starts.

I'm ready. I'm ready. I have to be ready. No more wallowing in self-pity. If I wanted the life I've always dreamed of, then I needed to be ready to face the past, face Nana, face the future. Uncle Charlie was going to be there. Things were changing, and I had to be ready for them if I really wanted to live my dream life. I'm ready.

I hate this place. I'm ready to return to Charlie's two-bedroom house.

"Yeah, I do."

…

Later in the morning after showers and meetings with therapist's and doctors; and morning chill time which included watching tv, playing cards, coloring or drawing, other board games and card games, or time in the quiet room. After that was the morning support group selection, I chose to do arts and crafts. Or in my case, I spent the hour writing in the journal I had picked out when I arrived in the small room. A couple of other kids were in here, there were mostly middle schoolers and a 10-year-old from other wards.

I have heard some of their stories since being here. I didn't know if it was true because they were crazy, or I didn't know if it was true because they were crazy. Two different tones with those two clarifications. Disbelief and dismissal because of age and how they were carrying themselves and freaked out and confused because of how they were carrying themselves.

I sat by myself. Luckily, there were small four chair tables and desk in the room. I was the second person sitting by themselves out of a group of seven patients.

Patients. Patients, that word here means the kids with behavioral issues and crazy. Patients here didn't mean kids with damaged psyches. Psyche's that work differently from birth. They treated us like a paycheck, they treated us like sedated cattle. I know out of everyone here that I was damaged, from years of bullying from my grandparents, neglect of emotional intelligence from my parents. I was one of those kids that might end sexually active and addicted to drugs because at the age of four during a confused moment of emotions looking at a field in Australia during a vacation. I knew what it is now, I was overwhelmed at the beauty of the grassland, it was beautiful and there was not a grassland I have traveled to that was as beautiful as that section.

They told me to shut up and stop ruining the tour, or they'd give me something to cry about. A lot of things I had been hit because of spells like that, I'd be overwhelmed with a stressful situation or a beautiful scenery or event like Australia. I've started to grow angry throughout the years, and being angry hurt me. I hate that ugly emotion, I hated how I started to dread waking up every day knowing what the day would turn out to be, sometimes I have utterly convinced myself to be oblivious to the anger and misery that lurked in my family's bones like a disease in bone marrow. And then the day came before my rebellious, bad kid stage in sophomore year, yes I know eleventh grade; I was twelve at the time. I should be getting outside every chance I got right? Yes well, in a family that went by old English traditions, I wasn't allowed to go outside because I am a lady. Anyways, the day that my oblivious layer of protection was broken like the world's sharpest knife slicing through glass and shattering it completely.

It was a regular Saturday at family dinner with the grandparents, I was telling a story about the kids in class after we had finished the assignment and it was the last class of the day, I was smiling and giggling about the improv of an old classic movie. The Little Rascals, I had been an observer, the group of kids I had hung around were in a separate mandatory drama class and had been humorously practicing lines and little scenes. They had all the lines down pact courtesy of the drama instructor's amazing communication skills with middle schoolers, she never failed at being able to get kids to unlock a gift in the drama department. I was good at narrating and backstage production; the kids had made my day that Friday afternoon. They had given me hope about happiness with no strings attached, I cared deeply about those kids because still this day, the memory of that day still gives me a smile. PopPop had been pissed at me, he told me to talk like an adult and stop my disquieting giggling, I remember his face, it truly looked like he wanted to leave me out in the woods like an unloved, discarded family pet. Nana had joined in and agreed that we were all young adults and shouldn't be giggling about different voice impressions of different movie characters, were more sophisticated than that; and of course, mom joined in, and she had the one first to mention that all I'd be good for was to make babies.

Dad told me that I genius of a kid like me shouldn't be indulging in weaker IQs in childish acts. They were wrong. Those kids were geniuses just like me, they were older, but they were just as smart if not smarter, and they were amazingly talented, and skilled. We all were and being here, in this facility, I wished… for a couple of moments I veered of my current train of thought to the educational system and the curriculum's. The kids in this room, this facility, didn't have the education that I had, the benefits and opportunities for ivy league universities; they were damaged kids for less wealthy family lines. I was human, just like them, I had problems and emotions just like them.

In this moment I wanted to cry. I was born and raised to be an intellectual and strong woman of society. Society. I was supposed to be a lawyer that would plan old fashion parties with classical music and serve snails or salmon. A woman that would be… a shell of a person for money and amazing reputation. I didn't want that, I liked having connections for educational purposes and career opportunities, but I did not want to end up putting my child in here. But not even that, they didn't have them, and I don't know why but I wished that they did; the privileges and opportunities should be national, worldwide. Education does wonders to figure out who you are, the clubs and classes I take; the languages the history classes or worldwide cultural classes; just all of it. The clubs that you wouldn't expect like automotive or even teacher shadows to any grade you wanted for child development and teaching, even shadows at Olympia university and Seattle, those classes are during the summer not to interfere with the state requirement for attendance at the native school.

They should have these opportunities, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair how they viewed us; yes certain kids are really crazy and don't know it like true crazy people but at the same time, ugh. It's heart breaking… every day is a struggle to feel at peace, I can understand that and after being here for three weeks and observing these kids and getting to know these kids because of close quarters. Being able to pick out honesty or prejudice, these kids were in pain; they felt alone and unheard. I listened to them; I understand the loneliness and the pain of not being able to speak how you feel without the anger or bullying. They call us the ones that are hard to love, too crazy to love, they always say that people like us end up alone for the rest of our lives because of our… brains chemical imbalances.

It's heartbreaking. I took a deep breath and allowed that breath to calm my nerves.

Even if my children one day enter this facility and/or a facility like it. I want my children to know I loved them no matter what, and even if someday they did end up here—because of genetical mental disorders that I have learned since being here—I wanted them to know more than anything that I, Viviane Ivory Swan, mommy, loved them more than anything in this world. Even if they didn't want to be here like I didn't want to be here—alive, I mean—I know that they didn't ask to be here, but I wanted them to be here. That I wanted them, that I was here with them every step of the way. That is love… that is a real loving parent.

Caiden had been the only ones who had enjoyed listening to my story of my amazing classmates, he had spent half the night awake with me asking about the kids, who they were and the improvisation. He was in two of my classes throughout the day, and it had been like that, well… until now. I miss him, I wish he had talked to me, I know that our fight we had before had no information of his suicidal thoughts because he didn't want to pursue being an actor. That's what they wanted him to be, he was going to get an agent that worked with a lot of famous actors from the late eighties and present day; he wanted to be a doctor.

The I wrote about those days in my journal, everything I had been thinking about in this room, I filled more than a dozen pages of for the remaining hour.

After that group, we went back to our respected wards. There is a total of five children wards, mine is one of the less active groups. And when I mean less active, less mental breakdowns or manic episodes, we were more relaxed.

The nurse's station's phone kept ringing about the other Wards and the trouble they caused in other morning support groups. I gave one of the aides—Ms. Adams, she had pretty blue/green eyes and curly brown hair, she's around twenty-seven years old—a sheepish smile when I was walking past the desk to my room to change my shirt, I was feeling that the shirt was restricting my torso, and I was extremely uncomfortable.

"Can I change my shirt real quick, please?"

She gave me a look as one of the nurses answered the phone and I moved away to give him privacy to talk.

"Why?" She asked, she looked genuinely confused and pensive.

"This shirt, I don't know. It's making me feel… uncomfortable." I felt like I was going to have to claw my skin off.

"Go ahead." She says gesturing to follow but stand outside the door to make sure no one would come down and out of the view the door to give me privacy.

I changed into one of the oversized long sleeve shirts that had been sent a couple days ago. I smoothed out my cargo pants and tucked a side of my shirt into the waistband. That's better, I feel much better now, I felt like I breathe now and move the way I wanted too. My forearms are still bandaged and checked daily every morning after vitals, I was going to have ugly scars for the rest of my life.

"We're going outside. Do you want to bring something outside?" Ms. Adams asks when I step out of my shared room with a roommate—we don't talk.

"Can I bring my book, The Red Badge of Courage?" I asked.

We checked out my book from in the locked area where they put all of our stuff that could be used for many different things that I never would've believed before coming here to be used as a weapon. Like hair ties, they take hair ties because kids have used them for suffocation—I don't know how that was even produced, and I don't want to know. I followed the aide through the empty ward floor through the other hallway to the fenced in playground and picnic tables outside. This area was closed off and out of the way of the medical center and definitely a distraction to keep us calm from the other patients. Two aides remained with the group of ten in our ward, I am number 10, Ward 5; Ms. Adams, and Mr. Hanken sat at a separate picnic table across from me while I opened up my book with the other kids chattering and playing on the playground and/or in the large patch of grass playing games.

The sky had patches of blue peeking through the dull grey cloud cover, the sun was casting a glow along the borders of the patches. Small patches, sporadically around the massive area boarded by thick forestry with the city about four or five miles away. The temperature was warm, in the low seventies, high sixties, a light, gentle breeze that was a bit cool if you were sitting in one place for a while; the more I gazed up at the sky in modest delight, I felt more relaxed in ways I couldn't explain. The younger kids of the ward, three middle schoolers were playing a tag game with a small foam ball, two boys who were seventeen are tossing a football back and forth near the back of the large area near the left side to the other edge of the fenced cage. Out of the ear shot and in their own world, no one bothered them, they came at various times, they had a scuffle and now they are besties, it had been a mutual victory; they knocked each other out and left our Ward staff puzzled and tons of paperwork and meetings. I looked at the tree line that I could see towards my right and it was closer to the fence, I was about a good thirty feet from the barbed wire fence, the grass is very lush on both ends and green.

I stared at it for a while in silent calm amusement until I zoned out and the sound of kids bellowing in laughter in a seven-person group on the patch of grass, they were standing a circle and throwing the ball and forth asking questions and/or throwing jokes around. I focused back on my book—a 1895 war novel about the Civil War—for the remaining time we spent outside until lunch and after support groups. By the time we were preparing for lunch, a knot of unease started to settle in my stomach which an inescapable feeling of surrealism was silencing my mind.

Oh, for the love of anything holy I wished lunch had gone smoothly and calmly, but no, our Ward had to somehow get information about the other Wards and decided to join in on the chaos. I felt the energy shifting around the room and at my table as the two girls were whispering about the other tables talking about kids fighting other kids and hitting staff. I looked over at the staff table of Ms. Adams, Mr. Hanken, and Mr. Andrews—Ward 5 rotating nurse—and grabbed my tray and stood up from my table and walked over to theirs. I was not in the mood to get my happy mood ruined because of the negative energy floating around like patches of forest catching on fire.

And then everything hit the fan when I went to finish my sandwich and salad with a cute little carton of juice and the water bottle I had purchased from good kid credits. Then the fighting started, I twisted in my seat at the sound of clattering plastic plates and silverware and loud yells of kids. It was complete chaos from there. Plates, food, and silverware were thrown around and all over the floor in various places, along with fighting kids and the staff trying to break it up and calm it down but it only made things worse. I honestly didn't know what to do, if I decided to help I would mostly have to fight a kid or two, I could stay in this corner like a good kid or I could find some more help. I choose the latter; I made it through the crowd unscathed until I got to the door where I witnessed a duo of thirteen-year-olds near the door where they had knocked down one of the cafeteria staff. I stopped in my tracks; I scanned them quickly trying to sense if anyone was going to come at me from behind.

One had those plastic knives that were strangely durable and sharp considering we were in a facility where kids have been using them for evil intentions, and not just to cut up the questionable meat they served. I felt strangely open, and my stomach twisted feeling the sense of an impending threat, I inhaled deeply preparing myself, the feeling of my fingertips and fingers growing cold from the adrenaline running through my veins. It was stupid and most definitely cowardly to raise my hands halfway in surrender, I was hoping in some way that they were crazy enough to be kids and take me under their wing for protection but the negativity in this room was thick and suffocating. And then the kid came from behind me, knocking me down and the fighting began to keep myself safe from the duo of girls and the boy around their age; for kids so young and small well everyone was taller than me in some weird freaking way. I kicked my legs and threw my hands as much as I could, I felt them punching and kicking my legs and any of my body parts I threw back, I cried out feeling on one of the girls locked her fingers on my left forearm and the pain of my stitches tearing as she gripped my arm as I tried to get away. I kicked her solid in the face, and my shin and knee met the two others, I don't know where, but I got out of the room with the screaming kids behind me.

I had never been so grateful to see security and more staff members when I ran down three hallways trying to evade the kids but they had other plans, they were finding available exits and causing the facility to start setting off ear-piercing alarms and flashing white lights above the doors. The hallway I had ran down was near the visitor area and I had never been so grateful to see three people with more staff.

One of the security guards yelled at me and held up a taser catching Charlie, Bella and that boy from the graduation party—attention with staff members, at the end of the extremely long uniquely, painted hallway walking into a visiting room.

"Stop! Stop right where you are!" The security guard yelled.

"Viviane?" Charlie yell.

I seen Bella throw her hands over her mouth and that boy step forward but Charlie held out his arm, it was strange to see Charlie with his work belt on his regular day to day clothes.

I stopped in my tracks, nearly falling backwards when I abruptly stopped myself, throwing my arms up, "Wait! Wait! Please! I was trying to get out to get more help! The kids are getting out! Wait!"

The security guard wasn't looking at me, his eyes were trained behind me. One of the pregnant staff members that rotate between my Ward and Ward 3, she has auburn red hair and bright blue eyes with freckles, she holds out her hands. She is Ms. Amy Taylor, we have become close over the weeks I've been here and whenever she was assigned to my Ward for the day or half a day.

"Viviane, don't move!" Ms. Taylor urges, I can see the anxiety and fear in her eyes from where she stood.

"Stop right there! I mean it! Dylan stop! Stop!"

The other security stepped forward, "Get down!"

Charlie was yelling down the hallway.

I immediately dropped and I heard the taser gun's trigger being pinched and the pain-filled cry from Dylan from behind me. I looked over my shoulder as I scurried away and fell into the wall to my right. He writhed as he fell to the linoleum, dropping the belt that looked like it had belonged to Mr. Hanken, security guards were coming out of the woodworks and going out the doors and I could hear kids screaming outside. My left arm began to flare in pain, and I grabbed it, and then I felt the blood and torn flesh and gauze. For the life of me, I couldn't understand how one single fifteen minutes into lunch and everything was completely fucked, I prayed on my life that this was just a nightmare, and this wasn't happening. I have never been afraid of kids before in my life and now I was holding my arm together while my blood dripped onto the pretty white flooring, I slipped when I tried moving forward and fell onto on the ground holding onto my arm. My stomach churned when I looked down at my arm, my head spun at the ripped flesh.

All I remember was the top side of the right side my head smacking against the wall and I was sobbing when Ms. Taylor was screaming for help.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry." I apologized delirious and in shock, my heart was racing in my chest. "I tried to get out to get help. They attacked me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's my fault that they got outside. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Ms. Taylor."

Ms. Taylor wraps her hands around my left forearm, "It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay, it's not your fault. It's okay, sweetheart. Breathe, breathe, it's okay."

"Viviane? What is going on?" Charlie comes into view with the hoodie I seen Bella in and they wrapped it around my forearm.

Ms. Taylor was spilling the news, I guess him being a respectable officer made her obligated to tell the truth. I really hoped she wouldn't get fired for it but then again, she probably wasn't going to come back after today, she was about ready to give birth, and this stress of manic kids was way too much for her to handle. I was taking back my sentimental bullshit towards my fellow wardmates, they all could swallow and choke on glass now. My ears are ringing, and my mind wasn't processing anything else. The boy from the graduation party scooped me up from the floor and followed Ms. Taylor to a safe haven, a medical room, the security guard split up the group while Charlie was loudly protesting but I can hear Bella trying to get him to relax.

The on-site doctor had kicked out the boy who put me on a medical bed, my vision was hazy when I gazed back at the boy. He had that gaze in his eyes—that same look from the party, and for the first time in my life I felt an excruciating clench of panic in my chest, and I didn't want him to leave. But the door had been closed shut in his face as Bella reached to grab his arm, I don't know she had gotten to him.