Am I about to go into surgery?

Disclaimer: I have never been to a psych ward, these are just the details of my dream.

The first thing I felt was my body moving towards the steps in front of me. My first instinct was to look at my shoes. They were black and white converse. I had a purple Patagonia sweatshirt in my hands and boyfriend pants with huge holes on my thighs. I didn’t have time to look at my shirt because I was at the door.

What do you do when you walk up to a door?

You open it. I realized then I was walking into a hospital. The desk clerk immediately went on the phone and after not even 30 seconds of trying to decide where I was, a nurse came by. She must have called me by name but I didn’t recognize it. Instead, she guided me into a hallway. She gave me a pair of clothes. They were pure white, how was I supposed to keep these clean?

"Was I going into surgery?"

Then she stood in the corner of the locker room as I changed. She asked me to comb through my hair, so I shook it out of the bun it was in. I was about to put my converse back on, about size 8, when she looked at me straight-faced.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Well, not exactly, this is a hospital right?”

“Oh, dear.” She looked down at my clothes that were now in her hands. “You don’t get to wear those shoes, here are some socks for your feet.”

They were, as you’d expect, tan socks with white grips on the bottom. Was I going into surgery? I wouldn’t be wearing sweat pants, would I?

“Do I get to keep my jacket?” She looked over the jacket, now I realized it was more of a cardigan. There were a few pockets she rummaged through, nothing. The zipper had since been ripped off and shags of thread were there instead.

“You must have been somewhere like here before.”

Actually the exact opposite, I had no idea where I was.

“Since there is no zipper or string I’ll allow it. But if one of the other patients fights for it, I’ll take it away immediately.”

When the softness of my jacket touched my hands that’s when it hit me. I was in a psych ward. I wasn’t going in for surgery, I was going in for… a mental illness. That’s just as scary. And then the rush of depression hit me.

As I was walking down the hallways the nurse was spitting off the rules of the hospital. Most of them were common sense, but two stuck out to me.

1. This is not a guarded psych ward. I could come and go as I pleased. The nurse did promise me the police would just dump me back here the next day. So there really is no use.

2. The money in my account could be used for a variety of things.

I don’t remember giving her a wallet, but I must have money in my account.

“Here is your private room. Lights out at 10, and automatically come on at 8. You will be locked in your room at this time. But a guard walks through if you need to leave.”

"And that may be the exact reason they were sent to this hospital."

I wanted desperately to ask why I was here. I realized I was depressed. The matted hair, the scars on my body, even the lack of hunger I had. But do people really turn themselves into a mental institution for depression? Is this the 60’s?

“What time is dinner?” I finally managed to say.

“Well I said it was in 30 minutes, but now it's 25 minutes. Down the hall and to your left but you will see the line before then. You will get your meds administered before you eat.”

“Okay thanks,” I said, trying to smile.

The thing was, I wasn’t sad to be here. I was proud of this body who decided this was the safest place for them. I was proud they recognized there was a problem.

But I was also sad that when I wake up from this dream, they will walk through the door of their room and forget what they were doing. They will follow the line to get meds and dinner, but will not know exactly how they got there.

And that may be the exact reason they were sent to this hospital.

I wished the best for this body. And then I slipped awake.