Turning Point: Part 3

How are we on a scale of one to ten?

Could you tell me what you see?

Do you wanna talk about it?

How does that make you feel?

Have you ever took a blade to your wrists?

Have you been skipping meals?

We're gonna try something new today

How does that make you feel?

Hold me close, don't let go

Watch me burn...

Hold me close, don't let go

Watch me burn...

Hold me close, don't let go

Watch me burn...

In this hospital for souls...

Hospital for souls, Bring me the Horizon.

Raven's POV:

When I woke up I was given a pair of white capri-length pants and a white top to change into, along with clean underwear and a tank top with a built in bra. I guess a regular bra would be a strangulation hazard with all the straps and such, and I counted myself lucky that I wasn't super busty. A pair of white shoes that looked like slippers. The uniform, or so I'm told.

Doctor Foster also asked me if I had any preference as to a male or female roommate. She got smart this time and brought an interpreter along (she clearly didn't sign very much, if at all). After multiple times of me cursing at her in sign she finally figured out that I wouldn't talk or sign anything she could make something out of. So she said for a female, tap my fingers on the table twice and for male, once. Or blink three times for no preference. I blinked three times. "No preference?" She asked, I nodded.

I was also handed a pamphlet about the philosophy and rules of the treatment facility which from here on out would be known to me as Sick Minds. Apparently we wouldn't be called patients, we'd be called guests. They called the problems issues. For example, drug addicts had substance abuse issues. Teens with eating disorders of any kind were guests with food issues. And then the various assorted teens there for depression or anxiety or self harm or any number of other things were called guests with behavioral issues (also known as the generally psycho patients, well that's how they're known in most mental health centers). All I'm gonna say is this is a load of crap.

Oh, and there are different levels: Level one, new guests or guests displaying inappropriate behavior. Somebody will escort you to your appointments. Not to be left alone. By not left alone, if you're 'socializing or 'hanging out' with a level two or three guest' (their words, not mine), then you're fine. Level two, guests who had racked up at least ten appropriate behavior points and kept the points at that number (or earned more) for at least a day. They're allowed to be unsupervised and escort themselves to their appointments and such, someone will still check-in with them periodically though. The level threes are the escorts. Well, the escorts are a level three or a nurse. The level threes are the closest to leaving, but they may be there for a week more or two months more.

Every level guest requires an escort to the laundry room or the vending machine and threes with food issues have to ask a nurse to escort them to the vending machine. Also, for each offense staff will use their best judgement. Possible consequences are expulsion from program (being sent home), being moved to the intensive unit, or losing appropriate behavior points.

And the offenses? As for what constitutes an offense: fresh cuts inflicted while you're there if you're a cutter like me, or throwing up food intentionally if you're there for bulimia. Anorexics, not eating, refusing to eat, or throwing away too much food.

One thing I also found out is that they have different types of therapy. Art therapy, relaxation therapy, acupressure, music therapy, counseling (talk therapy), animal therapy, play therapy (Well, that's weirder than weird), psychodrama therapy (drama? As therapy? What a load of crap), hypnotherapy, and a bunch of other different ones. And here I am thinking, what a load of bullshit. Foster also asked if I was an insomniac. I nodded, unsure where this was going. She didn't explain at all.

My siblings came to the hospital to join me for breakfast. Hospital food sucks, I don't know how anybody can stand the stuff. Since I wasn't a food issue case, they brought McDonald's for me.... an egg and cheese biscuit and a hot chocolate, thanks Chris. A few minutes later, Jenni, Julia, and Rocket left. Chris would stay with me until the last minute. Mom couldn't work up the guts to come see her daughter being put in a mental hospital, so basically it was just Chris going with me. "Raven, get your act together. Come home, sis." Julia said softly, hugging me. Jenni and Rocket didn't say much but they hugged me as well. Rocket went on tiptoe to place a kiss on my cheek as I pulled her close to me, hugging tightly.

Chris pushed me gently into the car that was to take me to the center. I knew it was happening, so I didn't see any point in resisting going. My brother slid into the car beside me, wrapping his arms around me as I moved closer to him. "You're okay," he reassured softly as I grabbed onto his hand. Foster sat in the front passenger, and a male nurse sat in the back with Chris and I. "Boyfriend?" he asked Chris. "No, twin brother," Chris replied, seeming to understand that I wouldn't answer.

The ride was only around half an hour, and Chris just held me close the entire time, occasionally making conversation with the nurse. I just kind of listened quietly, they were talking about me but I didn't really care at that point. I learned that the nurse was equipped with drugs in case anything happened, if I fought back or resisted too much they'd drug me. When we arrived at the hospital, Chris and the nurse got out first, and Foster. "Raven, come on," Chris prodded. I slowly slid out of the car, looking down at the ground. The nurse went to take a hold of my upper arm, I shifted towards my brother and hid behind him. "Don't touch her," Chris said, reading my mind. The nurse raised an eyebrow. "She'll fight back if you do, she's a trained fighter. Raven, will you come on your own?" Chris asked, turning to me. I nodded, face nearly expressionless.

With that, doctor Foster led me through the halls of the mental health hospital. There was a lot of white and things looked too clean. Eventually she directed me to a doorway into a room which would be mine for however long they kept me here. Yeah, did I mention that the rooms have no doors? I clung to my brother's hand, absolutely terrified. Doctor Foster had mentioned a roommate. I hoped they were nice.

"So your roommate is Cameron Burke, well not really roommate. The rooms are technically separated by a collapsible partial wall, and there is a corner on each side partitioned off so if you need to change clothes and don't want the wall up, you could use that, although most people just change in the bathrooms," Doctor Foster explained.

Well, I didn't get much from that. If she would use any form of personal pronoun, that'd give me something useful to work with, I couldn't tell sex from the name alone. And I wonder if my new roommate signed at all. I would ask but that would mean talking, and I didn't plan on talking.

"He goes by Cam a lot, so you know, and I'm not sure if he signs. But we all know you're able to talk, so I don't foresee that being too problematic. He was pretty excited to be getting a roommate so he asked if he could help me show you around, if that's okay with you?" I nodded consent, still not speaking. "Okay, good. You'll meet him when he gets back from therapy," she concluded.

I glanced around the room, the part that was to be mine held two mattresses stacked one on top of the other and a pillow. No sheets, I'm guessing that's a hazard for freaks like me, they put us in here to get better so why give us the opportunity to make a noose? There was a small heater thingie in the wall with just two controls: heat up, heat down. No visible wires. There was a window with steel bars on the outside, no doubt unbreakable glass. I also noticed the file in a plastic bin on the wall right inside my side of the room. I cautiously let go of Chris and walked over to read it, it contained a bunch of details about me.

My name, Raven Ramirez. Age, sixteen. Height, weight, hair color, eye color, and so on. I never have paid much attention to my weight, I know I'm okay in that department due to a high metabolism thanks to Hungarian and Italian genes. In fact, I'm probably a little underweight for my height and age. Status, admitted for fifth known attempt according to family. Watch type, randomized periodical. PSI 2, so potential self-injury level two. High risk but not immediate risk to self or others.

So Foster deemed me not an immediate risk to myself but still very high risk, I gather from the info in the pamphlet thing. PSI three would have me under full time watch and when they couldn't watch me I would have been strapped down and sedated. PSI 2 was slightly better, I wasn't restrained or sedated but they were always keeping eyes on me. Somebody would check in at random times.

It was the watch type that interested me the most. Somebody would peek into the room if I was in here, if not they would locate me and do a quick visual check. Doctor Foster explained all this already. There was also a section for staff notes. Here was where they'd list stuff about me, like if a nurse observed that I refused to eat that would go on there.

"Raven, we've got a few things you need to fill out. Chris, you can stay with her for now if you'd like. We've just got a bit of paperwork to get done, baseline assessments," he looked at me, "I can go if you want me to," he offers, I shook my head and reached for his hand. "Okay, I'll stay." he says quietly, sitting beside me on the bed. Being my brother, he seemed to sense that I wasn't talking and didn't push it.

I was given one paper at a time, asked to tick boxes from one to five and to write out how I would feel or react in certain situations. There was one that looked like a mood meter or something, rate certain things on a scale of one to ten. For the short response type questions, which there were several of, I wrote a bunch of mostly illegible curse words and even sketched a picture of a hand with the middle finger up on the side. The rest of it, I did it with honesty.

Chris frowned at some of the results and Doctor Foster did too. "Good artist," Foster commented, deadpan. "That good or bad?" I signed to my brother. "How about just a statement of fact?" Chris countered.

"Chris, it's time for you to go, so if you'd like a moment with your sister first, now's the time," Doctor Foster said gently. He stood with tears in his eyes and hugged me tightly. "I'm not gonna say get better because I know it's not that simple. So excuse the language, but get your shit together Raven. I'll schedule to come visit, even if no one else does. At least try to get better, do it for me and Jenni and Jules and Rocket. There are still people who need you and want you, it's not your time to go. We're putting you in here for a reason. We stood up for you because we love you, Raven. Try to get better, okay? Promise me you'll at least try to get better, promise me," he said.

I said nothing, just hugged my twin brother tightly. He squeezed me hard and I yelped, too much pressure on my shoulders. He immediately loosened his grip, looking guilty as he pulled away. I did manage to keep it together until he and Doctor Foster were out of the room, but as soon as they left I broke down in tears.

I hugged my knees to my chest tightly as I just broke down in tears. Here I was, alive but at the same time not at all alive. I continued to breathe even though my soul is dead. What was I going to do now? It was scary enough finding the strength to try to kill myself, now I'm stuck here.

I could try again when I got out but then what if I fail, they'd bring me back here. I could do it in here perhaps, but how? Everything was safety proofed and I would be monitored almost all the time. I could do it, somehow. I was clever, and sneaky. Steal an orderly's uniform and sneak out of here, kill myself before they could bring me back here. Or maybe I could try taking apart the wall heater thing. I would figure out something.

My fingernails were scratching at the skin just above the thick bandages on my wrists. Just then I felt something or someone touch my arm. I opened my eyes and almost had a heart attack upon realizing there was someone in front of me, kneeling beside my bed. I scooted backwards, not that it did any good since I was already against a wall. I didn't hear or see him come in. A small part of my mind wondered if this was the roommate Doctor Foster mentioned. But mostly my system tried to process the shock of everything.

The boy in front of me looked to be about my age, and of biracial heritage. Asian and Caucasian, I think. His facial structure was mostly Caucasian, the jaw wasn't pushed outward at all but the cheekbones were high, indicating Asian heritage. I noticed that his nasal roots were also high, which could be a race indicator, or an indicator of Waardenburg syndrome or another genetic disorder. His skin tone was a mocha color and his hair was dark with several blue streaks in the front section.

He was frowning, his stunning green eyes worried. "Your skin is too flawless for tear stains," he said quietly, slowly reaching out to me. I closed my eyes as he reached for me, but then I realized what he was doing. When I didn't resist, he very gently wiped away the tears from my cheeks. I was slightly shocked and confused. Who was this guy?! But for some reason I leaned into his touch. He reminded me of Chris, the way he'd wipe away the tears when I started crying.

"Are you cold?" he asked. It was then when I realized I was shaking. I slowly shook my head no. "Why were you crying?" he asked. I didn't answer. "Not much of a talker, hm? That's okay, I can talk enough for both of us. My name's Cameron, I'm guessing you're my new roommate," he said, extending a hand which I didn't take. After a moment he retracted his hand and asked "Okay then, what's you're name, sweetness?"

Wow. This guy had one of those in-your-face type personalities. He was friendly, though, and had this warm vibe unlike most of the others I had met so far. I signed my name, still not wanting to talk if I didn't have to. "I don't sign," he said apologetically. "Can you talk?" he asked, I nodded. "Why don't you?" he asked, I shrugged. "Say something, please, for me, at least just tell me your name," he pleaded with me. "My name's Raven," I said quietly after a moment. You'd have to be dead, dying, unable to talk, or a really frozen-hearted bastard to refuse to talk to this guy. "That's a cute name for a girl like you, it's nice to meet you Raven," he said cheerfully.