I was empty. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually.
I spend 3 days in the Intensive Care Unit where the nurses were monitoring me 24/7. I was send to ICU because I lost consciousness once the nurses administered the medication to force me to vomit and clear my stomach of the pills. I can’t remember much between the time I was administered and taken to the ward. My body’s convulsions woke me constantly but I was in a drugged state of mind, not knowing what is happening and why it is happening.
The more I vomited, I more aware I became of my surroundings. And finally 12 hours of my head slummed over a bucket came to an end. I slept most the time and had tubes running to and from my body.
During this time no one really spoke with me, they all spoke about me and to each other but not really to me. The doctor will ask “How are you feeling today?” and I will respond “Better”. My parents will ask “Why did this happen?” and I will reply “Don’t know”. My pastor will pray and say a blessing to which I humbly said “Thank you”. In all honesty I needed a someone; not my parents, the nurses, doctors or pastor. A someone who either understood, or just wanted to be there for me, not because I was sick or needed help but because they wanted to. I didn’t want to admit to any problems or discuss functional outcomes, I just wanted to be near someone, be still in their presence and if needed, talk about stuff. Preferably a stranger who wouldn’t need to report to my parents or teachers, and who couldn’t be bothered with the social politics at my school.
But instead I found myself alone with my thoughts. I know, I know, I could probably have spoken to those around me but I didn’t want to think of excuses and explanations. I needed comfort, not judgement. I needed a someone.
To be continued