Lisa on the Psychiatric Ward (cross-posted from the lounge)
This is about my last little stint on a psychiatric ward in my misadventures in mental health. The woman I'm about to tell you about is not really named Lisa.
I was on a psychiatric unit getting stabilized back on the meds I had stopped taking which put me there in the first place. That will never happen again- not by my choice anyway. The night before, after I had been there about 12 hours, I came to the small area they had for eating our hospital food and saw Lisa for the first time. I think she had come in not long after I did.
She sat down across from me at the table in front of her tray that had been set there for her by the nurse. Her eyes were down cast. She would not look at me at all, at least not directly or when I was looking at her. I took the lid off my plate- meatloaf, carrots, and some kind of dessert I don't remember. I asked her what she was in for. She said depression and anxiety mostly. I told I was there for pretty much the same deal, although I think we both were lying. I was for sure.
I took a closer look at Lisa. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, chronologically speaking, but her appearance gave the impression that she had a lot more miles on her than that. Nobody is going to be on their best when you land in a psychiatric unit, of course. She had long blond hair that was greasy and tangled. My hair looked pretty much the same. She had a couple of small scars on her face that hinted at what might have been the hands of an abuser in the past. She was also quite thin.
I ate a couple of bites of my food and found it to my disliking. I decided not to eat more and went back to my room.
It was a rough night. One of the toughest nights of my life. I've talked about it a little with friends and family. I don't think I'm going to be able to do that more openly for some time to come. Early in the morning another round of meds came and that seemed to start getting me back to where I needed to be. They called us in for breakfast and my appetite had returned.
I sat down for breakfast in the little designated room and Lisa came in and sat down across from me with her breakfast.
"How are you feeling today?" I asked.
"I feel better," she said and smiled a little- still not quite looking at me directly though. But I noticed that she looked strangely pretty despite my original impression of her and the fact that neither of us had been allowed to get cleaned up yet.
"What kind of meds did they start you on?"'
"Zyprexa and Wellbutrin, " she replied. I knew what those drugs were for but didn't say anything about them or her diagnosis. She looked right at me this time when she spoke, however. Then she looked into a mirror that was actually a one way glass (so we could be observed from another room), and tried to straighten her hair a little. She still had that little smile on her face. How long had it been since a man had said a nice word to Lisa? I'm not much to look at, and I've got some facial scars of my own, but I've got a feeling that hers hurt a lot more than mine did when they were put there.
I confessed, "I have bipolar disorder and I stopped taking my meds. Big mistake!"
She looked at me and smiled a big grin- pretty straight white teeth and gorgeous blue eyes. The pain and ambivalence in them from the night before were now gone.
We ate the rest of our hospital breakfasts in silence and with gusto.
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I love how you lead us, from the scary beginning, on to the much more hopeful ending. It shows me you have a writer's talent--but I knew that already.
I hope she gets well too.......just as you did.
I sent a similar story to friend of mine who has gone through some of the same stuff as I have. I told her it will start out kind of bleak, but you're talking to me now so you know it ends up well. 
Thanks for the compliments on my writing. It's experiences like that that make people better at expressing themselves. For that I'm indebted to Lisa.
Good all around
It won't always be pretty, but it will be real.