Life Size Band-Aids
A Personal Narrative on Being Treated as a Symptom
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I’ve been here before. Bright paint on the walls seeping under my skin. The room is somewhat filled with a few empty seats leaving gaps in between patients. Most everyone has disappeared into the glow of their phones. Here I sit, my leg vibrating tremors, face down in my notebook writing these words.
I’m handed a tablet by a woman who called out my name. I am to answer the cycle of questions.
Q. How have you been feeling since your last visit?
- Strongly agree
- Somewhat agree
- disagree
- never
Either I’m incapable of selecting an answer or the question is incapable of being answered.
My only concern is a validated parking pass. The hospital parking rates are outrageous. Digging holes in your pockets during challenging times. People are sick and their illnesses are racking up a parking tab at $4 an hour. A validated parking pass reduces it to half.
Next question.
Q. Have you experienced obsessive behavior?
- Strongly agree
- Somewhat agree
- disagree
- never
I laid there in bed yesterday. I couldn’t get up. Self-defeating and intrusive thoughts convinced me I had nothing to get up for or look forward to. I felt hopeless laying there staring up at the ceiling as if I were searching for stars in the sky. It was a soul crushing hopelessness. My thoughts drifted and I got side tracked.
I began counting each time my eyelids blinked. I counted to 100 and began again. 99, 100, 1, 2 — is that considered obsessive? ‘I mean, isn’t everyone curious how many times a day they blink? How will I know if I don’t count?’
I stopped taking my sleeping meds three days ago but that hasn’t stopped me from sleeping. I’m prescribed one each night. I can go days without sleep during a manic episode but once I’ve crashed from the high of mania I grapple to get out of bed, sometimes for several weeks. I thought if I stopped taking the meds it would cease. ‘Maybe the sedation is depressing me?’
