Willow Rock

by Iris Casanova

The white walls seemed so peaceful. I was finally away from the world that was causing me so much pain. I was at ease, and yet I couldn’t help but feel trapped once again. Being in this place helped me escape my troubles, if only for a moment. The rest of the time I spent reminiscing on past events; trapped in my own thoughts. How could I have allowed myself to end up in this place for the third time? I sat in the dark room feeling alone although I had a roommate. I heard the shrieks of another patient as she ran down the hall convincing herself that the nurse was after her; no one was behind her.

Once more, I was in the psychiatric ward of the hospital. Labeled for the third time now as 5150; a danger to myself and others. I didn’t see myself as a danger to anything or anyone. I was just me. I couldn’t understand why the doctors saw the need to label me. I’m a person, not a can of soup. I shouldn’t be labeled. It got worse once my own family started thinking I was insane.

To start from the very beginning, I’m first generation Mexican-American. I was raised by my parents who were raised in traditional Catholic/Mexican ways. In Mexico, receiving any form of help for one’s mental health is taboo, or at least that’s what my parent’s generation was taught to believe. To suffer from clinical depression is the equivalent of being “retarded” (excuse me for being politically incorrect). So when I was rushed to the emergency room because I had overdosed and was told that I would have to be in the psychiatric ward my first thought was that my parents would think I’m retarded.

I wasn’t always like that. I was never the “unstable” child in the family up until that point.

It was my freshman year in high school and summer seemed so close. It was only about a month away. I was on the Berkeley High campus green. Bored as usual, I looked for something to do. As I started walking, this extremely annoying boy named Stacey started talking to me. I wanted to smack him. I was thankful when some strange guy ran up and smacked Stacey on the head for me. He later introduced himself to me and invited me to eat nachos from Doggy High with him and his friend which also happened to be one of my friends. I gladly accepted.

The next day I saw the same guy at the campus green again. He came up to me and asked me if I wanted to hang out. I had nothing else to do so I went along with him. After about a week of us hanging out, it became fairly obvious that he was crushing on me. He told me I absolutely needed to meet his best friend. I didn’t know why I “needed” to do so exactly, but I went with it. We went to Barnes & Noble to meet up with his friend.

When his friend finally arrived, we decided to go to the marina. We all hung out like this for months. Then the love bug hit and me and his best friend started dating. This was my first serious relationship. I was in love. We did everything together. We spent most of everyday with each other. Things seemed picture perfect. After about ten months of us dating, I saw that he was still talking to his ex-girlfriend on MySpace. I was furious. I couldn’t believe what I had seen. I broke up with him that very day. A short while later we got back together. I broke up with him at least twice more before we got back together yet again. It was my birthday weekend that his parents decided to take their family on a camping trip. I cried as soon as he told me the news. To put it quite bluntly he fucked up my quinceanera so I was hoping my sixteenth birthday would be different, but to my luck he wasn’t even going to be able to make it to my party because of the sudden camping trip. After the trip was over and he and his family were on the drive back, I received a text from him. He told me it was over. I felt my entire world collapse.

Thinking back now I see that it was that moment that triggered my spiral into depression. I started doing drugs to ease my heartache. There would be times when I would be drunk off my ass walking in the streets with no where specific to go. I started cutting myself. I wouldn’t let myself eat anything. I spent most of my time high off something or asleep. The pain while I was awake was unbearable. After two weeks of this self destructive behavior, I noticed my body start to shake by itself. I was falling apart. My parents drove me to Children’s Hospital where I was then sent to Willow Rock.

When I first arrived to Willow Rock, I saw it as a haven. I was far away from my issues. Less than twenty-four hours later they decided that nothing was wrong with me and sent me home. The ride back home was painful. Because I lived so close to him, I felt as if I was far away from the hurt yet so painstakingly close. I would receive violent threats from him that involved the homeboys. I later found out that he had gotten a new girlfriend a week after we had broken up. I couldn’t believe it. He said he loved me so I didn’t see how he could move on so quickly. This new girlfriend of his was apparently the same chick that went with his family on the camping trip as I later found out.

I was drunk at a family friend’s quinceanera when I decided it was time for me to move on. This gorgeous guy came up to me and asked me for my number, but then again everyone looks good when you’re drunk. I thought it was creepy how he called me thirty minutes after I had left the party, but I figured he must have really liked me. We soon started dating afterward. I didn’t know the guy very well at all, but I figured this would be my new start; my chance to start something beautiful. I was so very wrong. I can honestly say he was psycho and obsessed, but most of all he was manipulating. He was older than me by a few years. The way he spoke down to me made me want to fall into tears every time. He made me his little puppet. What a stupid little puppet I was. He would call me at night and rant on and on about absolutely nothing. That was the week I started taking pain killers again. The pain wasn’t physical, it was in my heart, my soul. I started off taking six pills throughout the day. The next day it went to ten. The day after that it went up to twelve. It slowly went up to twenty or thirty a day. I was gone. I was in my own little world.

One Thursday night he called me. He told me that he was going to kill himself and jump into the bay. I pleaded with him no to do so. This was what he wanted. He wanted me to beg. He never had any remote intention of hurting himself. He told me he was going to write a note and that one day I would find this note and finally know. I didn’t know what I was supposed to find out, but I did know that I couldn’t take anymore of this.

This wasn’t the first time he spoke of suicide. He would blend it into any of our conversations by saying he’d kill himself if I ever left him. I believed him so I stayed. That night was different though. I broke down. The pain killers weren’t working as well as I would like them to. So as our phone conversation went on I opened up the bottle of pain killers; your usual over the counter stuff.

I had already taken twenty that day. I took ten more. Those ten more quickly escalated to forty more. I dropped the bottle and the room went silent. All I could hear was the sound of my tears going down my cheeks and the slow creaking of the door. It was my sister.

She found me and soon figured out what I had done. She told my mom and we quickly drove off to the hospital. I don’t remember much except hearing voices and seeing figures around me. When we got to the hospital I was told to drink charcoal. I never puked it out. It came out the other end. I was stuck to an I.V. for fourteen hours and then sent off to Herrick Campus psychiatric ward.

I was at Herrick’s for about a week. It was here that the doctors decided to put me on medication. Because of this, the doctors advised my mother to let me stay for a few more days to see how the medication Prozac was working on me. My mother gave her consent, and I was stuck at the hospital for a while longer. The only thing that consoled me was that my friends would come to visit me.

I remember it so clearly. My best friend had just gotten out of volleyball practice and had come to see me with her mother. They brought me flowers. This added a bit of color to my monotone room. When visiting hour was over, I was sad to see her have to leave. I hugged her and started to cry. I missed her. I wanted to be out so badly yet a part of me liked the escape from reality.

The day I was released from the hospital wasn’t such a pleasant experience for me. I went to Denny’s with my family, and when I got back home I got dressed and left to go to Berkeley High to meet up with some friends all the while being paranoid. I was glad to be back out with the rest of society, but it was that very idea that frightened me. The day I smoked weed while I was still on medication was also the day people began to think there might actually be something wrong with me.

I was paranoid the whole time. Mind you this was on the weekend but it got no better once school began again. That Monday when I was out with some friends at lunch I couldn’t help but feel like I was being watched. I felt trapped. I thought everyone wanted to start a fight with me. I didn’t know what to do. I was having random angry outbursts. I decided to go home as soon as I saw the frightened and confused faces on my friends’ faces.

Though I had learned that mixing weed with Prozac is not a good idea, I would still do it. I would smoke and drink while I was on medication. I did this for months. One day after I had gotten out of therapy I went to downtown Berkeley. Long story short, my ex-boyfriend saw me. He came up to me and we started talking. I had a cigarette at hand. I knew how much he hated those.

We started kicking it like old times. After a while, we both started acting like we were back together though we weren’t and he was still with his girlfriend. He would be pissed when ever I would mention my other ex-boyfriend, the one that made me his puppet. He wanted to kick his ass as soon as I told him that he had joked around about putting me on the track and making me his bottom bitch.

Months went by and he was still with his current girlfriend. I was more like the chick on the side though he would spend more time with me. After a while I couldn’t take anymore of it. I wanted out. I wanted to go back to my haven. So though I hate to admit it, I told my family I needed to go back. I wasn’t completely unstable this time, I just needed an escape. I was sent to the emergency room and then sent off to John Muir Health, or at least that’s what I think it’s called. I never bothered to learn the name.

I spent less than a week there. I sometimes wish I could go back. I took this time around as a vacation. When it was time for me to leave, I felt sad again. I don’t like admitting this but there’s something about the hospital and the structure of it that I like. It makes me feel safe though isolated at the same time. As soon as the new school year hit I had already decided that I would go back to Berkeley High. I wanted to get back the life I once had. I knew I wouldn’t have what I had before, but I wanted to try. Now I’m back at Berkeley High for my senior year with straight A’s so far. I’m not as close to my old friends as I was before, but I’ve made new ones. I have high hopes for the future.