In the psych ward for adolescents there were two types of patients. Both types were miserable and wanted to get out; the difference was how they went about this goal. One group thought they could fight their way out. They broke the rules, fought with the patients and staff, and generally tried to be such troublemakers that they hoped the hospital would kick them out so they could leave. The other type of patient realized that the more antisocial you are the longer the psych ward will hold on to you. These patients kept their head down, smiled and nodded hen answering questions and did what was asked of them while waiting to be discharged. This is the group I belonged to. Most of the time, anyway.
While most patients proved volatile enough to warrant avoidance, I made friends with two other patients around my age, one from each previously mentioned group. We bonded over what we had in common, namely our crummy situations. All of us were stuck somewhere we didn't want to be and didn't know anyone who was with us and in most cases didn't want to. We'd mostly sit on the floor playing cards or watch the TV that would always be playing Degrassi, my favourite show ever (not really, I hated it). Our little clique had a general, "Don't ask don't tell," rule where we silently accepted whatever the others were going through and didn't poke or prod about each other's dirty secrets. One was a girl who was quiet and friendly, but sad. She had been in the hospital longer than me and seemed very accepting of the situation she was in and so was waiting patiently for her release. The other was more angry than sad. Not at us or at herself, but at the staff. She would regularly have mental breakdowns involving fits of rage that required nurses and security personnel to restrain and sedate her. There was a special locked room that she would be put in until she calmed down. Failing that, the room had what looked like a bed featuring medical restraints. It doesn't sound very pleasant, and it didn't look that way either. On at least one occasion she was screaming that she wanted to go home but when the nurse grabbed her to put her in the room she started hitting them. The security guards were called and I glimpsed them holding her against a wall while the nurse injected her with a needle containing sedatives. The other patients including myself were always ushered into our rooms when these events started but we could hear the screaming and fighting even from there. There was one night where someone pounding against a wall was keeping me awake. The next day the girl had a cast on her hand. When we saw her the unspoken rule stayed in effect: don't ask, don't tell.
Then there were the other patients; the ones who I avoided. Some were always looking for a fight and would channel their inner asshole until they found one. It didn't take much observation on my part to realize that fighting wasn't getting them out of the hospital any sooner and so I avoided such confrontations as best I could. Still... if you know me you know that sometimes I can't help myself. It was nothing physical, but one of these trouble making kids was being chastised by a staff member for making trouble. This staff was what I guess you would call my social worker, and he was always very soft-spoken and calm. He was also a really nice guy and by far my favourite staff member in the psych ward. The kid (a year or two younger than me) didn't apologize for whatever he was doing and responded by calling the staff member gay. The staff member asked why he was gay, and the kid said he's gay because he's weird. I assume that he thought he was weird because of how soft spoken and mild mannered he was. I asked the kid what's wrong with being gay and he proceeded to tell me what was weird about the social worker, in front of the social worker, as if that answered my question. The poor social worker seemed to appreciate my efforts but separated us before I we could escalate the situation, for which I am grateful. I've got to hand it to the kid though, because he was able to up himself by not returning to the hospital after his home leave ended. As is protocol the police were called and they apparently found him at a bus stop near his home heading to McDonald's or something. It was hard not to laugh when I saw him escorted by the police back into the psych ward, and the incident easily postponed his discharge for a month.
The final notable patient was another kid a few years younger than me. He spent most of his time denying his use of drugs to the staff members and then bragging about his drug test being positive after they confronted him about his lying. He'd avoid mandatory activities as best he could, and when he found himself forced to participate he disrupted said activities to the best of his ability. One group activity that was repeated every week focused on our individual future goals. Boring stuff, especially since I personally don't change my future goals on a weekly basis. When I brought this up they told me to write them down anyway. Back to the kid, he seemed especially proud of his personal future goals. When it was his turn to discuss them he revealed to everyone's lack of surprise they involved smoking weed. When he was forced to re-imagine his future he changed it to the much more admirable goal of graduating middle school since he was apparently expelled from several schools for fighting people and using drugs and using drugs while fighting people. He later became my best friend ever. That was a lie, though I did eventually accept I would be spending the next few months of my life with this colourful character, and that is basically the same thing.
