Coldwater 1
Everyone thinks they’re mentally ill these days. Maybe everyone is. How does a person know if they’re sane? Karen A. Rogers wasn’t sure. She was an in-patient at an adolescent psych ward in August of 1993, right before the turn of the century. She was just about to turn fifteen and it was time to get her shit together before it was too late. Adulthood was coming and she was not prepared, partly because she didn’t plan to live that long. She needed a break from reality. She had just returned from a ten-day cross-country road trip with a Catholic Youth Group from Salem, Massachusetts to Denver, Colorado and back. The spiritual quest caused her to ask many questions about her complicated life. The answers she found led her to check herself into The Coldwater House For Adolescents at Claymore Psychiatric Hospital when she got back to Boston, and she wasn’t sure if she made the right decision.
It was Karen’s third day on Coldwater 1. In those three days, she’d already been diagnosed with Bipolar II as well as Major Depression with Psychotic Features. Her doctor started her on a handful of medications… Zoloft, Lithium, Trilafon, Cogentin, Trazodone, and a PRN of Klonopin to take as needed. She hadn’t asked for a PRN yet but had started on all of the other medications and they were making her drool. She also couldn’t stop eating, despite how awful the food was. Her mouth turned to sandpaper every night and she was grinding her teeth in her sleep. She didn’t feel like herself anymore. Part of the reason she was admitted was because of all the drinking and drugging she was doing every day, to numb herself. She figured if she were actually allowed to take a bunch of pills that helped her feel better, then maybe that was the answer. Some part of her wondered whether she was on the right track or the absolute wrong one. She was never good at making decisions and often chose to do things the hard way.
“Did you get your meds yet, Ren?” Elisa, a pretty young staff woman in pink scrubs who smelled like Laura Ashley perfume asked Karen. She had just started going by the name ‘Ren’ and was thinking about calling herself ‘Ren Anonymous’ because she always joked that her middle initial stood for Anonymous and ‘Ren Rogers’ sounded too much like a chicken farmer. ‘Ren Anonymous’ was a perfect name for her because she was a writer and attending AA in the hospital. They had AA meetings on the ward every night. There were other kinds of meetings and therapy groups all day long as well. She was still getting used to it all.
“Huh?” Ren asked in a daze. The medications were making her a zombie.
“Did you get your meds?” Elisa asked again.
“Yeah, I got 'em. I’m not used to this place. There’s never enough time to eat, take a shower, and get my medication all before school starts,” Ren said.
“You’ll have to wake up earlier,” Elisa said.
“I guess, but it’s impossible with how drugged up I feel,” Ren said.
“You’ll get used to it once you’ve been on ‘em a little longer,” Elisa said.
“Do you think it would be okay if I’m late for class? I need to take a shower today. I haven’t had one since I got here,” Ren asked.
“Yeah, okay. It’s only summer school right now, but the school year starts soon and your high school will send your work over so you can keep up with your classmates back home,” Elisa said.
“I doubt it,” Ren said. “I’m already so far behind, and they don’t give two shits about me. I’m probly gonna drop out.”
“Well, Melinda will find something appropriate for you to work on if your school doesn’t send anything. But go take a quick shower, if you need to,” Elisa said.
Ren grabbed her clothes for the day along with a pink plastic bucket filled with childproof shampoo, soap, deodorant, and shaving cream. She carried her clothes and bath supplies under her arm as she walked up to the nurses’ station door, which was right across from her bedroom. The nurses were busy reading, so Ren rang the bell on the counter to get their attention.
“Whatchu need?” a young male nurse named Ernie asked Ren. He was dressed in dark blue scrubs.
“A razor,” Ren replied.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“This is my third day,” Ren said.
“Nope, sorry. You need to be here a full week for observation before we’ll give you a razor, and when we do, the staff will go with you and watch you shave,” Ernie said.
“Really? I have to wait a whole week to shave? I’ll be gross by then!” Ren said.
“Lots of hairy girls on this ward. Don’t worry about it,” he said.
“Easy for you to say,” Ren said.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Nothing. Never mind,” Ren said.
“That’s what I thought,” he said.
“Can I at least have someone unlock the bathroom door?” Ren asked.
“What’s your name again?” Ernie asked.
“Ren,” she said.
“Ren? I don’t see that listed,” he said.
“It’s Karen. Karen Rogers, but I go by Ren,” she said.
“Ah, okay Karen... or Ren. I’m Ernie. I’m on checks right now so I’ll see if someone else can let you in the bathroom.”
“Okay,” Ren said as Ernie turned to the almost forty-year-old head nurse with short, auburn hair and freckles. She had on cat-eye glasses as she was reading the words on the medicine bottles.
“Shelly, can you let this girl Ren into the bathroom?” Ernie asked her.
“Sure! I’d love to!” Shelly smiled, taking off her glasses and exiting the hitched door of the nurses' station, shutting it, and locking it behind her.
“Thanks,” Ren said.
“Of course, Ren. You just got here a couple days ago. Is everything going alright so far?” Shelly asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” Ren said.
“You be sure to let me know if you have any problems. We’re here to help. Don’t be afraid to tell us if something’s wrong, even if you’re afraid to rat on another patient. We don’t consider it ratting. We need to know that everyone’s doing what they’re supposed to and some of the kids here can misbehave sometimes; stealing, starting fights, telling lies… You have to keep an eye out and watch your back, but we’re looking out for you too. You just need to be honest with us so we can help,” Shelly said.
“Okay,” Ren said as they approached the bathroom.
“Oh, look! It’s already open,” Shelly said.
As they entered the multi-stall bathroom, there was a girl with her face in one of the sinks and the water was running over her head and splashing onto the floor.
“What are you doing Ariel? You’re not supposed to be doing that. You know that!” Shelly yelled at the girl, who was wearing a johnny. She had shoulder-length, straight, black hair.
“I have to,” Ariel said as the water ran down her face.
“Hold on, Ren, okay?” Shelly said to Ren, and then ran down the hall as quickly as she was able, in her high heel shoes.
Ren stood, slouched against the wall, trying not to stare at Ariel who looked a little strange with her face under the sink and her medicated eyes staring out into space. Ren could hear a couple of boys down the hall arguing, and then two men and three women in scrubs came running down the hall, right past Ren and into the bathroom. They surrounded Ariel like a swat team.
“Take your head out of there, Ariel! You know the rules,” they said.
Ren wasn’t sure what was going on because Ariel didn’t seem to be doing anything terrible. She didn’t appear to be trying to drown herself or hurting anyone. Sure, the behavior was a little weird, but why was she being surrounded? Why was she in trouble? Ren didn’t wanna get in trouble if she could help it.
“You said I had to stay out of the showers. This isn’t the shower,” Ariel said.
“You can’t do this either. You know that. We watch you wash yourself right now until you can learn to control yourself,” a masculine staff-woman said, putting her hands on her hips.
“I’m in control,” Ariel said.
“Okay, great. If you’re in control, take your head out of the sink,” the woman said.
“Okay,” Ariel said, but she didn’t move.
“Come on, Ariel!” one of the men said, somewhat aggressively.
“I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m just so dirty. I have to wash it away,” Ariel said.
As if those words were the cue, the five staff ran towards Ariel and tried to pull her away from the sink, but she fought back and was screaming, throwing punches, and kicking as they wrestled her to the ground, shot a needle in her ass, and tied her up in a straitjacket, then carried her off, down the hall. Ren had only been at Claymore a few days and had already seen a few people restrained. She usually didn’t even understand what it was about.
Shelly came strutting back down the hall, as if nothing had happened. The boys who were arguing had stopped to watch the commotion. They were staring at Ren, who they’d been flirting with since she got there, although they were becoming friends. Their names were Blaze and Max. They were both seventeen and they were roommates at Claymore. Blaze was a white rapper with Tourettes. He was wearing an oversized Larry Bird Celtics jersey and baggy green Adidas basketball shorts. He had white Adidas shoes with no laces. Max was a half-black, punk orphan with Major Depression. He had on ripped jeans, a Ramones t-shirt, and an afro with a pick in it. His shoes were black Chucks, also with no laces. Laces were not allowed on the ward. Normally, the two boys would never have anything to do with one another in the real world, but the psych ward was different, and they were friends, although they often got on each other’s nerves.
“You ready to shower?” Shelly asked.
“Do you have to watch me?” Ren asked.
“No, not unless you’re shaving, which you can’t do yet, but if someone says, ‘Checks,’ outside the bathroom door, just yell out your name, okay?” Shelly said.
“Okay,” Ren said. “I just wasn’t sure, cuz of what just happened with that girl in the sink. I don’t really understand what she did wrong,” Ren said.
“She didn’t do anything wrong. We were helping her. Everyone here has different issues and we have different ways of helping different people,” Shelly explained, but Ren still didn’t understand. She accepted it though, because Shelly seemed nice and was helping her to take a much needed shower.
Shelly left the bathroom and Ren got in the shower and began to run the water. It never got hot, but it wasn’t completely freezing either, so she got in and started to wash her blonde hair, which was long but shaved underneath. The shaved part was fuzzy because it was starting to grow back in. Ren began to space out. It was her first time alone in a few days and she needed alone time even more than she needed time with others. “Jeremy” by Pearl Jam was stuck in Ren’s head and she was singing it to herself, quietly, as she washed.
“Checks!” Ernie shouted from outside the bathroom.
“Karen!” Ren said as she almost dropped her soap.
“Thank you,” he said back and walked away. Ren kept washing for a minute or two, but then got out, dried off, and was putting on her clothes when she heard Ernie call, “Checks!” again.
“It’s still me; Karen… or Ren, I mean, if you can call me that,” Ren said.
“You almost done? Melinda’s waiting for you in the OT Room. School started,” Ernie said.
“Yeah, I know. I went yesterday. I’m still tryin’ to get used to this schedule,” Ren said.
“Okay, well hurry up,” Ernie said.
“I will,” Ren said.
“Do you even know how to get to the OT Room?” Ernie asked.
“Yeah, it’s easy. It’s at the end of the hall, to the right of the nurses’ station,” Ren said.
“Alright. Make sure you get over there before I come back,” Ernie said.
“Okay,” Ren said. She finished putting her clothes on and then slipped the light-brown, hospital socks on her feet. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts, a Jim Morrison t-shirt, a plaid flannel shirt around her waist, and she put her hair in a ponytail with a red bandanna on top of her head. She ran back to her bedroom to put her shower supplies on her desk and then she walked briskly the rest of the way to the OT Room where the kids were working on math problems.
“Are you a Blood?” Blaze asked as she walked into the room.
“A what?” Ren asked.
“A Blood, motherfucker! Like Bloods and Crips? Fuckin’ A yo,” Blaze said.
“I don’t think so, why?” Ren asked, nervously.
“Your bandana,” Sam said. She was Ren’s roommate.
“Oh, no, I just like bandanas. Sorry I’m late.” Ren said as she sat in the only open seat in the room.
“That’s okay, Ren. I know you’re still new, and you were a pleasure yesterday, so I’m not concerned, however, I need to do an OT assessment with you early next week to see what you need to work on while you’re here. I haven’t received an IEP from your school yet,” the occupational therapist Melinda said. She was tall, with long, curly black hair.
“What’s an IEP?” Ren asked.
“Fuckin’ Fuckin’ Individualized Education Plan!” Blaze said. “Right Melinda?”
“That’s right Benedict,” Melinda said.
“Fuck your motha-fuckin’ shit-cunt, fuck, twat, bat-shit crazy mouth Melinda! Can you please stop calling me Benedict?”
“Try to watch your language, Benedict. I don’t appreciate being called those things,” Melinda said.
“Fuckin’ cunt-cunt. You know I can’t help it. I’m sorry. But yo, please stop calling me that. My name’s Blaze,” Blaze said.
“I’m not comfortable calling you that. I know it’s a marijuana reference,” Melinda said.
“Bitch, bitch, I wouldn’t even be here right now sayin’ this shit if I had my god damn weed. It’s the only thing that helps. Cunt, fuck you!” Blaze said.
“I know you think the marijuana helps, Ben-,” Melinda stopped herself because she didn’t want him to fly off into a fit of rage like he sometimes did. “Benny? Can I call you Benny? Or Ben?”
“I guess Ben’s okay if you must, but the rest of you muthafuckas bettah keep calling me Blaze, yo!” Blaze said. His hair was short, blonde, and spiked in the front where it was slightly longer. He looked more like a Blaze than a Benedict to Ren.
“Here, Ren,” Melinda said, ignoring Blaze, and handing Ren a sheet of very simple addition problems with two and three-digit numbers. While Ren knew she could get them all correct, she still found herself counting on her fingers as she did the math. She had an undiagnosed learning disability and Math was not her thing. Still, she finished her paper much faster than most of the other kids, except for a pretty, blonde, seventeen-year-old girl named Darcy who was wearing a jean skirt and a striped, short sleeve v-neck t-shirt. Darcy had her hair in a ponytail with a jean scrunchie to match the skirt. She had slipper-socks on her feet and cuts all over her arms. She was doing Trigonometry and reading “War and Peace.”
“Can I go back to my room now?” Darcy asked.
“Sorry Darcy, I know you’re done and wanna get back to your jigsaw puzzle, but I need you to stay here for the remainder of the class, like everyone else,” Melinda said.
“You think ya bettah than us?” Sam asked. She was a short white girl with cornrows and hip-hop style resembling Queen Latifah or Salt N Pepa. She was also a prostitute, a battle rapper, and a drug dealer.
“No, I don’t think I’m better than anyone! Not at all! I feel like I’m the worst person on the planet! I know I’m going to hell for what I’ve done and I don’t even deserve to be in this world,” Darcy said.
“Sorry, yo. I forget we all feel like that in this place,” Sam said. “I just get pissed off when people finish early and I’m still working, cuz, like, I know I’m not stupid. I have street smahts, ya know? Most people couldn’t do what I do,” Sam said.
“I could,” Blaze said.
“Yeah yo, cuz you do do what I do,” Sam said, and they high-fived each other over the fact that they were both drug dealers for a gang.
“No PC, you guys,” Melinda said. PC was short for physical contact.
“I just think there’s so many better things you guys could be doing. You’re both so talented at rapping. I mean, I’m not into hip-hop at all, but does it have to be gangsta rap? Can’t you guys get into writing poetry books or something less violent?” Max asked.
“Who do you think you are to judge? You don’t know what it’s like! Plus look who’s talkin’ anti-violence! You’re a punk!” Sam said.
“Yeah, I’m punk! That doesn’t mean I’m violent, and who says I don’t know street life? In fact, it’s just the opposite! I’ve been homeless and had to do crimes to get by, but that’s why I came here; to get my life back on track so I don’t end up dead or in jail,” Max said.
“You don’t gotta be scared a jail, yo. Fuckin’ fuck ass,” Blaze said. “It ain’t so bad.”
“Word. I’ve been to juvie mad times. It’s not much worse than this bullshit,” Sam said.
“Well, I’ve been too, and I don’t wanna go back, so…” Max said.
“I don’t blame you, Max. Good for you for trying to do the right thing,” Darcy said.
“See? You are judging us!” Sam said to Darcy.
“Just cuz I think he’s making the right choice to get on a path to recovery doesn’t mean I’m judging you. We all have a different road to take. I hope someday you’ll wanna get better for yourself, but I can’t make you, so I accept you as you are,” Darcy said.
“That’s kinda how I feel too,” Ren said “Like, about myself though. I’m trying to accept myself, knowing that I’ve done some fucked up shit, and, like, I may never get it all right in life. I can’t imagine I will. I’m a fuckin’ mess, but I’m trying, and I wanna do better. That’s why I came here.”
“We came here to get bettah too, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt,” Blaze said. “Sorry, yo. That’s the Tourettes.”
“I know,” Ren said. She’d only ever heard of Tourette’s from movies and TV before she got to Claymore and met Blaze.
The kids played cards and board games for the rest of class until it was lunchtime and most of them took off with the staff to walk over to the big cafeteria on the hospital campus, outside the ward, but Ren was still new and on five-minute checks, so she had to eat lunch in the ward cafeteria.
When the food came up, Ren helped herself to a plate of chicken cacciatore, bread, and butter. She took the mushrooms out of the cacciatore and folded them up in her napkin, washing down her lunch with a warm cup of cranberry juice.
She walked back to her room and took out her journal.
Dear God or Whoever’s out there,
Are you still with me? I’m writing to you from Coldwater 1 at Claymore Psychiatric Hospital. I’ve only been here a few days and so far it hasn’t been that bad, at least for me, but some of these kids are so disturbed. It’s hard to imagine what they’re going through that makes them act the way they do, and sometimes the “help” they're given looks a lot like punishment to me...but maybe that’s the only way to fix us... with discipline.. or so they think anyway. I have a hard time believing it. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Most of these kids have been here for several weeks to months already, but they said I could be good to go home in a week or two, so who knows? Right now, I’d rather be here than at home, to be honest, so this is where I’ll be for the time being. I couldn’t change that now, even if I wanted to.
-Ren Anonymous
