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Excerpt from my autobiography


Chic

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This is an excerpt from the autobiography I'm writing. It is not the beginning nor the end, it's simply the part detailing when I woke up at the crisis stabilization unit I was sent to after attempting to slit my wrists and staying at the ER because of the mishaps at my boyfriend's house in Georgia. I am writing this part first so as to take advantage of my more vivid recollections of it. This is written in a casual style to reflect my feelings at the time and is thus not the most "professional", nor does it reflect the apex of my abilities as a writer. It is a personal account from someone who has been through a lot and wants to share it with the world. My experiences cannot go unheard. For those of you who don't know, this is just a part of the many events that occurred when I ran away from a highly toxic and abusive situation at home to seek a better life with my boyfriend in Georgia, so I took the trip down there alone through numerous bus stations until I got to his house, and due to some awful planning on his part I couldn't stay, so I attempted suicide and was sent to the police station, ER and then a crisis center for a week in which I couldn't call anyone except my father, who had found me. It's also imperative to note that I am a pre-transitioning transgender female who was placed in the /male/ section of the crisis unit. There's a lot of detailed shit to talk about with all that, so when I finish it you guys can read all about it. But for now, here is a full chapter from it:

 

    The first thing I heard upon waking up was a stream of erratic noises emanating from what had to be one of my yet-undiscovered roommates. A couple of "WOOWOOWOO"'s mixed enchantingly with a few "NEEEEE"'s and whatever other incomprehensible sounds this kid was making filled the room and unfortunately, my eardrums. Needless to say, it was more than a little frightening; I had barely even opened my eyes yet, and it was only the second time I had slept since arriving at the ER. The sandpaper covers on top of me were pulled down just enough for me to see the almost-medical blue walls I hadn't been able to view the night before, and were now fully exposed by the fluorescent lighting dotting the ceiling. A quick look to the left showed a window artificially frosted until about halfway up, where a clear view of the outside world - lined with  all-too-inviting steel bars - welcomed my eyes. A tree that appeared to be twice the height of the building, at least from what I could tell, was all I could make out besides the sky from the angle I was laying, and I doubted there would be much to look at even if I could manage to get up to a better viewing area.
    My covers still concealed an exponential portion of the room, and the only stimuli I could gather hints about my situation from was my roommate abnormally yelling out like a damn banshee, a behavior I somewhat expected. After all, I half expected to be dead by this point. I had heard about shelters and youth centers all my life from my father, who advertised them as no less than the life equivalent of hell, done mainly as a way of detracting any ridiculous idea I might have had of ending up in one (and I certainly didn't think I would). I already knew this would be a life lesson before I even reached the premises, and I couldn't have been any less prepared for it. There could seriously be anyone in there, and I expected with little opposition to my assumption that about 100% of the people in this place were admitted for totally fucked up reasons, and I would be a victim of their youth-driven vengeance. Sporadic, attributeless and non-personal acts of anger were surely to be a step from the welcome mat of my new 72 hour home, and I would be their ribbon to cut.
    "NYANYANYANYA," the roommate screamed out for no clear reason. What was /up/ with this kid? Is this how they all act in here? God, am I in for something interesting if that's the case. With the covers down about an inch more, I could now sense his movement; back and forth pacing mixed with the occasional grunt, followed up with the sound of what seemed to be clothing hitting the floor. He was obviously agitated, and whether that was from aggression or impatience I did not know, yet either way I had a feeling this was customary. None of the other roommates (which I had estimated to be about two more, totaling four of us) were having any sort of reaction to this. Were they awake? Well, of course they had to be. I had never really slept near anyone my age before so it's possible that teenagers are notoriously heavy sleepers, but even so they should be awake from the intensity of this disruption. Were they pretending to be asleep like I was? I kind of doubted this, but that was only because I assumed them all to be veterans of this center and thus not afraid of such disturbances. Are they awake and just not visibly reacting? Well, maybe. They must be /really/ used to this sort of thing if that's the deal.
    An influx of curious thoughts flooded my mind from the second I woke up, and a minute into it, interest trumped fear. I wanted to know the full extent of my situation. With a quick flick of my wrist, the covers fell an inch more, giving me a fuller view of the room. The source of the noise was a short African-American kid with a multi-colored hoodie (the base color being tan) and blue jeans who was, just as I expected, making his way around the room in a frantic manner. His noises continued, but now it seemed more as if he was badly mimicking the melody of a song than it being arbitrary. Or maybe it was a mix? Really, who knows? To my right was a pile of pale, sickeningly pastel covers in the shape of my next roommate. Further down the room must have been the last of the four, packed in the corner like a sardine, but I couldn't see him anyway, so whatever.
    "Get up!" yelled the pacing kid in his first intelligible words. "Yo, get up, it's time to get up!" The shape to my right stirred a bit, the blanket lifting up before falling back into its original position. An exasperated sigh erupted from the loud one as he ambled over to the doorway. A man's voice poured into the hallway from across the dormitory area, but I couldn't hear him.
    "Alright, I'm up!" The boy called out angrily, slapping the frame of the doorway. "Yo guys, seriously, get up! Get /up/!"
    With my face now tilted to the right, I could see the second of my roommates rising from the mess of blankets on his bed. At first he looked the opposite way at the screaming boy, but within seconds he had turned his attention to me. He was caucasian and looked to be closer to my age, and was certainly calmer upon waking up.
    "Oh, hey." He spoke to me warmly, quickly reaching over for his glasses perched on the drawer beside the bed. I didn't say a word. I had just been outed as awake by a room full of potentially violent strangers - /by/ a potentially violent stranger. His squinting ended as the glasses hit the roof of his nose and he pushed himself up to a more comfortable position. "You're the kid from last night. What's your name?"
    Knowing my act of sleep was up, I lifted myself off the bed, instantly reminded of just how hard it feels when you're not lying down directly on it. My frazzled hair nearly hit the pillow as I forced myself into a half-sitting position. As usual, I was suffering from awful bedhead, except this time there was no cure in sight. It was then I remembered my possessions were confiscated the night before, and of course they wouldn't supply me with a brush. Just typical.
    "Uh, Sam." I replied to him. I figured for the time being I should keep anything and everything about me on the down low for the sake of any privacy or protection I could muster. Here, at least, I could lie without question.
    "Sam? My name's Tristyn." He offered his hand - well, his fist - out to me, and in a confused state that probably looked as bad as it was, I bumped it. Such a male thing to do.
    "Your name's Sam? Erik." Called the noisy kid from the opposite side of the room as he strided over to get a fistbump from me as well. Seems popular around here, I guess.
    "Nice to meet you," I looked up at him, somewhat confused. This sudden change in demeanor from a room where everyone was sleeping to what had now become quite the public setting was disorientingly odd.
    "You got here last night, I saw you when you came in." Tristyn said. That's /right/, I do remember noticing that he might have been awake, but it was too dark to tell. My hospital gown must have been glowing from the dim light of the window the night before, so I wasn't exactly sneaking in as much as I would have liked to. I sat up all the way, my overly curly hair draping to my side.
    "Hospital clothes?" Erik asked, but he didn't sound too surprised. People must come here directly from the hospital pretty often.
    "Yeah, I was in the ER last night," I told him, the first truth of the morning.
    "For what?"
    "Tried to kill myself."
    "Oh." With that, he fell silent. He seemed sympathetic, but again, not too surprised. Everyone here must have their own story.
    "What are you in here for?" I might as well get some answers and test the waters, even if they could be lying as well.
    "Threw a chair at a kid," He replied, monotone. It was as if he was looking right through me. I made the facial equivalent of "damn", curling my lip to the side as I tried not to make too much eye contact; his stare was kind of creeping me out.
    "What about you?" I asked Tristyn, quickly breaking the silence.
    "Threatened to kill my mom on paper," His attitude was entirely non-chalant but I sensed disappointment in it. I looked slightly shocked but felt somewhat relieved. I didn't sense any immediate danger from this one.
    He continued, "The teacher took my notebook and I was sent to the office. Speaking of," He pulled a notebook out of the inside of the drawer, and beneath it, a bright orange mechanical pencil. "I've got this. They let me have it but I always 'forget' to give it back." He smirked. I was rather discouraged by the lack of staff attention to the hiding of a clear weapon, but quickly disregarded it.
    "Dude, what's up with your hair?" Piped Erik. For a second, I wondered if something was actually wrong with it, but then I remembered these were guys.
    "Uh, it's long. Yeah. I know." I felt myself blush a bit, looking down at the floor. I wasn't even going to begin to explain myself at that moment. Instead, I brushed my hand through my hair, trying to thicken the appearance of it but to little avail. It was determined to be as much of a mess as possible, much like my journey as a whole. All I wanted to know then was when I could call Sam up. They couldn't make me wait too long, could they? After all, that sweet lady at the ER told me I'd be able to, as this was a much less restricting place. I was starting to doubt she knew anything about this center, though. As a million thoughts ran through my head, I looked over at the final bed in the corner; its inhabitant had still not woken up yet. "Who is that over there?"
    "Christopher," Erik was the one to tell me. "Hey, Christopher, wake up!" A stir, and then nothing. I anticipated what he'd be like.
    "God dammit," Erik threw a pillow at him, but that was entirely useless. He didn't react or move at all. For a split second I expected a fight, but Tristyn's lack of a reaction made me believe this to also be customary.
    "So why are you in here?" Tristyn asked me, his attention turned away from the other two.
    "I, uh, I came from New York and took a bus all the way down to Georgia to meet up with someone I loved, and their parents said I couldn't stay, so I..." I paused. "...I tried to slit my wrists with glass and was sent to a police station, then the ER, and they took me here at 4 AM last night which is when I arrived." Wow. I was drowsy. Why the hell was I even telling them in such detail?
    "Oh." Tristyn said, looking slightly away with a nod. "I'm sorry." That was more cordial than I expected for someone in a center like this. It's possible it wouldn't be /as/ dangerous as I thought, but I was still shaken up from the met expectations of Erik's oddities.
    "Yo, are these yours?" Erik said. He had somehow managed to appear behind me, looking into the drawer beside my bed. My remaining possessions were laid out on top of it, and his attention was set on the pair of neon blue shorts I used to have stuffed in my bag. He looked at me in a way that strongly implied he wanted them.
    "Yeah, I don't really like them though."
    "I'm stealing these. I looooove blue. Blue is my favorite color." And that was pretty clear. His bright blue socks weren't exactly subtle, nor were the unidentifiable clothes of the same color strewn across the make-shift bookshelves lining two of the walls. Despite not really wanting the shorts, I still wanted to keep them, but before I could say anything he had already asked if he could put them over in my bookshelf and threw them up there. Awesome.
    "Hygiene!" Yelled a man from the aforementioned hallway. He was just around the bend and couldn't be seen. A rush of people flushed out into the main area, but I couldn't be bothered to look. I was slightly ashamed of being here and was determined to retain as much of my privacy and dignity as possible.
    "Hey, are you the new kid?" I saw him from the corner of my eye before I turned to him straight on. My gosh, he was cute. He looked to be a little shorter than me with ruffled brown hair and a healthy complexion. He also looked to be just around my age. A flicker of infatuation passed through my mind before I guilted myself into remembering I still had a boyfriend. Sam. That's what was on my mind. "Name's Alfred."
    "Hi, I'm Sam," I smiled up at him. Dammit, I was getting all shy. This shouldn't happen like this. Alfred's voice had a stateside accent I couldn't quite pinpoint but it was extremely cute. His eyes were a deep brown that made him seem just so natural in the oddest of ways. There was definitely something about him that made me feel like I wasn't alone here. This kid reminded me of someone, not Sam, perhaps not anyone I've known for years, but I knew I felt safer in this dominion and in his presence.
    "That's a cool name, man." I didn't even mind the lack of correct gender pronouns. He pressed his fist against the wrist of his arm as a casual motion and sat down on the edge of the bed, offering a fistbump. I was already quite popular. "What got you in here?"
    "Suicidal idealations." I repeated, switching it up this time. "Tried to slit my wrists because I couldn't stay at the house of the person I love."
    "Damn, man, I'm sorry to hear that. I got sent in here for similar reasons."
    "Why are you here?"
    "I had a fight with my dad and I threatened to kill myself, but I didn't actually mean it, I just told my counselor that. I'm leaving on Saturday or Sunday, though, so woo!" Disappointment ran through me for a split second. Boyfriend. Yes, I have a boyfriend.
    "When'd you get here?" I asked.
    "Two days ago, but my doctor told me I should be outta here. It wasn't worth putting me in here for that, I wasn't serious about the suicide thing." In a way, I was almost disappointed he hadn't actually been suicidal. I know that sounds like shit to say, but I wanted a reason to relate to him, to relate to /someone/ here. Even then, I was afraid to get close to anyone.
    "Erik! Christopher!" Shouted the man from the hallway.
    "Coming!" Replied Erik, an angry tone in his voice. "Come on, get up! Get up!" Another pillow hit Christopher. It took a few seconds, but he rose from his fortress of covers and I could see him for the first time. Medium length greasy black hair and pasty white skin defined his appearanced until he shifted a bit and I saw the oversized clothes draped over his skeletal body. He didn't look so much sick as 'normal'. Not compared to everyone else per se, but I got the impression that this was his everyday look. Dead in the morning and...well, we'll find out.
    "Nehh," muttered Christopher, his first word upon waking. Everyone's first word here, it seems.
    "Come on, it's hygiene time." Erik looked down at me before making his way into the hall, and not without another slap at the doorway. Alfred followed suit, looking back at me.
    "See you later!" He smiled with a wave. I must have been blushing visibly at this point, and I sure felt like an idiot for doing so. I wanted to talk to somebody about Sam, share that aspect of my story, but I had some pretty bad premonitions about doing that in a place like this. I had no idea how these people would react, if they were bigoted, even violent...I mean, why else would some of them be in here? I already had the checklist started...Violence, threats, suicide...and whatever Christopher was in there for. I had a feeling it must have been something pretty messed up. Kinda like how the quiet ones are always the most psychotic. I've had plenty of surprises over the last few days, so I wasn't about to go predicting anything anytime soon.
    "This is a book I'm reading," said Tristyn, pulling out a thick black and red novel from the drawer. I couldn't see the title from that distance, so I asked. "The Historian. It's a book about Dracula, and I'm on the second chapter now."
    "Is it any good?"
    "No, not really. I don't like reading, so it's mainly just a test to see if I can finish it, or how far I can get. I'm already farther than I usually get." I nodded at him.
    "Hygiene!" Demanded Erik from the hallway. With that, I was ready to leave and go see what all this was about. Tristyn stayed in while Christopher attempted to wake up more. Neat.
    I ventured out into the hallway, feeling fairly awkward about my hospital gown. Everybody else seemed to be wearing normal clothes, and I was anxious to change back into mine. I made sure not to look directly at anyone except the staff out of embarrassment.
    "And you are?" Asked a man with a heavy South African accent and a sense of urgency. I got the idea he didn't want to deal with any bull****.
    "Dylan."
    "Dylan?"
    "Yeah."
    "Dylan, Dylan..." Shush, not so damn loud. He looked through a number of clear boxes on the counter. "Dylan, here you go."
    There was my box, a label with my name written on it slapped to the side. It wasn't particularly classy, but I was interested to know what was in it. There appeared to be a lot more than what I brought with me, at least. With that, I turned to the bathroom directly behind me and cautiously walked in, looking around for anyone occupying it. Upon seeing that the sink wasn't being used, I rushed over and threw my stuff down on the counter, my sights turning immediately to the small mirror above the faucet.
    Holy shit. I looked /awful/. The lighting cast the most unflattering shadows on my face and I could already see my facial hair growing back in. I had a strong feeling my razor was confiscated, and that theory was quickly confirmed as I opened my box to look for it. Lo and behold, nothing of value. Great. I was stuck in this place for 72 hours looking like this. Another look in the mirror deducted ten points from my self confidence as I noticed what looked to be the fading remnants of hives from the night prior, and the most ghastly skin tone that made me look nothing less than a ten day old corpse. I pulled myself away from it by brushing it off as horrible lighting. It just seemed that I couldn't possibly look /that/ bad. That was all besides the point, though.
    I pulled the toothbrush and toothpaste Sam's mother had given me out of the bottom of the box, and it had just occurred to me that the other toiletries must be in there as well. I dug deeper in a rush of interest, pulling out a boxed bar of soap, some shampoo and conditioner. The two latter items were a combination of olive, basil, avocado and lemon, and if I recall correctly these had the most amazing scent. Flipping open the top of the shampoo, I smelled it. Incredible. I don't think Sam would ever use these, but it still reminded me of him. Of his house. Of our house. I clutched the soap tight and closed my eyes.
    I brushed my teeth to distract myself from my thoughts and noted the change of clothes at the bottom of the box afterwards. Sauntering over to the back section of the bathroom, I put them on and noticed they were still warm. Freshly washed. I took the rest of my stuff and got out of there.
    What was waiting for me outside of the bathroom was a line of the rest of the patients perched on the counter parallel to the staff station, or whatever they called it. I'm not particularly used to formation like this, especially not near people whose identities are completely unclear to me, so when they announced that anyone who had finished with their hygiene should be sitting on the counter (with the tone and air that it had been repeated for the twentieth time for those who couldn't be bothered to listen), I took my place at the very edge next to a familiar face. Christopher, who had finally made his way out of the bed, was sheepishly caved into himself near the edge, who saw an opportunity to scrunch up even further into his body as a way of letting me sit. He looked quite small and unimposing, and I again wondered what his deal was. A few more "inmates" dawdled into the hallway with the call of each name from another man who I had seen the night before sitting outside my room. The guy with the South African accent was nowhere to be seen. I guess hygiene was his job.
    "Alright!" A shorter man spoke up as he sat down on the staff station's counter, he clapped his hands together once as he looked around at the line of patients opposite him. "Everyone here?"
    "Seems so." Replied the only other man present. He took a look around the bend from the staff window.
    "Awesome. Good morning, everyone." A chorus of voices mirrored him.
    "Good morning, Mr. Deschamps."
    "Good. Now, for those who don't know me, I am Mr. Deschamps. I'm here to help you, not be your enemy here. My plan is to get you the help you need so you have the ability to get yourself out into society again. Now, I don't care if you're white, black, gay, straight, or if you're a smurf that likes having sex with dinosaurs. You're all treated equally here and deserve the same respect as one another. It doesn't matter to me what you are, here you are safe. Got that?" A few people nodded yes, others voiced it out, and some, like Chris, made no visual or audible response to it whatsoever. "This is a Crisis Stabilization Unit, not prison. You aren't here to be punished, you're here to be rehabilitated, and there's no toleration of horseplay or that other shit...excuse my language...y'all like to do when you're bored. Everyone is here for a reason, for doing something stupid they shouldn't have been doing, and you're not gonna be here forever. Some of you will only be here for a few days, some for a month, but you're all going to get out. It's not my job to get you out of here, nor is it anyone's fault but your own that you're in this place. This is an opportunity to look back at your mistakes and get back home to your mother and father with a new outlook on life. You've got to manage each other while you're here, though. What's the job of the strong?"
    "To protect the weak!" Said a few voices, the most prominent being that of a tall black kid who I hadn't seen before. Veterans, I knew it. Was this speech given every day, or had these people been here for god knows how long? I felt smaller and smaller every minute, my significance and individuality draining like every word pushed the faucet of my identity another centimeter forward. What have I gotten myself into?
    "You've got it, and I don't know how many times I gotta tell you that before you all get it.  You've got to look out for each other. You aren't home with mommy, you aren't with your friends, you're here with others just like you with situations similar to yours and you've got to be active and integrated. You don't all have to like each other, but you have to respect each other and more importantly, tolerate one another. That's how life is. You don't always get to decide where you go and who you have to be with." Mr. Deschamps continued. It was almost sickening how generic this presentation was to me, like the shit they spew at schools but tailored ever so differently for the purposes of this crisis center. I was all too ready to see what breakfast was, whether I planned on eating it or not. It was probably going to be just like the ER food, which wasn't bad. My relief came when the speech was finally over and the man announced it was time to go in for breakfast. The girls were in the cafeteria, so the group I was in needed to go across to the activity room first.
    "Line up, right side!" Mr. Deschamps called out. A few people jumped off the counter and there were some conversations and rowdiness as we walked past the already-famed isolation room, but as the man walked down the hall to scan his card on the wall terminal as a means of unlocking it, everything fell into place. Complete and utter cooperation. It was then that I first felt we were all sheep to be herded. Thrust into rooms encapsulated by unbreakable safe walls, steel bars and the truth that none of us were getting out until we were deemed to be "stable". I was all but prepared for what would come in my first day here, and I almost forgot about my experience with Sam in the split second that the door clicked open, and the light of the cafeteria flooded the halls. Give me respite.

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This thread belongs in the Miscellaneous Works sub-forum.  So I've taken the liberty of moving it there. ^^

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Pretty neat style of writing, very to the point. Carries the conversation well enough. You may, however, want to do a little more summary with some parts, where the conversation brushes over a repetitive point. It's more realistic, certainly, but it does throw a wrench into the pacing sometimes.

 

Well done, comrade! With a bit more spit and polish, it'll read excellently. And as an English major, and I don't say so very lightly. Incredible work for your age!

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