Day 8

I must remind myself that, despite not being too happy about a majority of the staff members at the hospital, I am there for the individuals. They make my trips worthwhile, and the discouraging realities that I notice fade briefly when taking into consideration the enjoyment I receive from my interactions with various people.

I've noticed that those who carry higher titles in the ward -- such as the M.D., Psy.D., and Ph.D. holders -- don't take their positions as seriously as they should be. The M.D. and psychologist consistently show movies in their groups instead of conduct discussions (I don't think Batman and Merlin really have any intrinsic value in a therapeutic session). Considering those present do not get much individual therapy, these groups should be held in a higher regard, as it is one of the few opportunities to discuss recovery in a structured setting.

A social worker jokingly asked the doctor a few weeks ago what showing Batman does to help people in his group, and he merely shrugged, laughed, and replied, "It's easier." It's frustrating because those with advanced degrees have the most training and should, technically, be of the most help. Their knowledge is invaluable and hopefully it is being used in areas that I am not seeing. Otherwise, I am severely disappointed.

Putting what is bothering me aside, I was not surprised to find out that one of the individuals I spent much time with at the hospital, Jorge, is being discharged. He was extremely well-behaved, stable, and I always wondered what he was in for. He told me he has big goals for himself, such as going back to school, and making a name for himself. "I better not see you here again," I jokingly said as I shook his hand. "I'm proud of you".

"I've been in the system for over 8 years," he stated. "I've been at this hospital for the last 4, but I'm done. I'm gonna do good so I never have to come back again." We said our last goodbyes and I went back to supervising the hip hop dancing that was taking place.

I really wish the best for Jorge.

I met a girl by the name of Shirley who has also been in and out of hospitals for a lot of her life. She spoke to me of growing up without a family. "I never had parents. I was in a board and care for most of my life, and those people behaved like family. I managed to stay out of mental institutions for many years because of them, but then I went to jail, and now I'm back here." I gave her some encouragement, telling her that if she managed to stay away for years, there is hope that she will be able to leave for an even greater period of time or for good. She nodded in agreement. "I'll leave this place soon," she said, looking off into the distance. There was a brief period of silence.

"People beat me up here," she said quietly and sadly. I was taken back by her sudden disclosure. "Why in the world would they do that?" I replied. "They make fun of my short hair, and say I must be a lesbian. Staff has also beaten me up, too." I became silent, at a loss for words at her circumstance. She lifted her sleeve up to reveal healing cuts and fresh bruises. I had so much I wanted to say at this moment, so much confusion and mixed emotions, but I knew I couldn't say too much. I looked off into the corner to see staff suspiciously looking over in our direction. I encouraged her to be strong, told her she would be out again in no time, and she began speaking about more light-hearted subjects. I stayed enthusiastic with her throughout the conversation, but could not help ruminating about what we had briefly discussed. Why was she attacked so often by other individuals in the hospital? Is staff properly supervising? And why is staff harming her? Is she becoming violent?

Needless to say, I left that day with a lot of unanswered questions, but a hope that my new-found bond with Shirley can prove to be healthy and beneficial to her. She patiently taught me how to do the electric slide, so I'd say we're off to a good start.