Personal Narrative: Mental Illness

Entering a hospital gives off the ambiance of unnatural. The walls are this eggshell yellow, and the tiles are cracked from time, despite the constant repairing. Everything is so silent, saved for the heavy footsteps of nurses walking quickly up and down the halls. It smells like dust, and sometimes I wonder if a hospital is a place where time just doesn’t move. It’s like you’re launched back into the past, and suddenly you’re stuck in a world that isn’t like your own. I mean, that’s what it's sort of like being a survivor of rather often silent diseases. Mental illness had been something I had struggled with ever since I was young. Even now I admit that I continue to struggle from disorders that silently plague my everyday life. To me, they …show more content…
My obsessive compulsive disorder had managed to cover up all of the underlying detail of the pain, which was only pronounced within that dreadful Sunday morning. The voice, my internal subconscious, was incredibly cruel and malicious Moments would pass briefly, and it felt like screaming in my ear. Call me insane, but the brain can do such beautiful and terrible things to the psych. Bed was really my only safe place, as my body shook underneath the layers of sheets. A safe haven, if you will. Thought after thought went by, and the more upsetting they got, the more I wanted to leave those blooming purple marks on my skin. “Dumb,” I thought. “Too dumb to even consider this..” Another voice whispered back, “Make it look like an accident, no one would know.” Logic was fighting this demon back, as my heart knew that if I did something so severe, it would be heartbreaking for the people I care about. It was truly a battle of the heart and the mind, one full of love for the people it cares about, and the other too sick to care. The heart, or my emotional love for others, was willing to try for that one more speck of hope. The light at the end of the tunnel was so bright, and if I kept the future in my memory, I would survive.. However the mind--most affected by my mental disorders-- saw how far the light was and knew it could never …show more content…
My therapist, and even the nurses at the hospital applauded me for calling out for help in the darkness. After all, it’s like swimming upward in thick, oozing, black slime to grab the rope. Not everyone can do it. In the moment, I felt guilty and embarrassed. It’s often that I felt so alone while suffering, as not many people understood or cared to know how it felt. At the moment, while I was sitting in the waiting station, it felt more like a nightmare. I wasn’t even allowed my shoes, and my mother was forced to give up her own items. The air was thick between us, but even then we managed to speak about what was happening and why I felt like such. The moments felt like hours, and the musky smell of the hospital and the quiet halls made me anxious. My freedom felt barred off, and it only made it worse when I was forced to spread cream cheese on a bagel with a spoon. A humorous but somewhat terrifying aspect. My mother, in my mind, looked incredibly tired. I felt like I made her come along to a pity party, and that wasn’t worth her time. After all, I thought I was an insignificant person who didn’t deserve to be trusted. I was just some troubled kid who probably didn’t deserve the love given to me. How incredibly wrong I was. Sure, the hospital environment still makes me sick to my stomach, but being there didn’t mean I was less