Centennial Peaks and Whatnot

Okay, so here goes yet another blog. Well I suppose that this one is more of a journal. Let's see a couple weeks ago I was having such a horrible day and my couselor at school sent the police to pick me up. They then transported me to the St. Anthony's emergency room. There they had done a mental evaluation on me deciding that I was a danger to myself and others. So they sent me into the psych holding center where I spent four more hours to myself in a small white room with nothing in it besides myself and a bed. There was a small intercom that had a constant "white noise" (such as the static on a television makes). Oh it drove me insane. I began throwing myself around and crying. (I really wanted to go home) The ambulance came to transport me to Centennial Peaks, a mental/psych ward, in Louisville. (I had no idea there was a louisville in colorado) I arrived there at about eight fourty p.m and they did a bunch of paper work along with stripping me of my clothing to do a full body check for injuries. They found the cuts I self inflicted on my left arm along with all of the scars from previous self mutilation. I also had to get twenty seven stitches below the left side of my ribs. (A huge gash that I told them I had done to myself with a kitchen knife the night before. I actually didn't do it to myself). A while after they had giben me hospital scrubs I was to wear for a period of at least twentyfour hours until I completed a huge packet of useless questions and information. (I completed it the next morning though) I got to meet my room mate... Davina... she was boulimic and there because she had tried to commit suicide by drinking Raid. But don't get me wrong... she was wonderful. She was the closest person I had there. Dear sweet Davina. God I love her. We exchanged phone numbers and emails in secret, making sure to see eachother again. Or at least keep in touch. My time is Centennial Peaks was rather horrible.. they romoved all my piercings. Not allowed to wear make up or have our own shampoo and/or conditioner with staff in fear that we would eat it. I was never alone, always being watched by staff. Even while showering or using the bathroom. I really hated it. I wasn't aloud to wear my shoes or anything with strings on them. We ate three times a day. The food for the most part was disgusting. I couldn't see outside, completely oblivious as to the time of day. I soon made a few other friends there. One of which being Jake. Oh he was wonderfull too. One night I was crying horribly so I stuck pillows under my blankets to make it seem I was still in my room sleeping as I snuck across the hall into his room. As I cried he held me and stroked my hair while I breathed in shaky breaths and trembled with my head against his chest. Wow he was so warm. I could hear the sweet sound of his heart pound into the hollow of my ear. thum thump... I just needed to be held, which truthfully I think that's all any of the patients there needed. That was the only physical contact I had the whole entire time (We too exchanged phone numbers).
I realize I have not told you why I was there. It was for severe depression, mild bi-polar, anxiety, self mutilation, and a slight case of anorexia. They put me on an anti-depressant called prozac and up'd the dose when I had an out burst of tears and threw/kicked over tables and chairs as I screamed and swung at a staff member. I won't forget him. His name was Nick. I made friends with about everyone there and exchanged numbers with most of them. So here I am at school now. How can I say this?? I feel.... feel disconnected from myself and all my friends and peers. I feel awkward even being outside. I think I got rather anti-social and I don't want to talk to anyone or even be touched. Not even a hand to my shoulder. Alot of my friends must think I'm being a real bitch. I kept moving away from them when they sit by me and refuse their hugs. I can't even bring myself to answer or respond to what they say. I have failed to do any of my class work or even come up with appropriate responses to my teachers. They probably know what happened and think I'm a freak. The day before I went to the hospital I had permenently broken up with Wayne (the father of my dear sweet son, Damien). I figured he'd be happier without me and won't be miserable anymore so he can move on with his life without me. He doesn't seem to be rejecting it anyway. The twentyfourth would have been our one year and eight month anniversary... So I've decided. This sucks.