Marylyn Castas Memorial Hospital

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Melia, Nov 19, 2014.

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  1. Welcome to Marylyn Castas Memorial Hospital
    We care


    Marylyn Castas is the largest psychiatric hospital in the area. Our mission is to provide quality comprehensive psychiatric care for all ages and backgrounds, including inpatient and outpatient options across the state. Our goal is to create a safe and comfortable environment for our patients that promotes an improved quality of life.

    Marylyn Castas Memorial was founded in 1923 by George and Silvia Castas in memory of their daughter Marylyn. Marylyn died of depression in a time where little was known about the disease. George and Silvia devoted the rest of their lives to the research of depression and other mental illnesses and providing care for others who suffer. Today, Marylyn Castas Memorial has expanded to a multifunctional facility with branches across the surrounding area.

    Our Grounds and Location:
    Location was a key element in building our hospital. That's why we chose a remote landscape surrounded by a quiet forest. We wanted to create a peaceful setting that removed our patients from the stressors of the outside world. We strive to keep our patients connected to nature with beautiful maintained grounds, walking paths, and gardens for our patients and families to enjoy.

    Dining Options:
    Diet is an essential aspect of our mental health. Eating balanced meals at set times each day helps promote the health for both our body and our mind. We prepare each meal with care and research. If you have any dietary needs, please inform our staff and we will accommodate to the best of our ability.

    Living Quarters:
    Each room sleeps two patients. You will be assigned a roommate upon check in. We believe that social contact is an important element in our mental health, however there are single rooms available upon discretion of the patient's care team. We encourage patients to utilize the outside grounds, craft room, or lounge. Patients are also encouraged to participate in group sessions. We offer multiple sessions each day with different topics to choose from and patients are welcome to any and all.

    Routine is a comfort for many who are going through difficult times. We try to build a balance of routine and free time for each patient. Meals are served at 8:00 am, 12:00pm, and 6:00 pm. Bedtime is 10:00 pm. Therapy sessions are based on each individual patient's needs and will be scheduled regularly as well. Visiting hours are from 7:00pm to 9:00pm. Patients, please inform your therapists to anyone who is not allowed to visit.

    If you need anything at all, staff are available 24/7.​
    #1 Melia, Nov 19, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 1, 2014
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  2. November 16
    Initial evaluation

    Name: Matthew Bellamy

    Age: 25
    Gender: Male
    Admittance: Self check-in

    History: Medical records state patient suffers from persistent depression with episodes of major depression and suicidal thoughts. Patient suffers from panic disorder and selective mutism, possibly symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder.

    Statement or referral: Patient states he feels stable, but feels more comfortable around professional staff. Patient was informed of lack of necessity in a hospital stay under stable conditions.

    Vitals: Weight 110lbs, Height 5'7”, BP 117/70, P86 and regular.
    Appearance: Appropriately dressed and appears stated age.
    Thought processes: Logical
    Thought content: Thinks of suicide, paranoia
    Recent and remote memory: minor struggle with remote memory.

    Problem 1: Major depression
    Comment: Relatively stable, symptoms present.
    Plan: Increase current SSRI dosage.

    Problem 2: Panic Disorder
    Comment: Stable, symptoms present
    Plan: Write script anxiety medication

    Problem 3: Selective Mutism
    Comment: Worsening, may be related to anxiety and depression.
    Plan: Hypnotic therapy and association techniques.
    The sign outside the building read Marylyn Castas Memorial Hospital with the inscription of “We Care” below it. As he'd approached the front desk, there had been a plaque on the wall: Marylyn Castas Memorial Hospital. We care. In the examination room, where he'd sat down with a therapist, an identical plaque on the wall: Marylyn Castas Memorial Hospital. We care. And a plaque on the door to his room: Marylyn Castas Memorial Hospital. Room 204. We care.

    “We care, so you don't have to,” Matt mumbled to himself as he set his small bag of belongings on his bed. He didn't seem to have a roommate yet. Unless his roommate kept their bed meticulously made and had no personal belongings. Or maybe maids came in and made the beds up every day. He had no idea what to expect here, other than he hoped that it would help him. He folded his clothes and placed them in the drawers by his bed and placed a small notebook and a crayon under his pillow. He'd been told he wasn't allowed to bring sharp objects, pens and pencils included. It made sense, he supposed.

    Unsurprisingly, the place smelled sterile. It was a hospital after all, though unlike one he'd ever been in before. He'd been shown around by a nurse before being let into his room. The architect of the building had made a big effort to avoid long creepy hallways, which despite the sterile atmosphere, gave it a bit more homey feel, though it was far from the comforts of home. Ceilings were kept low, but not too low, for a comfortable feeling space. He was glad for the lack of classically high ceilings or tall windows. He had no desire to be in a place that felt like the asylums of horror stories. If anything, the place felt more like a nursing home than a hospital.

    A nurse knocked softly on his door, a door that was required to stay open at all times, much to his disappointment. She informed him that lunch was in half an hour and someone would be by to retrieve him. Retrieve. Like a dog. He reminded himself that he had chosen to come here and unsure of what to do in the half hour between now and lunch, he lay down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.
    #2 Melia, Nov 19, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 1, 2014
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  3. In the room next to Matthew, Kalani sat in the comfortable chair, thinking. Ugh, I've done it now. I've gotten so out of hand that I've actually been admitted to a mental ward. Admittedly, though, this place seems very hospitable. Not quite what I was imagining. Regardless, could I ever make up for this? It's not something that'll just get better on its own, and it only gets worse the further I go. I really hope these people can work miracles, because otherwise–

    A knock interrupted her train of thought, coming from one of the nurses. Lunch would apparently start in half an hour, and someone would come to escort her to the dining area. Kalani felt a slight relief at hearing that. She really wouldn't want to get lost in a place like this, especially not on her first day. With a smile undoubtedly meant to be comforting, the nurse left.

    Kalani began thinking about her parents. They would accept her even after all this, she knew; even after years of making the same mistakes, they loved her all the same. It had baffled her after a while. Forgiving her once or twice made sense, but over and over again? And so what if she was their daughter? They wouldn't accept that from anyone else; an employee of her mother, for example, could easily get fired for such a thing. So they shouldn't accept it from her either.

    All right, that's enough. Brooding about myself won't do anything but drag me down further. I was allowed to bring my notebook, provided I only write in it with crayon. Maybe a good story will get my mind off of this catastrophe. Resolved (to a certain extent), Kalani grabbed her spiral notebook and began to write.
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  4. Matt was working on his meditating skills when the nurse finally came by to bring him to lunch, so he was feeling quite relaxed, though he was no expert at meditation. The rooms were set up in pod-like structures and so the nurse stopped at each room in his pod, gathering others to go down to lunch. Matthew eyed the other people that were there, impressed with the varied ages of those around him. Everyone was here fighting their own battles and so he tried not to stare at anyone too long.

    Eventually, he fell into step next to the young girl that had the room next to him and he watched his feet as the small group made their way to the dining area. Matt was vaguely aware that the hospital had many wings, and that each wing had it's own dining space. This was comforting, because he wasn't finding himself in a huge cafeteria like setting. It was much more like a cafe. A cafe with the atmosphere of a nursing home, maybe. The chairs were sturdy and plain and everyone ate with plastic forks. He noted the nurse standing guard at the exit door. Everyone got a pat down even for the flimsy plastic forks. That was fair, he thought. He'd done enough damage with his own fingernails before, something that was noted in his file and one of the first things they'd done after they had him empty his pockets was clip his nails. He wondered if they clipped everyone's nails, or if it was only him specifically.

    Lunch was balanced. Two different types of vegetables, today it was broccoli and carrots. Soup. Salad. Chicken breast with barbecue sauce. Yogurt. An apple. Juice, Milk or water. Cake or ice cream for dessert. He took each item dutifully though his stomach struggled to convince him it was hungry. He chose a table with an older woman, her gray hair long and straight. She was in a wheelchair and talked to herself. He found the noise comforting, and listened to her talk. He didn't know anything of the people she spoke about, and she didn't even seem to really realize that he was there, but he continued to listen as he picked at his food.

    He wanted to take care of himself. It was hard, to take care of himself, but he was here to make sure that he did it and that someone would enforce it if he wasn't. He ate half of his food, but his appetite just wasn't there. He could see a nurse watching him and making notes in his file, he was sure. He sighed and tried to keep eating.
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  5. When the nurse knocked on Kalani's door, the girl was thankful for the interruption; she had just gotten her main protagonist in a bit of a jam, and she was having trouble thinking of the best way to get him out safely and plausibly. Eating sounded like a nice distraction, if nothing else.

    As the group walked, the nurse collecting everyone from their rooms, Kalani glanced quickly at the people around her. She wondered if she would learn much about any of them, but she hoped not. If she could learn a lot about them, they could learn a lot about her, and that just wouldn't work out.

    For most of the walk, Kalani just watched her feet, occasionally looking up to make sure she didn't bump into anyone. When they reached the cafe-like cafeteria, she took the food she was given and sat down to eat. It seemed like a bit much to eat at once, but perhaps that was necessary. The person she sat with stared at his food as if it had just insulted everything he cared about. Kalani, thinking it was unlikely that she would be of any help to him, just concentrated on her food.

    It's surprising, though, that they're willing to trust us with this much. I mean, these chairs could be used as weapons, albeit not very effective ones. Against someone else, they would be handy, but the best self-injury one could give is a concussion, and there would be no certainty of death whatsoever. The forks can be more problematic, though. Not so much for stabbing the heart or the arm, but for digging out eyeballs and being shoved through the throat. I mean, if someone stuck the fork in their throat and pushed until it broke through to the other side, that would make for some serious injury. Even with the nurses close by, if someone were desperate enough...wait, why am I even thinking about this? I'm supposed to be trying to get better, not making it worse! Get a grip already!

    Slightly unnerved by the direction her thoughts had just gone, Kalani tried to continue eating as if nothing was wrong. She hoped her face looked sufficiently unchanged. It probably did; she was good at hiding things like that.
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  6. After lunch, and after he'd been thoroughly patted down, it was time for group therapy. At least it was for most people. Matt hadn't been assigned any specific group therapy sessions to go to, yet. Granted, he'd been told he could go, if he wanted to, but he didn't want to. He was still feeling much too shy for something like that, no matter how helpful it might be. So after lunch had become a sort of free time for him. He'd tried briefly to go to his room, but the nurse had pestered him just enough to get him to come back out after only a few minutes.

    Now he was in a sort of common room. There was a TV in the corner, stuck on a single channel that he had no interest in watching. There were some books and some games. A deck of cards. He wasn't the only one in the room, but it was fairly empty as others who had become more settled were off doing their various activities. He plucked up the deck of cards and sat in a chair, shyly looking around the room, trying to make eye contact with someone who might possibly be interested in playing a card game with him. He shuffled the cards absently, over and over and over again.
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  7. When she was finished being patted down, Kalani went back to her room. She hadn't exactly thought of the best way to save her protagonist, but she had a feeling the solution was within her grasp. It would only take a short while of thinking.

    Some people were headed to group therapy, while other people were going to their rooms. Still others seemed to be going somewhere else entirely. It was nice that, for the moment, group therapy for Kalani was not mandatory. Her room was a nice place to be, and it had not taken her long to adjust to it.

    Walking inside, she found the notebook and crayons under her chair, right where she had left them. It wasn't much, but it was one way to hide her work from others. She didn't want to show it to anyone because her writing was still sophomoric in nature. Her skill needed to greatly improve before anyone else could glimpse at it, or the reader would throw it away in disgust.

    She sat quietly, thinking, when the idea suddenly came to her. Quickly, before she could forget, she wrote the scene out: her protagonist, trapped in his own mind's suicidal desires and trying frantically to escape, suddenly saw a bright light and reached for it in desperation. Was it heaven, or his return to the real world? She decided to leave that up to the mind of the reader. Depending on the imagination of others rather than forcing the ending into a certain scenario often proved more effective in her experience.

    Suddenly, the nurse knocked on Kalani's door, surprising the girl greatly. The nurse hinted that it would be better for her to be among the other patients in some way. Kalani looked at her book for a few seconds before putting it on her chair. She could hardly get away with putting it under the chair right now.

    Following the nurse, Kalani found herself in a room that made her think of a preschool for some reason, but without any brightly colored wallpaper. Her gaze fell upon a man shuffling a deck of cards, seemingly not concentrating on the task. Finding it unlikely that the nurse would be content with Kalani just sitting on the couch and reading one of the books, she went up to the man, and said in her usual whisper, " have an impressive shuffling technique, sir."
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  8. Anything Zoe had actually wanted to take along to this dreaded crazies hospital was taken away from her the moment her name was in the computer, blinking alongside the equally dreaded words "patient" on the check-in computer monitor. Her laptop, her only real source of light, was handed off to her mother- her best friend quickly snagged it from her hands, insisting she'd bring it back to the apartment they shared- and her phone, too. Other than those two devices, she'd brought little with her; no books, no games, hardly any clothes. Anything she took an actual interest in was of course banned. She was allowed to bring her sketchbook, but without a sharp pencil, it was useless. You can't detail out the construction of a house with a crayon.

    The moment she saw this place, she hated it. It was too big, too sprawling and open and bright. Inside, the smell of antiseptic and disinfectant stung her nose, and she struggled against tears. They welled to her eyes anyways, but she tried not to make a big deal out of rubbing them away. She couldn't stay here. No way. Not with these strange people in this hospital playing pretend. They knew nothing about her. How were they supposed to fix her?

    She moved to tell her family and her friend that this is all a mistake, just one big, huge, mistake, but a nurse came from behind the entry desk with a plastic smile and offered her hand, greeting herself as "Mary Jane" and saying something about Zoe's new room and how she'll find Marylyn Castas to be a peaceful, calm place and how the other patients will be happy to meet her. Zoe only had time to glance desperately back at her best friend before the nurse put a hand gently on her back and lead her off. Her friend called out something about how she'll visit, and she caught a glimpse of her parents walking away, carefree, the burden that is their daughter off of their shoulders.

    I'm sure they're just all torn up about it, she thought to herself as she followed this woman along, her skin itching at the physical contact. The nurse couldn't possibly know about the scars that mar her back, but they're still there, and the strangers hand lying over them, unknowing, drove her crazy.

    Scar. Scar, strangers, hospital. The last time I was in a hospital I was dying. Scars. I don't remember it smelling this way, though. No emergency room. But scars.

    The nurse brought her to a room, the door ajar. Someone has already laid out a small collection of possessions, although the room doesn't look very lived in. She wasn't sure what she expected. She set her things down on the bedspread, feeling rather hopeless inside. The nurse told her to leave the door open, that there would be nurses on duty at all hours if she needed anything, and that she'd be back later, when dinner would be ready. She'd only just missed lunch.

    Zoe sat down on top of the bed after the nurse left, and let her tears fall freely.
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  9. Juliette walked slowly into the main entrance, scanning the room. People dot a few tables here and there, and an angry woman is screaming at a receptionist. Everything is bright and open. "Who thought this was a good idea?" she thought, combing her hair back off of her face. She stood in the same spot, a few feet off of the door, for some time until the screaming woman decided to wait for somebody more...receptive. She stepped nervously up to the desk, tapping her fingers on the smooth marble a few times before getting up the nerve to say.

    "Um, I'm checking in? My name is Juliette Sheanin." The woman behind the desk smiled widely, muttered a "One second" and typed loudly on a keyboard. Juliette looked around another time, trying furtively to glean anything more from the lobby. The receptionist hits "Enter" far too loudly, and prints out a key card. She slides it across the desk and motions to a nurse nearby, saying something about the room number and "This nice woman will take you there." Honestly, though, it all sounded like white noise, accentuated every now and then by a louder word. She followed the woman through the wide hallways, peeking in a few doors as she passes. Some people in there look normal, as though you're just looking into their normal room. Others are rocking back and forth, or curled up in a pile of blankets.

    Her room, somewhere close to the common area, was one of the single bed rooms. The nurse, who had been speaking for the entire time, explained how they usually house people with panic or anxiety disorders alone to avoid double panic situations. She dropped her bag on the mattress, looking around. It's not a bad room, it's quite welcoming, actually. Despite all their best attempts, though, it's still a hospital. At the very core, it's a hospital.
    She unpacked quickly, her few favorite belongings aren't very hard to organize. The schedule, posted on the back of her door, was very straightforward. It was a little bit past noon, so apparently patients are afforded free time. A few people are walking the hallways, maybe three visible at all. She walked down the plain hallways, the abnormally plain hallways, to a wide area dotted with a few tables.

    She slid into one, opening up her worn copy of Love Labors Lost, but the words don't seem interesting anymore. The people in here are all isolated, save for a man shuffling cards and some girl talking to him. She sat there for a few minutes, staring absentmindedly at them. The girl is young, fifteen at most. Strange, most people in here are young adults or old ladies. She stood up and pushed in the chair, trying to ignore the scraping sound it makes. She walked over to the man, glancing at the girl for a second. This chair, somehow, pulled out easier, and she sat down. "Are we allowed to gamble in here?"
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  10. Matt stopped his one handed card shuffling when a young girl, just a child, approached him. His eyes flitted over her face and he frowned slightly, finding it sad that someone so young should be in a place like this. She spoke so quietly too, he felt he had to watch her lips very carefully and lean forward to catch her words. He scooted down his chair so to make room for her if she chose to sit down. "Thanks," he said of her compliment. He had a strong Devon accent and he spoke quickly, which made him hard to understand sometimes. "I've got long fingers," he said, holding up his right hand. And strong hands, well-calloused, many years of playing guitar and piano had brought that on. He didn't say so. "I've played a few games of Poker," he said. And I'm pretty good at it, he didn't say. He shuffled the cards again, then asked, "Do you want to play a card game?"

    He had barely gotten the words out when another young girl, a bit closer to his age sat down with them. One of Matt's dark eyebrows arched high on his expressive face. "Probably not," he said, lowering his voice. There was a hint of Rhotacism on the word "probably" which caused it to come out closer to "pwobably" something he hadn't even noticed. "But I'm game if you are..."

    He paused, looking at the two girls. "I mean, unless either of you are here for gambling problems?" He wasn't sure how to treat others here. Did people talk freely about their problems? That was to be expected in group therapy he was sure, so maybe it wasn't unusual to be open about what they were here for. He got an instant feeling of being in prison, sharing with other inmates what they'd done to get put behind bars. Well, he had no problem sharing if they didn't.

    "What should we play?" and then more quietly "and what should we gamble?"

    @Professor Objection, @SarcasticNarhwal
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  11. "I've..I've got no gambling problem. I just enjoy winning." The man seemed a bit confused, and then slightly panicked. The people in here were hard to read, hard to understand. They all acted differently than the normal people she knew. She noticed, however, that they are the only group in the common room. Most of the patients are sitting either alone, or in pairs, barely talking. She fished around in her pocket, pulling out what little was still in there.

    Three dimes, the corner of a book page, lead from a mechanical pencil (3 pieces), and a ball of wadded up tape. She pushed it into the center of the table, a playful smile around the corners of her lips. It's a strange thing happening to her, here. She's communicating, communicating well even. Normally, these two people would probably make her slink back in her chair. Not even to mention the lack of a heartbeat that you can feel. Usually at this time, her body is rejecting everything that's happening to her. "There's something in the air here."

    Her meager offering seems so out of place on the pristine table. Her breath becomes slightly sharper as she says "What are you guys carrying?" She was lucky to have gotten here before a laundry day, her things were still in her pockets. She noticed how plain people around here are. When she was checked in, they briefed her on the rules, but she wasn't thinking it would be so noticeable. Nobody has sneakers or hoodies, first of all. Nobody is writing or drawing, which is something that she'll miss the most. "I don't think mental health is supposed to restrict you this much."

    @Melia @Professor Objection
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  12. Kalani sat down, staring at his fingers as she listened to him talk. She didn't necessarily understand every word he said, but she was able to understand the gist of it. When he asked if she wanted to play something, Kalani was unsure of what to say. She was almost thankful to be interrupted by the slightly older girl nearby.

    The other girl asked about gambling, and Kalani wondered as well. Was gambling allowed in this place? She imagined not, and the man seemed to agree. Nevertheless, he seemed not to mind the idea. Kalani wondered if it was related to why he ended up here. She hoped not; otherwise, they were just making his situation worse.

    "Um...I'll just watch, if that's alright." Kalani did not mention that she had never gambled in that manner before, nor did she mention that she felt it would be a bad idea (to put it mildly) to break the rules. This minor offense, however, did not seem worrisome enough for her to discourage the others. It made her slightly nervous, but as long as the materials being gambled were not too important, she had a feeling they would all face a mere warning.
  13. Matt searched his person for anything that could be used in a gamble. He plucked a button off the bottom of his shirt with his teeth, briefly exposing an underfed stomach with a fine line of dark hair running from his belly button to his pant line and a crooked front tooth. He'd been made to take off his necklace (he'd questioned it, but they'd told him that someone bent on suicide could use it to cut their airline. He didn't question it again. It's something he'd thought of in desperate times as well, though not with his necklace) but thinking of his necklace did cause him to look down at his finger, where a silver ring lay, tiny diamonds and sapphires embedded in the pattern of two constellations: Andromeda and the Pleiades star cluster on the other.

    Technically they had suggested he take it off and keep it with the staff for safe keeping, but it was sitting so long on his finger, it wouldn't come off easily, and so they'd let him keep it on. It didn't particularly look valuable anyway, and the jewels were so tiny, it would be easy to think them false. Still, his eyes drifted to the ring, and he was sure the others' did too. He grabbed it and struggled with pulling it off, and finally it did with a little grunt on his part. He set the ring on the table next to the button. The coveted grand prize.

    @Professor Objection @SarcasticNarhwal
  14. Alex was sat in the back of an ambulance, not a large one that you usually see, a small car with "ambulance" written all over it, for minor incidents and first responders. He was soon going to be released back into the community after a year of madness, then he'd be on his own, more-so than even now. This facility he was on his way to, more of a care facility than anything. He was very nervous, his mouth and throat were as dry as a desert, his heart racing, he felt queasy and lightheaded, a feeling he was all too familiar with but was not used to in the slightest. The minutes stretched on as they went along to the new hospital, feeling more like hours. He stared intently out of the window not looking at anything outside just away from the inside of the ambulance, he knew who was in there with them, his grizzly and morbid companions. Maybe he could open the door and fall out onto the road? Be smashed and scraped to pieces along the surface of the road? Or maybe fall under the wheels of a vehicle behind them? No, that wouldn't work, this door is probably locked and he wouldn't want to curse this paramedic with re-occurring visions of this instant.

    After a while they arrived, on a well-kept road through a thick forest. He swore he could see something in the trees, wrong things, like the ones in the other passenger seats. They pulled to a stop outside a gate which soon opened, and then again in a car park outside this quite large but still inviting building. A gilded cage is still a cage. He heard the engine stop and a door open, then the sound of fabric on fabric and the door closing again. The paramedic went around the front of the car and to Alex's door, then opened it. Alex was up and out of the vehicle in an instant and standing beside the paramedic, a friendly and burly man in his 30's, tall too. He escorted Alex to the front desk and did the talking for him, checking him in. A nurse, a friendly-looking older woman then gave him a tour of the place, all he was interested in was somewhere quiet and his. Accommodations, that's where the tour ended. He got inside, there were two beds in the room, he would be sharing, he hoped that it would work, he doubted it, though. After the door closed he sat down and put his suitcase under the bed. A face looked up at him from under the bed. One of the wrong-things that shared his journey here, he called it "Wither", completely devoid of pigmentation, looking starved and far too thin and tall and blank to be human, it would sit, and stare at him usually at night, all night, every night, rarely came out at day. He spat at it and pushed his suitcase in it's face. Then lied back on his new bed in his new room and waited for his new roommate.
    #14 DrKiril, Dec 9, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Dec 9, 2014
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  15. Kalani looked at the man's ring, interested in the pattern of the jewels. She wasn't entirely sure whether or not the pattern was meant to make a shape, but it was beautiful regardless, even if jewelry was usually of no interest to her. Would he really be fine with gambling that ring? It looked somewhat valuable, like something a person wouldn't want to lose, yet alone give away. Kalani thought about mentioning that to him, but she immediately dismissed the thought. It was his choice; she didn't know him well enough to make these kinds of decisions.

    Looking away from the ring, Kalani's gaze fell upon one of the bookshelves in the room. This was a comforting sight; it reminded her of the bookshelf in her own room, though this one was less cluttered. Many different types of books sat on the shelves. Suddenly, a single title caught Kalani's eye: Predictably Irrational. She had just started reading the book herself not too long ago, and from what she had seen, it was very interesting. It discussed a great deal of illogical behaviors that people often expressed, and how the behaviors could become habits. For a few seconds, she debated whether or not it would be all right to just leave the table to read. She decided that as long as she asked, it wouldn't be too much of a problem.

    Kalani stood up. "I-is it alright if I check the bookshelves?" She tried to speak a little louder than usual, not entirely succeeding. "The books look...interesting." She already felt worried that she was annoying the both of them with her muttering, but if they were both here for good reasons, it was possible that such a thing mattered little to them. Honestly, it was a nice thought.
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  16. Matt glanced at Kalani, slight concern for the young girl flashed across his face. "You don't need to ask permission to do what you want to do." Certainly not from him. He watched her wander over to the bookshelves for a moment, and then returned his attention to the cards, shuffling them again. He glanced up at Juliette, realizing he didn't know anyone's names. He was sure he would learn them later, and wasn't quite ready to share his yet either.

    "Rummy okay, since there's only the two of us?" Matt asked as he began dealing the cards between the two of them. He'd only gotten through half the pile though when a nurse approached him, speaking his name softly and a light tough to the shoulder. The brief touch sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, making him realize how much he craved simple human touch. A little sigh.

    "Doctor Mortan would like to meet with you now, Matthew," the nurse said. Matt nodded and glanced at Juliette again. "Sorry," he said with an apologetic smile. "I guess we'll have to continue this later."

    He brushed the button and ring back into the palm of his hand and pocketed the items, while following the nurse only a short distance to where Dr. Mortan, a plump woman with a kind smile was waiting to escort him the rest of the way to her office.

    As they made their way down the carpeted hallway she addressed him. "I hope you weren't gambling back in there," she said, a very gentle warning in her voice that didn't feel threatening to him.

    "Was just trying to create some fun," Matthew admitted honestly. "No harm. I checked to see if they had gambling problems anyway. I'm not dumb."

    Dr. Morton smiled. "We treat pathological liars here too," she said as she opened the door, holding it open. "But you are welcome to make friends. Come in."

    The first session was the longest one, Dr. Morton said. Not that it was physically longer than the other sessions, only that it felt the longest. Patients always said that. The first session was always the most emotionally draining. Matt had suffered three panic attacks through it, and Dr. Morton had gotten very little information, other than that Matt had panic attacks. She issued to the nurses some changes to his medications and he was free to go.

    Matt went straight to his room. The nurses didn't try to stop him. His eyes were red from crying, and all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and try to sleep off the emotional exhaustion of the day. So it was a surprise to him and even a bit of a disappointment when he entered his room to find that he had a roommate now.

    He didn't want to be rude, however, and so mumbled a quick "hello" to the girl.

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  17. It wasn't long after the tears had started that they ran dry. Some logical part of Zoe knew that crying would do her no good, and she managed to choke back the sobs long enough to calm down. Once she could breath again, her lungs filling properly with the sharp smelling air, her shaking hands stilled, her muscles relaxed, and she was able to take a good look around the room that she was seated in.

    It was largely empty, and looked like it had never been lived in before, thanks to the handiwork of the nurses and hospital staff. There were no stains on the floor, or on the walls or bedspreads, and although Zoe felt like it should have comforted her, it only distanced her from home. Hospital quality perfection, with it's sterile quality, was chilling no matter which way she sliced it.

    She grabbed the small bag of belongings she had brought with her, and hoisted it up onto the small bed. Some clothing, a puzzle book, a deck of cards, a book her friend had managed to slip in unnoticed. The small paperback was bent from its position, some of the pages torn in the very corner. She pulled it out, and smoothed the crease, and set it on the side of the bed. She had little intention of reading it, but the thought was what mattered.

    She was reaching for the deck of cards when she heard footsteps approaching the door, and then saw a figure in the doorway. She looked up, peering through the mess of hair that hung over her eyes. Whomever he was, he had obviously been crying, perhaps even more than she, with red rimmed eyes she could see from where she sat. Her muscles began to tense, her heart thumping in her chest. She realized she had a roommate, but the actual thought of seeing her roommate hadn't occurred to her once since she'd arrived.

    Zoe heard him mutter a greeting, and she seized up. He said hello. Why did he have to say hello? We had all the reason to not say a word to each other, but he says hello.

    She opened her mouth once, closed it, twice, stuttered for words, and on her third try, choked out a reply greeting. "Hello. Hi."

  18. Matt had very little energy for more conversation, but felt an introduction should be necessary. He stood awkwardly on his side of the room, nose red from crying and his hair hanging in his face just as hers was. "I'm Matt. Uh. Here for depression. I think a lot of people here are. You can talk to me or not talk to me as much as you want." It was the shortest and most straightforward introduction he'd ever given anyone, laying himself relatively out there, considering the situation. He hoped he was in a place where at least admitting that depression was a thing that he struggled with wasn't going to be an automatic shut down for anyone speaking with him.

    Without another word, he crawled onto his bed and pulled his notebook out from under his pillow. Journaling always helped, especially when he felt so much pent up pain. He hated the idea of using a crayon. He couldn't physically write compactly and so his journal looked like a child's. He would have to see about a marker from someone. It had to be better than a crayon. And it was hard to imagine how one could harm themselves with a marker. As it was, he was already sharply sliding his finger down the edges of his paper which seemed to help ease a bit of the emotional pain. He'd managed to stay away from self harm for the most part, at least in the way of blades and real permanent methods. He understood it though, and the strong pull and desire of it. Emotional pain had a way of trying to get out in the most violent ways it could express itself. He was proud of the great deal of self control he'd exercised over the years to stay away from the self harm, but knew he could never judge anyone who used it to feel relief.

    He dated the top of the page in his notebook and titled his entry: Day 1.
  19. The man standing in front of her looked pretty sad, although his openness struck a chord within Zoe. She supposed it was a given considering that they were in a mental hospital. Everyone here had a reason for their stay. Although, she hadn't expected anybody to state they had depression on introduction. Was she to do the same? Maybe it was just a hospital thing, she thought to herself. A weird hospital thing.

    She stayed silent as he turned away, reaching underneath his pillow to retrieve a notebook before he began to write against the page with a crayon. She flinched watching him struggle to place the words on the page with such a blunt tool. Or, she at least supposed he was struggling. From her vantage point, it didn't quite seem so, but she couldn't see his face, and wasn't a very good reader of expression. Maybe he was perfectly fine with writing on fine paper with a crayon, but she couldn't stand to watch the struggle.

    Zoe grabbed her bag from where she'd left it, and dug around in her clothes and scant possessions until she found what she was searching for. A small box of fine tip markers. They were children's markers, non-toxic, and the plastic marker itself was rather big in size, but they would make for a decent writing utensil, although not near pencil or pen quality. She pulled one of the markers out, and then tossed it over onto the man's- Matt's- bed.

    "Uhm," she stumbled over her words again before feigning a cough. "Sorry. I'm, ah, Zoe. Uhm... Hope that helps."
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  20. Kalani thanked the man, turning to the bookshelves before her. She picked up Predictably Irrational and began reading, relieved that at least one thing felt completely normal in this place. Yes, the rooms felt more like home than she had expected, but this was still a hospital when all was said and done. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the nurses walking over to the man. The nurse tapped him on the shoulder and told him something about a doctor, calling the man Matthew. So his name was Matthew, then? She would do her best to remember that.

    Matthew took his ring and button back and walked out of the room with the nurse. Kalani wondered if she would have to go through the same thing. It was almost a certainty, and it made Kalani nervous. She had no idea what to expect from the session, or from her doctor. The book captured her attention once more and she put all of her focus on it, attempting to distract herself.

    Eventually, she looked around the room, realizing that it would probably be all right for her to go back to her room now. She put the book away and made her way back to her room with a different nurse, nearly walking into a man about Matthew's age who was receiving a tour of the facility. He appeared uncomfortable, but she didn't know him well enough to have any idea what would cheer him up, so she merely got out of his way and quietly apologized.

    Just when she thought she would finally be able to get in her room and start writing again, yet another nurse walked up to the both of them, saying it was time for Kalani to see a Dr. Young. Obediently, but with quite a bit of regret and trepidation, Kalani walked with this other nurse. This was her opportunity to start getting better; she had to be happy about it. She simply had to.
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