The room is silent and cold. I shiver and look around nervously. A nurse forcefully taps on my door and barges in.
She’s carrying a large purple duffel bag. “Here are your things.”
“Thanks.” I mumble, taking the bag.
The nurse nods and pushes her meaty hands through the door without a word. I rip open my bag and rifle through it. I take out a white t-shirt and pull it over my head. It smells like home; flowers, ginger and cloves.
I push the bag aside and swallow, looking around the small room. Good thing I’m not claustrophobic.
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“Isabelle? It’s time for group therapy.” The meaty nurse barks. I sigh heavily and follow her to the elevator. She pushes a button and the door opens slowly.
She guides me in it and punches a button. The elevator creaks and groans.
The door slides open and the nurse leads me past the front entrance and through a long, bare hallway.
She abruptly stops at a door and knocks on it. “I’ve got another one.”
“Okay. Send them in.” Someone calls. The door swings open.
“She got here yesterday.” The nurse nudges me through the door and turns around.
The woman that answered the door brings me into the room and closes the door. She points to a circle of chairs, where five other people are sitting. They’re talking quietly.
“Everybody, this is Isabelle.” The woman says. I gulp and sit in an empty chair.
“Hi, Isabelle.” The others reply.
“We will continue where we left off last week, but will introduce Isabelle into our group.” The woman answers, raking her dirty blond hair behind her ear. “Who’d like to go first?”
Six pairs of terrified eyes answer her. She sighs. “We need to talk, guys. If you want to get better, we have to talk about things.”
“Fine, I’ll go.” A tiny, pixie-like girl pipes up. She straightens in her chair. “As you know, my name is Cathy. I’m here because of a suicide attempt. I had a severe panic attack and nearly off-ed myself.”
“Hello, Cathy.” The group says in unison.
“I’ve been having panic attacks since I was thirteen. I’m seventeen now. They started a little while after I started middle school. The year I turned thirteen was one of the worst years of my life – I became very isolated from my friends, and of course, almost died. I didn’t just decide to try and kill myself – it was brought on by a few things.” She stops, and inhales deeply. “My school grades were shit – "
“No profanity, please Cathy.” The woman interrupts. I glanced at her shirt. She was wearing a name tag that said “Marie”.
“Sorry. Anyway, my grades were bad, my parents had announced that they were divorcing and my best friend dumped me.” she explains. “I guess I just… lost it.”
“I’m sorry, Cathy.” Marie says. The others mumble.
“Whatever. It’s not like it matters anymore.” Cathy scoffs.
“Okay… who’d like to go next?” Marie asks. The statues in the room don’t say a word. Marie sighs. “You need to talk, guys. Sharing your feelings is good. It’s a form of healing, you know.”
I bleakly raise my hand. “I’ll go, I suppose.”
“That’s great!” Marie beams. I can’t believe that she’s so happy. If I was working in a mental nuthouse, I wouldn’t be as perky as she was. There’s no chance in hell I’d be that excited.
I swallow and bite my tongue. Do I really want to share my story with these people? My eyes dart around the circle and my palms sweat.
“Go on…” Marie urges.
My heart beats rabbit-fast and I start to pant heavily, like I can’t get enough air. The room spins and colourful spots dance in front of my eyes.
“I…” Is all I can say before I hit the ground.
