Bruised Yet Alive
When I was 13, I was admitted to a psych hospital for suicidal ideation. From the second I arrived at the unit, I knew something was very wrong. There were naked girls running around the halls, and nurses were tackling kids who refused to share the TV remote.
As soon as I put my things down, I was stripped and cavity searched by a male nurse (who we’ll call Craig) who spent an ungodly amount of time with his hands inside of me.
This was the start of my issues with Craig.
Every day, he would find an excuse to restrain, sedate, and beat me. One time, he fractured my elbow because I took an extra sandwich without permission. Whenever Craig and I were alone together, he would touch me and tell me that no one would believe me.
It was a crazy morning on the unit when I approached a staff member with concerns that I may have a yeast infection. I requested some Monistat or the ability to call my mom (no phone calls or visits allowed), and I was denied and forced into going to the medical building.
When I got to the exam room, I was strapped down and forcibly given a vaginal exam by a male doctor without my or my parents’ consent. I screamed and cried while the doctor and the people restraining me laughed. And no, I never got any Monistat.
After this event, Craig decided that he really hated me. So he put his knee on my neck and let me gasp for air for 10 minutes. I was held at this facility against my will and that of my parents until legal action was pursued.
I got into my mother’s car with bruises all across my body, a broken elbow, and more trauma than imaginable. This isn’t even half the events that took place, just the ones I feel like writing about right now.
I am 18 and I will live with this for the rest of my life.
I am a survivor, and I am grateful to be alive.