I should've known better. When you are in the mental ward at a hospital, sarcasm is very much under-appreciated. After spending 12 hours a day with crazy people, you may think the nurses would have some sort of humor, right? Well... no... humor leads to plastic spoon restrictions.
All I wanted was some mascara. My eyes were baggy from lack of sleep that occurs when an orderly does room checks every 15 minutes throughout the night. I had been crying because Mr. GameBoy packed me 13 pairs of socks, and only 3 pairs of underwear... I mean, seriously?!?
They had given me the basic hygiene necessities--toothbrush, toothpaste, deoderant, an awful bottle of "body and hair wash", and a comb. I approached the nurse's station seeking out my mascara. Nurse Lauren said, "It's in your locker. We are going to keep it locked up so you don't hurt yourself with it."
And here's where I went wrong. I'm pissed, first of all. My eyes are puffy, my hair is in a shamble, unshowered, my lips cracked. I just wanted some damned mascara to at least make me look less like a corpse. My mind is reeling. Of all the things that I had in my possession to hurt myself with, and you're going to take my mascara... bendable, soft bristles, no metal or glass on it...
So I replied, "Isn't the comb that y'all gave me much more dangerous than a tube of mascara?"
Her eyes widened and she whipped past me in the direction of my room. I followed in shock. When I reached my room she was frantically tearing my drawers open, until she found the culprit--my comb.
I protested to her, her charge nurse, the next shift of nurses, my doctor, and some more nurses, all to no avail. I was told that they spoke about it in their morning report meeting, and that I wouldn't be allowed to have it back. I was now on suicide watch.
Fast-forward to that night when we were given ice cream as an evening snack. The male technician handing out the little cups and plastic spoons, approached me and asked me if I was Miss CrazyPants. I said yes. He said, "Make sure you return your spoon to me when you're done." I looked around. Everyone else had their spoons. They could throw them in the trash can. I had been singled out.
I protested and told him he was mistaken, and that I was perfectly fine with throwing it away like everyone else. While he went to check out my story, I rushed to my room with tears streaming down my face, and gulped down the ice cream before they could stop me. I hid the spoon.
Over the course of the next couple of days I would steal plastic spoons and hide them... hell, maybe I am crazy, but what else could I do? I hoarded all the spoons I could get my hands on. Of course they noticed my missing utensils sometimes, but they never found my hiding spot... it was a good one.
I got on good with one of the nurses, and she finally told me that Nurse Lauren had reported that I threatened to stab myself with my eye pencil. That's funny... I'm a ginger.... I look ridiculous if I use an eye pencil... I don't even own one and I certainly didn't bring one. But, apparently it didn't matter that the nurse had lied... I was crazy, and that meant I couldn't be trusted.
Here's the thing that baffles me. There are so many opportunities to hurt myself in creative ways. What about the spoons that the other patient's threw away? Couldn't I grab one out of the trashcan? How about the loose screw in that chair? How about my fingernails? What about the underwire in my bra? The sharp edge of the light vent? The pen in the common room? Breaking the small trashcan in my room into sharp pieces? The only thing they managed to do was piss me off and depress me more. But I chose not to hurt myself even though I could and I was mad... didn't want to give them the satisfaction of being right.
I learned my lesson... don't be a smart ass with people that have the power to lock you up and throw away the key... because they just may.
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