Folsom Prison Blues

Today, my roommate had a complete mental breakdown. The breakfast cart left early and she missed it, and couldn't stand her life anymore.

I can hear her screaming from the quiet room.

When we people lose sight of all hope we lose our words. There's no room for vocabulary with that much hurt, just sobbing and noise which releases just a bit of that pain.

She's still screaming, but she's more aware now. The doctors are probably giving her meds and strapping her to the bed. Let go, she's wailing. It's eerie, how her voice echoes down the halls.

Every time I've asked her how she's doing, she answers, "It's torture."

Hearing pain is like hearing a yawn. Contagious.

The halls are off limits to us.

I can't wait to get out of here.

Finally, I can go get my computer. I was writing this on paper because I had to get some distance from it, it was too much for reality and writing about it makes it somehow easier to accept.

When I was out there a few of the nurses and doctors were smiling awkwardly at each other. I understand, but it still felt so wrong. My poor roommate has been dealing with this torture for seven years. One day things just changed in her brain for her. She says she was washing the dishes and then all at once, this fog overcame her that made everything unreal, everything just shapes and colors with no form and no significance. She's gotten more able to deal with things, but no treatment in seven years has really helped. It might be some severe form of derealization disorder but no doctor knows. They all have their ideas. Stroke, childhood trauma, severe atypical major depressive disorder, schizophrenia, a brain injury. EEGs disprove a few, she doesn't hallucinate, she doesn't have the usual PTSD or CPTSD symptoms. She's far too consistent for münchausen syndrome. It's hard to say what it is.

She can't be alone. I just hope she finds a treatment that works.