From the lobby into the evaluation room. Picking at my sweater… takes my blood pressure. I check out.
I’m sitting on the chair. She pushes her bracelets further up her arm. “Victoria? I asked you if you are suicidal currently?” I nod yes, but say no. She scribbles something down.
I’ve answered these questions hundreds of times before. Yes, I was traumatized. I was raped, beaten, father killed himself… well, no, see my mom abandoned me and I just met her 3 years ago- well, I didn’t really meet her.. Yes, I’ve attempted suicide. I suddenly feel that I’m on top of building.
“And how did your family members commit suicide?”
I check out again. I start feeling panicky. I smile, slightly shake my head and say, “I like your necklace.”
She responds, “Thank you. How long were you abused in the Church?” My lips go numb. I wasn’t talking about a church. I ask her, “Which church?”
She looks confused. “You had just told me that you had been physically abused in the Church of Scientology. How long did that last would you say?”
I check out again.
“Do you dissociate often?”
My heart is racing and my eyes are burning with tears that have refused to unfasten themselves. We talk more about medication compliance, self-harm. She asks me if I have an appetite. I stare down at my wrists…
“Last time you used heroin?”
Before I knew it, I was out in a flash. I just now heard from the hospital and my insurance has granted me 4 days of partial hospitalization for now. Hopefully, they will give me more once they witness my basketcasery.
I’m on the verge of a panic attack as it seems right now.