She hasn’t said a word since we got out of the car. It’s the worst like this, when she says nothing. I feel like she hates me and if she does she has every right.  We walk down a wide hallway, following the red arrows on the walls. It sure does smell like a hospital, sterile and dark. It’s cold in so many ways, not just physically and the off-white color that covers just about everything is enough to further darken my mood. We pass very few people on the way to our destination, which works to further give the illusion we’re travelling to some kind of dead zone.
Then we see it written above the door in red block letters, “Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Unit”. I hear my mother exhale loudly in an almost exaggerated sigh. The door is locked from the inside so we have to buzz in. My mother pushes a little button on the speaker box and we hear a voice.
“Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Unit, how may I help you?”
“Uh, yes. It’s Ms. Waters.” She pauses, “I’m here with my daughter.” She stiffens, colder than the hallway in which we stand. I cringe because it’s almost a confirmation of her disgust. She hates me. A nurse with short curly hair opens the door. She’s only slightly taller than me, which is short by most people’s standards.
“Come right on in.”, She says. I’m looking at another hallway, this time with many rooms on each side. The lights are dim and it’s not much warmer. Another nurse approaches us.
“Hi there, Ms. Waters, I’m Danielle.” She then turns slightly to face me, “And you must be Kristen.”
First they take my shoes, backpack and belongings. Then I go with Danielle to review the dress code and go over “the rules”.  She confiscates my Marilyn Manson T-shirt and starts explaining the schedule. I hate schedules and I hate dress codes. I hate this place and I hate myself. I’m going to be here for at least six weeks. I hate my life. None of this is fair and I do not need to be here. Fuck doctors and fuck my mom for agreeing with them. Already I’m angry and have developed a strong dislike for Danielle. She talks to me like I’m a child, she must think I’m stupid. The only reason I’m not in the adult unit is because I‘m only sixteen. Apparently I‘m lucky, though, one year older and I‘d be put in with people who are seriously crazy. I’m not crazy, not like schizophrenia crazy, anyway.
I follow her down the hall to small room with a bed in the very center. There is an empty bookshelf on the left wall and a small security camera in the corner on the right. I’m told the camera will always be on and that I can change clothes in the bathroom if I wish. If I’m well behaved there is an opportunity to be switched into a bigger room without a camera. Such rooms are for residents who are not a threat to themselves.
“Make yourself at home for the time being, someone should be in to talk to you shortly.”, Danielle says before she leaves me and makes her way down the hall. I sit on the bed and observe my surroundings. This room is small and dark, even more depressing than the hallway outside the unit. The walls are painted a dark blue and the floor is covered with grey tiles. I turn to stare at the camera behind me. “Can they really see me? Are they watching all the time?” I quickly banish the thought. It will do me no good to start getting paranoid. Then a woman appears in the doorway. Her blonde hair is pulled back neatly in a pony tail and she has a bright face. She seems altogether more warm than Danielle and she speaks in a soft, even tone.
“Hi, Kristen. My name is Gloria, I’m one of the nurses here at CAPU. First of all I just want to let you know that if you need anything or if you’re not feeling good to just let either I or one of the other nurses here know, okay?” Her tone is sickeningly sweet. “Also, I’ve brought some of your things in for you. We went through and picked out the things you can have in your room with you, alright?” She hands me my bag and I open it. In it are my clothes (the appropriate ones anyway), a journal, my sketchbook, a pen, an eraser, and my toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Hey, what about my pencils and my ipod?” I ask, noticing almost immediately that they are missing.
“Sorry, they’re not on the list of approved items. Both pencils and headphones can potentially be used to harm oneself.”, she replies in the same sweet tone which at this point is getting annoying. Nobody can possibly be that happy, not for real anyway, and certainly not in a place like this.