Esther was coloring in the common area. She did this every day. It was her entertainment of choice. When she was not doing chores, she was usually found coloring, with crayons sponsored by Crayola. Pencils were too sharp of objects to let the inpatients use. Esther did not mind. She had always been a loyal supporter of Crayola Crayons, before any of her psyche ward entries. In some ways, the psyche ward was a dreamland. No one judged her or mocked her for coloring with Crayola Crayons because that was the absolute norm in the asylum.
She was coloring some summer-festive print-out a nursing staff had given her. It was a regular routine for her. When breakfast was over, the nursing staff would bring out the crayons and printouts. Occasionally, psychology students would visit the asylum and take notes of the patients. Esther was asked what she liked to do before she got put in the asylum, "Coloring with Crayola Crayons," she would always smile and act as polite as possible as to not frighten them. Unfortunately, she may have come off as creepy nice as opposed to polite and quaint.
Esther had not taken her morning shower, yet. Normally, she would awaken at six in the morning (and sometimes four, depending on her mood) to take a shower. Individual Therapy would happen soon, but this page needed coloring before her shower.
She had a rough night sleep and found herself being awakened by one of the staff members to be informed that breakfast was being served. She always thanked the staff. She did not want to be mean or scare them. They had hard jobs. . But also, she decided that a well patient would be polite and nice. Before the asylum entry, she had been having adult temper tantrums which involved verbal abuse toward her family. She even cut herself on three different occasions. She did want to be better, but sometimes, it was the nonjudgemental atmosphere that made her want to stay.
A new patient was being brought today, "Be on your best behavior," she was told, amongst other prep-talks about being nice and friendly and warm and loving and "Don't you remember the first time you were admitted into the asylum?" talk. Esther figured she was always on her best behaviors, except sometimes, during her episodes. She tried hard to be nice and friendly, she could not help it if her politeness was creepy and sometimes over-looked and rejected by the outsiders. Maybe, the newcomer would like coloring with crayons. Sometimes, Esther would get lonely. She used to have a friend, a fifty-two year old woman, who's husband was in a nursing home. Her name was Patricia. They would color together, but Patricia got better and left, without a number or address for Esther to use as contact.
Esther had been depressed with Patricia left, and flew into a manic, psychosis episode. Her nighttime hallucinations became worse. She started seeing the playing field of a chess board as she wandered halls during the daytime. She even went so far as to accuse the staff of killing Patricia as opposed to letting her be an outpatient. That was a rough week for Esther. She had been violent, screaming, hitting--herself and others. She had to be given shots to calm her down. She did not have to be strapped to her bed, but she did have privileges taken away from her.
Esther hoped nothing like this would happen, again. She acknowledged her wrongs, but occasionally her chemical imbalance would get the best of her, and she would start becoming paranoid that she would never leave, she would never get better, she would be doomed here until the day she died, that she would never see her parents or friends, again. . that she would be put to sleep just like Patricia--not that Patricia had been "put-down." But sometimes, just sometimes, these paranoid thoughts would start intruding her brain.
Keep Calm And Color On. Esther would tell herself.
She was just starting to become more open with individual therapy. Before she was scared and did not like admitting her wrong thinking--because that always resulted in more medication when the doctor was told. But, Esther was starting to admit, she did need medication. It was not her family conspiring to bring her down, it was her own brain producing wrong chemicals that caused her to be so slow sometimes, and out of touch.
Esther knew she would be prescribed more medicine after this visit. She was still seeing alligators before bedtime. And her panic attacks weren't helping her see straight or focus. Also, her persistency to color was a bit troubling. Esther thought of herself as an Asher Lev, but really, she was using art as a form of communication to hide herself, or so she was told. She should be engaging in other forms of more adult-like communications with the other inpatients. Esther was too shy and anxious and paranoid for such interaction. Six months of being here, and she still had not loosened to making friends (except maybe with her roommate and Patricia). The doctors knew she was under medicated, and Esther was having a hard time admitting this.
