Day Four: Strung Out and Barefoot in East Peoria

There’s bits of dried egg, SunChip crumbs, and sticky juice spots covering the dayroom floor when I walk in late for breakfast on Sunday morning. Peaches and Cathy are parked in two chairs directly in front of the TV, the same spots they’ve occupied for the past three days. I grab my food and sit behind them. There’s something comforting about seeing the backs of their heads as they sit together; it reminds me of my parents for some reason and I miss home. 

For the past three days, my skin has been dry and tight and my nose is full of bloody snot. The heaters in the dayroom are on full blast constantly. The heater in my room hums and rattles continuously as it spews tepid, dry air. I would give anything for my jars of cocoa butter and CeraVe.   

Passing by a BHA in the hallway, I finally ask what’s up with the windows– why are they covered up? She said it’s because of an incident of self-harm during which a patient threw his body into the glass window (perhaps in an attempt to escape; or, as they say here, elope). The BHA follows up quickly saying that during the summer inmates are allowed to go up to the 5th floor to an atrium-type area with a glass ceiling where sunlight streams in. 

Reading the “Daily Schedule” again, I finally grasp that knowing what’s going to happen to you is a luxury. I had no idea that we can’t look out the windows here, or that we can’t have ear plugs (because people eat them). I didn’t know about the “beacon” when I checked in. I didn’t know that we can’t write, and we can’t comfort each other. I thought that I would get some kind of therapy, or care, or a session with a psychologist where I can talk about what led me here. I still don’t know when I’m seeing a doctor. I feel like I am paying for all the mistakes I’ve made in my life. All my poor decisions. All my failed judgements. 

Lunchtime interrupts my existential musings and I bring Nick’s tray of food to him. We share the weird dreams we’ve been having due to our meds. Melissa was given some new drugs last night and dreamt that we were cat breeders in a company called Montrose Kitties. DJ was in charge of meeting customers and arranging sales. Taylor held the newborn kittens and fed them. All of us were removing kittens from cages, feeding them with bottles, and cuddling them. Nick had a dream that he was murdered. 

After lunch, a nurse finally gives me two birth control pills (I really should be getting three at this point because that’s how many I’ve missed) and takes me to visit with the social worker Angela for a psychosocial evaluation. She asks questions about my living situation. Do I have heat, electricity, and running water at home? Are there pests, mold, leaks, or fire hazards in my home? She asks about my family - where do my parents live? Where are they from? Do I have siblings?

“Have you ever been the victim of exploitation?” she asks.

“Yes, I’ve worked in corporate marketing for about 10 years,” I reply. 

I answer all the questions with my eyes fixed on the large, unobstructed window in the consult room, where you can see down to the street and the sidewalk, with parked cars and people walking their dogs. A skinny-legged woman walks by talking on the phone and holding a Starbucks cup. Across the street there’s a parking lot with a hill of snow in the center, leaking meltwater in dark patches on the gray pavement. I see the side edifice of a 3-flat apartment building, and an ambulance drives past (you can’t hear the sirens because the building is sound-proof). I wonder exactly how cold it is outside. Angela gives no advice or insights, simply nods in assent of my answers and types notes on her laptop. 

The hallway and my room feel very cold after being in the consult room, so I wrap my blanket around myself when I walk to the nurses station to get some Chapstick. The nurse yells at me that I can’t wear the blanket in the hallway over my thin scrubs. Bailey has wet hair from getting out of the shower and is shivering outside her room, so I wrap the blanket around her. 

We’re always advocating for each other around here. We keep each other warm; we listen to each other; we bring each other snacks, water, and tissues. We cheer when Nick finally gets his dentures back (the night nurses misplaced them and it took 3 hours for the day crew to locate them); we admire Brian’s artwork; we tell each other jokes. 

In the afternoon we tell stories. Nick tells us how he got here. He and his friend Pierre got into an argument where he revealed his feelings and Pierre didn’t reciprocate, he got so mad he threatened Pierre and his husband, and pulled a knife on his mom. She hid in the bathroom and called 911 on him. 

Melissa was in an eating disorder rehabilitation home and her roommates caught her downing pills at 3am. There is no treatment for her eating disorder here. There’s no treatment for anyone here. She also has autism and schizoaffective disorder. One time she got into a fender bender with someone in the parking lot of a hospital (where she drove herself to get admitted for suicidal ideation) and she ended up punching the other driver in the face. Then she got checked in for a psychotic break instead. 

DJ claims that there has been a demon on his left shoulder since he was 10. It’s just been sitting there, waiting. He doesn’t know what for. One night he was partying with his friends and his girlfriend in a hotel, dropping acid and doing meth. His girlfriend brought an underage friend who told DJ that she saw something on him – a dark spirit. A few minutes later she ran out of the hotel and disappeared for a month. Later on they saw her on the side of the highway, strung out and barefoot in East Peoria. 

After dinner we yell at the nurses to turn on the Super Bowl. I’m deeply invested in the Bad Bunny performance and the rest of the crew is excited to see the Patriots lose. Nurse Nicole spends a few minutes navigating through Tubi and YouTube. It looks like she finally lands on the right stream (aptly titled “Seattle Seahawks v. New England Patriots - SUPER BOWL”), but after about 10 seconds we realize it’s actually an AI-generated version of the game, with pixelated players and distorted yardline markings. We immediately start booing until Nurse Nicole finds the actual stream. Watching the game makes me feel like an active member of society. DJ and I dance around during Bad Bunny’s performance. Brian, Melissa, Calvin, and Pat aren’t interested in the game and instead walk laps in the hallway, occasionally sticking their heads into the dayroom to get an update on the “sportsball” event. Brian reminds us all that tomorrow is his birthday.

I move my chair away from Nick because he is overcome with nervous flatulence thinking about being released tomorrow and reconnecting with Pierre. He feels terrible about the threats he made and is unsure of how to mend the relationship. His face is red, his eyes are moist, and I hold his hand until he regulates his breathing enough to calm down.

DJ is excited about Seattle’s win and for some reason is yelling the Bill Nye the Science Guy theme song from his room: “BILL! BILL! BILL! BILL! BILL!”

Satisfied with Seattle’s win, I shower and go to bed, and actually sleep through the night for the first time.