So after being expelled I gradually became more and more apathetic. I stayed home in bed for months, only occasionally ascending to the dinner table in order to be fed. The mentors from school visited me to speak about my grades and future occasionally. I did not react to their words and I did not react to the provocations by my step-dad nor the concerns of my mother or sister. I isolated myself whenever I could and the bedroom roof became my most viewed scenery. My mother eventually forced me to visit a psychologist. It was a cigar-smoking older man. Very calm and collected. I didn't particularly dislike him. He kept making inquiries about my past, trying to puzzle his way through my silence. To start with I replied to the best of my abilities but after a couple of visits the questions were just numb dialogue and I couldn't bother myself to reply or retort to anything. After an intensive fight with my step-dad where he kept throwing me up against the walls while I desperately tried to fend off his aggression I escaped out to the forest to hang myself. Unfortunately I lacked both the resolve and technique so eventually I pathetically crawled back into the cradle. I cut my underarms, first innocently, then increasingly to the point where I would faint instead of falling asleep. One day my mother saw a gigantic bloodstain in my bed when she forcefully came to clean my room. She panicked. I was forced into a mental ward by her and this psychologist. Usually a process like this takes a long time because the system is overloaded, but my mother is a very determined woman and I was trapped within days. I resisted to this idea in my own way. They dragged me around in and out of the car.
What state of mind is this guy in? Is he depressed? Was he depressed? I vaguely recall this depression blog on tl.net where a man decisively elaborated on what depression is not. Unfortunately I cannot find that blog. I do not wish to go into details because I don't care about how different people interpret different words. I usually try to avoid words that do not have any real meaning... depression, bullying, esports and trolling for example. The best way you could describe the state of mind I was in while entering the mental ward was resentment hiding under three hundred fifty-four layers of emotional numbness. One thing I want to make clear on this subject is that it disgusts me when people make a clear distinction line between mentally ill (i.e major depression) and a healthy state of mind. It is not a cold and you don't suddenly become enlightened. Your state of mind - the wish to pass on, the inability to truly lose yourself in emotions - will always linger in the back of your head. You grow, you mature, you learn new perspectives, but you will always remain detached from your self. You are not experiencing anything yourself, you are merely the shadow watching the real self experiencing life.
The first ward was very desolate. Long, white corridors with typical hospital rooms. Apparently the place was initially built for breeding children. Initially the patients were just me and another girl. She had amazing scars all over her under- and upper arms with bandages everywhere. I only had very slight awkward contact with her, we played table tennis a few times and watched TV together. That's about it. The caretaker to patient ratio was something like 3 to 1. I was taken care of an older, retired male actor. Very deliberate and calm. We played chess together a couple of times. Another one was an older lady. She had curly wine-red hair, the appearance of a skeleton with a couple of well-placed tendons and a very annoying voice where she would smack her lips whenever she spoke. I was disgusted by her, and my impression didn't improve by her meaningless phrases and cliches uttered. There is a better word, floskler, in my mother language. Getting some sun is good for your health. You will be cured soon. This is good for you. We do this for your sake. It is a problem with so many women in this world. If they could only stop and listen to themselves speaking they'd know they sounded incredibly repetitive and repulsive but unfortunately they are too obsessed with trying to deplete the oxygen as quick as possible to even consider what they are saying for a minute. Even though I was disgusted by her beyond words I tried not to become provoked as she dragged me out of bed or being forced to listen to her retarded monologues or while she force-fed me nutrition drinks.
I don't remember the night-shift personnel very well because all they did were to check in on you every tenth minute. Even while you were sleeping, in order to ensure you wouldn't try anything stupid. You're not allowed much freedom, probably even less than in prisons due to the self-harm component. No belts, knifes and bolted shut windows and you were to be accompanied by a caretaker at all times outside your room. I was not allowed to use any computers or even music for the longest time.
The sudden change was a bit alarming at first, but ironically the controlling nature of the institution is a type of freedom. The only state you control is the sleep, and even that is scheduled. You don't need to talk, you are fed, clothed, walked and showered and entertained. It's a dog's life. Once in a while there will be a meeting or a counselor where they try to force some human response out of you. The family meetings were a bit painful to reflect upon. They were tired, desperate, hopeless, working only part-time, slowly ruined by the change in me, breaking down or asking me desperately what was wrong with me. My blank stare as they trembled and hesitated over how to seek contact. The meetings were pretty laughable. It was just them agreeing on wanting to make me 'better' and trying to see positive changes in me that weren't there. It even went to the point where I'd be disgusted with myself for uttering a word or making a response because it was always awarded by overly positive reactions, and it was horrifying. It makes me sick even now and sometimes when I catch myself laughing I just switch off and become disgusted with myself.
Some changes gradually happened. The head doctor kept pestering me about antidepressants, and I got a new christian Chilean caretaker who was a bit narcissistic. The place also had a small school which I was introduced to. At first it was decided I would prepare for the next phase of school, but I refused. Eventually an enthusiastic short, bald guy would take care of me at school. At first we would go over some music but that later changed into his personal philosophy lessons. They were the greatest thing I've experienced at the ward so far. The man would read me a lot of Schopenhauer, Montaigne, Wittgenstein, Nietzsche, Seneca and various other philosophers and also analyze the texts and speak about their personal lives while he read. I don't know how he managed to create such an inspiring atmosphere and making them simple and so intriguing to listen to. My philosophy lessons in school later were just a sad joke in comparison to his personal lectures. I'd borrow books from him to read in my room. I was mute so he never got any input back from me during his lectures and I actually regret never properly thanking him or making him realize how much those sessions meant to me. The difference between a teacher who loves what he is doing and merely wishes to make others experience it and a teacher who merely follow textbooks and standard planning because she feels obligated to... It's not even comparable.
And I believe philosophy can be quite meditative and constructive, especially for teenage depression. You realize how the adult world is not just its surface and that other people share your views and your thoughts. One big part was realizing that the path was not just get cured and become happy which everyone around me seemed to simplistically echo. The state of mind of many philosophers would psychologists probably categorize on the verge of depression, especially Schopenhauer.
Things would change further when this newly graduated young female would become my caretaker. She was petite, with a few facial piercings and red hair. Attractive but reeked of snus and coffee with the distinct Norrland accent... Special, in more than one way.
I have went out of my way several times to find her again, all in vain.
To be continued. If you have any questions feel free to ask, I realize I'm not making things crystal clear.