Read Online Always Watching by Chevy Stevens - Free Book Online

same position as the day before—curled into a ball.
    “Heather, can you come out for a little bit? I’d like to talk to you.” We can meet with patients in the seclusion rooms, as I had her first morning in the unit, but we try to encourage them to come out because it’s better if they stay active.
    She shook her head, mumbled something.
    I kept my voice cheerful. “I know you’re tired, so I won’t keep you for long. Then you can go back to bed and have a nice snooze.” When patients are first admitted, we focus on their basic needs, making sure they’re drinking lots of water, eating, and showering, because they usually just want to sleep. Once they’re more alert, we begin to work with them on a care plan. This conversation would just be a quick assessment to see how she was settling in.
    Heather finally rolled over and slowly got to her feet. She didn’t bother putting on the robe Daniel had brought, just shuffled behind me, her head down and her hair concealing her face.
    In the interview room, I started off with some basic questions.
    “How are you sleeping?”
    “I’m tired.” She looked it, her head drooping, body slumped in the chair.
    “You can go back to bed soon. Maybe this afternoon you’d like to come out and watch a little TV. What do you think?”
    She didn’t answer.
    I asked a few more general questions: How are you managing? Are you still having bad thoughts? Is there anything you need? And got the bare minimum answers: Fine; yes; I want Daniel.
    I said, “I’m sure he’ll be up this afternoon.”
    “Can I go back to bed now?”
    I ended our session at that point and led her back to the seclusion room. Based on her current state, she was still too depressed to do any real emotional work, so we wouldn’t be able to discuss her care plan for another few days, which is when we’d also increase her antidepressant if she wasn’t suffering any side effects.
    *   *   *
    Over the next couple of days, there was no change in Heather’s condition. The nurses told me that she was still sleeping a lot, though she would come out for her meals, which she’d pick at. She’d show some signs of life when Daniel came to visit after work, and they would sit and watch TV together, her head on his shoulder. After she’d been in the unit for three days, she was more alert, so they moved her over to the step down unit, on the other side of the ward, but still part of PIC. On her fifth day, we increased her Effexor, and when she’d been in the hospital for almost a week, she was finally more communicative.
    In the interview room, I said, “How are you doing today?”
    She was still rubbing at the bandages on her wrists, but I noticed that her eyes seemed brighter, and she was sitting up in her chair.
    “Better I guess … still kind of tired.”
    “When you have more energy, we have some excellent groups you might like. Painting, life skills, relaxation exercises, crafts.”
    She laughed, and though it was weak, it was the first time she’d showed much reaction to anything I’d said for a few days. “Sounds like River of Life.”
    “You had group programs at River of Life?” I made sure that my tone was casual, more curious than interrogatory. With Daniel not around, I hoped she might share more about the center.
    “Aaron doesn’t believe in medications. That’s why I stopped taking my pills. He said I could heal myself, my meridians were just blocked.”
    I wasn’t shocked to hear that. He’d never liked medications, even in the early days of the commune, and wouldn’t allow any of the members to consult doctors. It was amazing no one had ever died from medical complications.
    “They had classes on how to be happy. They said you can use your mind to cure anything. It didn’t help me, though.” She gave another hollow laugh.
    “Depression is a disease, just like diabetes, or anything else. Even if you’re feeling better, you can’t just stop your medication. Let’s talk