Recovery Michigan

And at this moment of pure isolation and terror, I was brought face-to-face with my first healer…not the nurses who stripped me of my dignity and drew ugly pictures of me, not the medical technicians who couldn’t spare a moment to walk a frightened and disoriented patient to a sterile and alienating room. My first experience of healing was meeting my roommate, a woman who taught me that, when presented with a room with no blankets, cups or toothbrushes, one must demand some comfort. One must speak up for one’s soul.

My other healers presented themselves in their own time throughout that long weekend and in forms and expressions one might not find typical outside in the “real” world. My teachers were individuals with mental illness, people who had attempted suicide or violence to another being, people who were suffering incredible personal loss and pain. And each of these individuals offered me an opportunity to heal, in accepting them, and accepting the parts of myself that were also suffering.

In the days of my hospitalization, I was sung to by an 18 year old who had attempted suicide; I was given a book to read by someone in the throes of schizophrenia; I was invited to play cards by a young man who was enduring a 90 day stay in this frightening place. I was given love and comfort by those who were surrounded with so little of their own.