Ch 2 - Freedom

Freedom now you're on your own
Freedom or does it really mean you're just all alone
Freedom either way it's gonna take you home
It just takes you by the hand and says
Now it's time to grow

“Freedom” – Jefferson Airplane

I stood, pacing the common room. I knew I was freaking out a few of the residents, but I was anxious and scared and couldn’t sit still. The nurses glared at me, willing me to stop with their looks, but they knew better than to say anything.

Two floors down, in a conference room, a group of people were discussing me. And that scared me shitless. Tomorrow—Saturday--marked my six months, which meant that I could possibly be free in less than 24 hours. In actuality, I wouldn’t completely be free. Not for a while. But tomorrow, I could at least walk out those front doors and have an ice cream sundae for dinner and stay up until 2am watching horror flicks if I chose to do so. And after these past few months, that’s exactly what I wanted to do.

But it all depended on those people two floors down.

The telephone in the nurse’s station rang and I froze. The nurse hung up and smiled at me. “Isabella, they’ll see you downstairs now.” She pushed a button and the door buzzed open. I got into the elevator, taking deep breaths to calm myself. My entire future lay in their hands and I was afraid of what they were going to say about it.

When the elevator opened on the first floor, I stepped off and walked towards the conference room door. I took another deep breath to calm my nerves and walked inside.

I glanced around the table quickly. My therapist, Dr. Nelson, sat dead center with two people on each side of him. On his left was the head doctor of the facility and my caseworker. On the right was someone from the rehabilitation center and a woman from social services.

“Have a seat Isabella,” Dr. Nelson said. His voice was void of any emotion, his face blank, so I was unable to gauge his stance. I smiled and sat down in a chair across from them. I sat up straight and folded my hands in my lap. Dr. Nelson smirked, noticing my posture. He’s used to me slouching and nearly hanging off the chair in odd positions. He knew he had me where he wanted me today.

“So we’ve gone through your case extensively. As you know your six-month mandatory stay ends tomorrow. We did have a few reservations about your progress and as to whether or not you’re ready to end inpatient treatment.” His expression was serious, his voice sharp.

The smile on my face fell. I nodded for him to continue.

“You have made some great strides, physically and behaviorally, and have completed what was asked of you. Emotionally, however, is another story. You’ve been non-compliant in therapy and have made no progress at all.”

The head doctor chimed in next. “I’m sure we don’t need to remind you of how important therapy is. In order for you to get better and released from the program, you’re going to have to comply. If you continue to refuse to participate, we will have no choice but to refer your case back for inpatient. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” I said softly.

The caseworker shuffled through some papers and handed a stack to the lady from social service. She looked through them, nodded, and handed them back.

“We’ve arranged a place for you to stay temporarily until you can get your own place. We also have a job lined up for you. Neither is glamorous, but we did what we could. We will work around your job schedule if needed be, but tentatively you will be here Monday Wednesday and Friday at 4pm for an hour-long therapy session. We also expect you to check in at least once a day, either on person or by phone. On your days off work, you will spend at least 2 hours here. We will reevaluate these terms every month, based on your progress. If anything occurs and you are unable to fulfill any of this, you must let us known in advance unless its an emergency. We also ask that you don’t leave the city without prior approval. Is that understood?”

I nodded.

They all smiled at me, with the exception of Dr. Nelson. I smiled back and thanked them. As the meeting ended, they told me to pack up my stuff and that the lady from social services would be by in the morning to take me to my new home.

On the elevator ride back up to the third floor, tears fell from my eyes. I didn’t know exactly why I was crying. I couldn’t even decipher exactly how I was feeling. I wasn’t happy, nor was I sad. I was more resigned than anything.

I scanned in at the floor and went straight to my room. A worker brought a box into my room and sat it on my bed, smiling and congratulating me on my freedom. I gave her the biggest smile I could, but it felt forced and fake. I was anything but free.

I didn’t own much… a few pieces of mail that had come in throughout my stay. I never read any of it, but kept it regardless. I figured someday I’d be brave enough to read what they thought of me. I tossed in my journals and packed up my clothes. I had no mementos from home here; I’d brought nothing to remind me of Forks. Thinking of Forks only reminded me of what had happened my last few months there.

I lay down on my bed as the lights went out, but I was unable to fall asleep. My sleep was always restless, as I suffered from nightmares, but usually I was given Ambien to help me doze off. I had declined sleeping pills for some reason and was regretting it as I tossed and turned all night.

Shortly after dawn I gave up and got out of bed. My eyes were burning from lack of rest and my body felt exhausted, but my mind was still completely alert. I threw on some clothes and made my bed for the last time. I walked out into the common room and was greeted by Darren. We sat around and chit chatted, watching some morning news on the TV. Breakfast time came and I choked down the eggs and toast.

Sometime around 9am, the social worker walked off the elevator. I greeted her and grabbed my box of stuff. I said goodbye to Darren and as I was leaving was cornered by Marianne, who told me to be careful because there were video cameras all over the city monitoring everyone’s moves and recording conversations. I thanked her and she smiled, patting my back.

On the elevator ride down, I learned the social workers name was Denise Schroeder. She said I’d be seeing a lot of her over the next few weeks so we may as well become friends. I smiled at that thought—a friend.

As soon as I stepped outside the front doors, I paused and smiled. It was a rare sunny day in Washington. The sun felt great on my face and arms. Denise laughed and motioned towards a white Dodge Neon parked at the curb. “Hop in,” she said.

She put my box in the trunk… I hesitated briefly, looking at the car. Denise looked at me questioningly but I just shook my head and slid in the passenger seat.

The drive was short… it was only a few blocks from the hospital to an apartment building. It wasn’t the greatest place I’d ever seen, but it was suitable. I was thankful, as I could walk to the hospital for my therapy and wouldn’t need to find a ride..

Denise pulled out a key and opened a door on the second floor. The apartment was fairly small, but it was furnished and had everything I would need. She helped me settle in and told me that I’d start work on Monday. I gasped in surprise when she told me they’d gotten me a job at the library. I’d be a helper, doing whatever it was they asked of me, but it would give me the opportunity to read and use computers. I thanked her, genuinely grateful. I honestly was expecting something horrible, like cleaning bathrooms. She said she’d see me bright and early Monday to take me to work for the first day… I’d tentatively be working 7am-3pm five days a week, but they couldn’t guarantee weekends off and my hours might alter over time. I assured her I would happily work whenever asked of me, as I had nothing else to do. I’d be off of work early enough on the days I had therapy to make it to the hospital on time.

After Denise left, the entire situation started sinking in. For the first time in my life, I was on my own. I had a job and my own apartment. I also had no friends and no family to turn to. I only had myself. It was Saturday afternoon and I had nothing to do, no one to talk to.

That’s when it started to hurt.