I just got home from the hospital, and I’ve never felt so low in my life. My roommate has been transferred to the psychiatric ward in the hospital for a few days, and the way they treat him is almost unbearable. He has to wear paper clothes and be monitored twenty-four hours a day. I brought him his sketch pad and pencils, and they confiscated them on the spot, because they are afraid he’ll use the pencils or metal binding of the book to hurt himself. I was only allowed to see him for an hour, and during that entire hour, there were armed guards surrounding the room, watching our every move, and quickly standing to attention when I tried to give him a hug. All he kept saying is “I don’t want to be here, why did you put me here?” And I didn’t know what to tell him. What do you say to someone in that situation? How do you make it better?
And coming back to this empty apartment is torture. Everywhere I look, I see him. I see him running around the island in the kitchen laughing and trying to trip me. I see him falling off the couch in his sleep. I see him in the bathtub, unconscious and covered in blood. And I can’t help but feeling that I could have done something to stop it. Maybe if we didn’t get into that stupid fight last week and I had been here instead of at my mom’s house, I could have stopped him before it was too late. Maybe if I had thought to get a ride here sooner I could have saved him.
I wasn’t there when he needed me the most, and I’ll live with that guilt for the rest of my life.