Connection

The deepest wounds we'll ever have to uncover we receive at such young ages. The pain we tuck away until adulthood haunts us, until we're forced to draw back the curtain and figure out how we'll heal the multiple cuts and wounds we carefully tucked away into our psyche.

After graduating college, I took a job at a well known hospital as a De-escalation Specialist. My job entailed me working most commonly with those who were suicidal, depressed, withdrawing from drug abuse, etc. Being locked on a psych ward you see a lot, you hear a lot and sometimes seeing the darkest moments of another individuals story humbles you and/or causes you to peek in on the skeletons of your own closet to remember what's still left tucked away.

During this time I considered myself to be enduring an uphill battle of healing, questioning, attempting to discover who I was and who I wanted to be. I accepted my daily assignment on a unusual medical unit (unusual because there never was a need for my company's service on this particular floor) and I headed off to tackle my eight hours and retreat home to sulk in bed. Once on the unit I sought out my room assignment and knocked hesitantly on the door, alerting the patient I'd be coming in. What I'd get from this assignment would shift my world view.

Upon entering the room already crowded with medical staff, I nervously stepped around everyone to get a good look at who I'd be observing for the day. The first thing I thought was, "Wow, she's beautiful", colored bright pink hair, light flawless skin, the most creative pieces of art tattooed up and down her legs, I mean I knew this girl had to have some authenticity. I told her I loved her hair then went to sit in a corner, quietly to allow the day to pass me by.

I spent most the shift avoiding conversation, indulging in the t.v and trying to pass time mainly. My patient laid under multiple blankets awake but quiet and deep down I felt a pull to make some kind of conversation. The whole shift passed almost as fast as I wanted, in silence, aside from small questions she'd ask here and there: "How long have you been working here?" and "Do you like what you do?". I never asked much back, not even why she was in the hospital to begin with. The last hour of my shift she broke the silence and let out everything she'd been holding back.

She expressed that she was a consistent pill popper, received a laced Xanax bar and ended up hospitalized. I stared empathetically and she continued seeming comfortable telling me more. "I never thought I'd be into this or do/experience half the things I have in my life", she said. Her mom had been calling the hospital and she got into that next, explaining their difficult relationship and lack of connection, "I can never call my mom for anything, she just talks down on you like she has her own life together. Most people can call their mom, I won't. All I have is me and people don't understand this is a different kind of pain." By this time tears had started rolling down her face and my eyes involuntarily watered. Unknowingly I was sitting next to an individual that could relate to my pain, the pain of having a living mother but still having no mother at all.

I listened to some of her other experiences, losing three people close to her within like two months, seeing two of her friends brains blown out and waiting until EMT's came while they slipped away in front of her and having a parent figure on drugs. I could relate to this girl, like really relate. Just as it was my time to break the silence, to connect, to tell her she's not alone in her feelings because I to know how dark life can get and I to know we both can push through to healing, her nurse and my relief walks in... it's time for me to go home.

I never said anything. The nurse was still in the room making it weird for us to finish our private conversation so I told her I'd come back tomorrow, she smiled with an "okay" and I left. The next day I came back looking for her, to check on her, to finally tell her she wasn't alone trying to figure out what to do with the pain. The nurses told me she'd been moved to another unit and that they couldn't tell me where because it would violate her privacy. I immediately felt my chest constrict, "I never said anything" I thought. As I walked back to the elevator to press for the main level I heard a nurse say, "Thank God she's gone, she was a pain in the ass".

To this moment I wish I could've just did the human thing. The ability connect to another's pain, to inspire, to comfort, to serve, to show someone love, is the greatest privilege we can offer on this planet. We often tuck pain so deep and walk around with fake smiles and small talk as if that's what this life is all about. We all are one, all connected in some way and sometimes you randomly run into souls trying to navigate the same lessons you're facing.

I couldn't find her but this is my tribute. She told me she's determined to go back to counseling, to get back to being healthy and she's truly inspired me to do the same. Though I've never abused pills she taught me the pain you hide and harbor will manifest, eventually. I'm committing to healing, to uncovering the pain, to accepting being human hurts and connection with each other is what motivates and supports us to weather the bad storms.

Clean out the skeletons in your closet. And next time you sit with a stranger, try to find out their story. Connection with each other will always be more important than any man made devices we let suck us in.