7:30: A nurse banged on my door, telling her that I had to be up and ready for breakfast in twenty minutes. I mumbled something that resembled an 'ok', and obediently got out of my tiny bed.
7:50: I was dressed, and ready for the day. A nurse handed me my medication, which I swallowed eagerly.
9:00: I couldn't eat breakfast, so my support worker told me that I might have to stay longer, as my psychiatrist was worried thatI had developed an eating disorder on account of the fact that I was too anxious to eat most of the time. This upset me greatly, and I cried.
12:00: It was time for recreational therapy. I hated recreational therapy. It usually involved watching a cheesy movie, or table tennis, or something else along those lines. Yesterday, a boy who heard voices had started pounding the walls during Journey 2: The Mysterious Island. He'd been dragged away by four nurses, kicking and screaming.
But today, the kindly doctor who lead the group had brought in a tray, filled with all different kinds of pokeballs. There were mixed reactions from the group, when he said that today, everyone was getting their very own pokemon, to aid in their recovery. The anxiety patients, myself included, were full of questions. The doctor gently reassured us that no, there were no big, scary pseudo legendaries in the pile, just cute, fluffy ones. Which only made me panic even more. You see, I was bullied by a group of girls who had cute, fluffy pokemon. They had their terrible trio--A minccino, a jigglypuff, and a lillipup--Attack me every day. It got to the point where I couldn't even go to school, because they'd attack me the second that I got there. And they always got away with it, because their daddies were really rich, and bribed the teachers not to punish them.
I, with a lot of persuasion from my support worker, chose a luxury ball from the pile. The gold catch was cool and smooth in my hands. I watched as the other patients opened their pokeballs. A suicidal girl hugged her zigzagoon. The schizophrenic boy gently petted his audino.
And then I shut my eyes and looked away as I released my pokemon.
When I opened them, a small, round shape was forming. And then, to my...Relief, I suppose, a buneary appeared.
She glanced up at me quizzically. I did as the doctor told, and introduced myself to her. And she squealed 'bun!' in reply, and nuzzled my hand. I decided that I liked this buneary.
13:00: It was lunchtime. Today, we had beef stroganoff, with steamed carrots and squash. I hate steamed carrots, so I offered them to my buneary. She happily took them off my hands.
22:00: Bedtime, after a long day of therapy. I hated going to bed in this hospital. I couldn't sleep, since my bed was always rumply, and I had to listen to the insomniac girl in the room next to me wander around her room until her medication kicked in.
But tonight, after I've tried to settle, my buneary hopped into bed and snuggled up with me. She was soft and warm. I liked having her with me.
And then, the last thing I thought before I drifted off to sleep is that she didn't have a name yet. I decided I would call her 'Candy'.
"What are you looking at, Candy?" I ask, as I slip an extra pair of shoes into my bag.
"Bun, bun," she squeaks.
And then I see it. My diary, from when I was in the hospital. She's got it open at the page detailing the day that I got her.
"That was quite a day, huh," I chuckle, "But not as big as tomorrow's gonna be!"
Tomorrow, at the age of fourteen, I'm going out on my very first pokemon journey, with Candy. My psychiatrist finally agreed that it was safe for me to go yesterday, so, I'm getting ready now, and we're leaving in the morning.
Going to that hospital certainly wasn't the best thing ever, but meeting Candy definitely was. Thanks to her, I'm finally gonna get to be a pokemon master...Maybe.
7:50: I was dressed, and ready for the day. A nurse handed me my medication, which I swallowed eagerly.
9:00: I couldn't eat breakfast, so my support worker told me that I might have to stay longer, as my psychiatrist was worried thatI had developed an eating disorder on account of the fact that I was too anxious to eat most of the time. This upset me greatly, and I cried.
12:00: It was time for recreational therapy. I hated recreational therapy. It usually involved watching a cheesy movie, or table tennis, or something else along those lines. Yesterday, a boy who heard voices had started pounding the walls during Journey 2: The Mysterious Island. He'd been dragged away by four nurses, kicking and screaming.
But today, the kindly doctor who lead the group had brought in a tray, filled with all different kinds of pokeballs. There were mixed reactions from the group, when he said that today, everyone was getting their very own pokemon, to aid in their recovery. The anxiety patients, myself included, were full of questions. The doctor gently reassured us that no, there were no big, scary pseudo legendaries in the pile, just cute, fluffy ones. Which only made me panic even more. You see, I was bullied by a group of girls who had cute, fluffy pokemon. They had their terrible trio--A minccino, a jigglypuff, and a lillipup--Attack me every day. It got to the point where I couldn't even go to school, because they'd attack me the second that I got there. And they always got away with it, because their daddies were really rich, and bribed the teachers not to punish them.
I, with a lot of persuasion from my support worker, chose a luxury ball from the pile. The gold catch was cool and smooth in my hands. I watched as the other patients opened their pokeballs. A suicidal girl hugged her zigzagoon. The schizophrenic boy gently petted his audino.
And then I shut my eyes and looked away as I released my pokemon.
When I opened them, a small, round shape was forming. And then, to my...Relief, I suppose, a buneary appeared.
She glanced up at me quizzically. I did as the doctor told, and introduced myself to her. And she squealed 'bun!' in reply, and nuzzled my hand. I decided that I liked this buneary.
13:00: It was lunchtime. Today, we had beef stroganoff, with steamed carrots and squash. I hate steamed carrots, so I offered them to my buneary. She happily took them off my hands.
22:00: Bedtime, after a long day of therapy. I hated going to bed in this hospital. I couldn't sleep, since my bed was always rumply, and I had to listen to the insomniac girl in the room next to me wander around her room until her medication kicked in.
But tonight, after I've tried to settle, my buneary hopped into bed and snuggled up with me. She was soft and warm. I liked having her with me.
And then, the last thing I thought before I drifted off to sleep is that she didn't have a name yet. I decided I would call her 'Candy'.
"What are you looking at, Candy?" I ask, as I slip an extra pair of shoes into my bag.
"Bun, bun," she squeaks.
And then I see it. My diary, from when I was in the hospital. She's got it open at the page detailing the day that I got her.
"That was quite a day, huh," I chuckle, "But not as big as tomorrow's gonna be!"
Tomorrow, at the age of fourteen, I'm going out on my very first pokemon journey, with Candy. My psychiatrist finally agreed that it was safe for me to go yesterday, so, I'm getting ready now, and we're leaving in the morning.
Going to that hospital certainly wasn't the best thing ever, but meeting Candy definitely was. Thanks to her, I'm finally gonna get to be a pokemon master...Maybe.
