by Cindi Jones
I scanned the room. It was painted brilliant white. There were no pictures or any decoration of any kind. There were little holes on the wardrobe doors and drawers that must have held handles at one time. The door to the bathroom had been removed. There were no towels in the bathroom. The shower had no curtain or rod. The bed had no bedding. There was no TV. “So this is the rubber room,” I thought. And then I glanced towards the door. It had a large pane of wire reinforced glass in it. I could see the nurse at her station and she turned to see me. She stood up and walked over to the door and stuck her head in.
“Do you need something hon?” she asked.
“Can you watch me go to the bathroom from where you sit?” I asked.
She answered “Yes, dear. This is a room where we can watch potential suicide victims. We don’t want them to hurt themselves.”
“Great,” I growled silently. “I’m fine then,” I said.
She closed the door and returned to her station.
I sat in my chair with my legs crossed and my hands folded in my lap. And I settled in for a long wait. And it was a long wait. I became very uncomfortable in the little plastic chair and moved to the bed. I looked out at the nurse’s station and discovered that she had watched me move to the bed. “I now know that I’m going to die here,” I thought. After becoming uncomfortable on the bed, I returned to the little plastic chair and sat down with my legs crossed and folded my hands back into my lap.
Another nurse poked her head in and asked if she could get me a drink or something.
“Thank you,” I replied, “I’d like some cranberry juice if you have any.”
She smiled and responded “I’ll get you some right away.”
I had spent some time in hospitals and getting a nice cold cranberry juice had made me feel better back then. Perhaps it would help now. It was cold and the bitter sweetness felt good going down. I sipped it for a long time. Then, I slowly let each ice cube melt in my mouth. Then I drained the melted water in the bottom of the cup.
It had been a very long time. A very long time to be alone in the “rubber room”. I finally loosened my tie and released the top button on my shirt. I took off my jacket and opened the wardrobe to hang it up. There were no hangers or hooks. I couldn’t believe it. How would I hang this thing up? I hated it anyway. So I threw it in the corner. The nurse immediately appeared from nowhere and picked up the jacket.
“Let me take this dear and I’ll hang it up for you. Will you give me your tie? There is no need for these to get wrinkled”.
I stripped one end of the tie through its perfect double Windsor knot and passed it to her. She left, and the door swung closed. I checked the doorknob, and it indeed was locked from the inside.
My eyes had finally dried and I could feel the swelling going down. I fiddled with my shoes. I took them off. Once again the nurse returned and asked me for my shoes. She returned them without laces.
“How long do I have to wait?” I asked.
“The doctor had to make a few phone calls. He’ll be right in.”
After the most uncomfortable wait in history to see a doctor, he brushed in and closed the door. He deftly slipped into the plastic chair in front of me. “I was finally able to talk to your therapist. She had gone over to Mercy and she had to be paged. She was very upset that your parents brought you here. But I assured her that we would take care of you.”
I cursed sarcastically, “I’m sure you will.”
“So, you are transsexual?” he asked.
“No, I want to be a woman,” I answered.
“Do you feel like you are a woman trapped in a man’s body?” he queried.
“No,” I answered. “I’ve always wanted to be a girl. I was making it happen. I gave up everything to make it happen. But they beat me down. I cut off all my hair and I’m sure that my job is history,” I replied.
“Cindi, I’m Dr. Wynn.” And he extended his hand with a firm handshake.
“You are using my legal name Dr. Wynn. Where did you get it?” I asked.
“As I mentioned, I had a discussion with your therapist and she briefly gave me your history over the phone,” he replied.
“Are you a Mormon?” I asked.
“No Cindi, I am not. I had a fairly nice practice in the state of Washington. But I decided to move here. Do you know why I moved here Cindi?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” I said.
“Business is very good here Cindi. The Mormon Church has such high standards and virtually no one can measure up. It plays havoc with so many minds. When people can’t conform to their own beliefs, it can create some serious mental problems,” he said. “Cindi, do you want to kill yourself?” he asked.
“I’ve wanted to do it all day. But I did have the sense to call my therapist,” I answered. I quickly realized that it was Amy who had really saved me.
“So what is stopping you from moving forward with your life as a woman?” he asked.
“I cut off all my hair, my job is in the toilet, and my family relationships are totally destroyed,” I answered.
“Cindi, your hair will grow back. You can get a new job. And, we’ll work on your family while you are here. This facility is here to help you. If you like, we can keep your family and anyone else out and prevent them from calling you. Would you like that?” he asked.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Yes!” I exclaimed.
“Cindi, is there anyone we can call to bring in your feminine things to wear? And do you have a wig?”
“I suppose my sister would bring my things over,” I replied. “And yes, I do have a nice wig. I think that she can find my stuff.”
Dr. Wynn went on “So now Cindi, this has been my shortest session of the month. We’ve only been talking for 5 minutes and I think that you are ready to get back on track. I’d like you to prepare a list of things you need. Give us your sister’s phone number and we will call her. I know that you don’t want to commit suicide. While you are here, we require you to participate in group therapy twice a day with the other patients. Let’s get you out of this room and into something more comfortable.” He opened the door and politely showed me the way out with his hand.
He talked with the nurse and within just a couple of minutes; I had a nice private room complete with television, sheets on the bed, and a real door on the bathroom.
It all happened so quickly. I was absolutely stunned. In a span of only 15 minutes, a caring physician lifted me from the depths of hell.
Within one hour, my sister Charlotte had been able to go to my storage locker, find the items I had listed and rush them in to the hospital. The nurse brought in two large paper bags. I closed the door and dumped one bag on the bed…. I panicked.
“The wig” was not there. I hadn’t worn it for several months. “It has to be in the other bag” I soon realized. I dumped the other bag onto the bed. And out it tumbled. My favorite hairpiece “the wig”. I stared down at the bed. It was covered with clothes, make up, and other personal effects.
I quickly got dressed in something more comfortable, a pair of jeans, a loose cotton blouse and some tennis shoes. I put on my fabulous wig and some very light makeup. I was feeling very good. I stood and looked in the mirror. “Well I’m a brunette again”. I said to myself. The woman in the mirror comforted me. She told me that I was going to do just fine. I realized that the good doctor had given me a very short task list to get on with my life. I also knew that I’d be staying in the loony bin for a few days and that was just fine.
“Well, Cindi” I told myself as I poofed up my hair. “Let’s get out of this room and go for a stroll. It might be good to meet the other patients here.” I opened the door quietly, and peered out at the common area. “This is could turn out to be one of the best days of my life,” I said to myself trying to be upbeat. And I stepped past the threshold.
Rise from the fall, part 3
The loony bin looked brighter and more inviting as I stepped out of my room. The sun had pushed tentacles
of light through the small attached dining room window. I saw a couple of people mindlessly walking around the perimeter of the area. I wondered what they would really be like after I got to know them. “What kind of struggle landed them here?” I asked myself. I focused my attention to the center area where a couch and comfortable chairs defined a comfortable social space. A lovely young girl in her twenties painfully sat there as she fiddled with an empty Diet Coke can. She was lifting the tab and pushing it back down. Her face was focused on an invisible spot on the wall as she tried to look through it. The bandage on her left forearm betrayed her. It was easy to see why she was here. “Why is it that someone who has it all can be so unhappy?” I thought to myself.
I sat down in the comfy chair next to the couch and curled my feet up under myself. “My name is Cindi,” I announced.
She continued to stare at the wall. “I’m Andrea,” she mumbled. I looked at the wall where she stared and then back to her Diet Coke,.
“I’d love to have one of those, where did you get it?” I asked.
“Oh, you can get them in the fridge in the dining area,” she responded, still staring at the wall. She hadn’t even looked at me.
“I see that you have finished yours, can I get you another?” I queried.
“Sure, I’d like that,” she responded as she looked at me finally. I stood and walked to the dining area and retrieved two Diet Cokes from the refrigerator.
I returned and settled again into the easy chair and passed her one of the cans. “Here you go, Andrea.”
She offered a quiet “Thanks.” She went on to say “You know, I was never allowed to drink Diet Coke at home.”
At that time, the Mormon Church discouraged any drink that included caffeine in its contents. The thinking at the time was that coffee had caffeine and hot drinks were “not for the body” as dictated in its “word of wisdom” revelation. Therefore, caffeine in any drink was not wise.
I responded to Andrea’s statement. “You know Andrea; I was never allowed to have Diet Coke at home either. I always had to sneak it at work.” Her countenance changed slightly to the positive as she stared into my eyes and smiled. We had finally connected.
For the next half hour or so, we talked of all things excepting the reasons as to why we were there. We talked about favorite stores and music and what not. She warmed up to me and her mood had flipped 180 degrees.
“You know, I’ve been here three days and no one has said a word to me outside of group,” she offered.
“Really?” I queried.
“No kidding,” she responded.
“Wow, this place must really be stuffy,” I said.
“That’s an understatement,” she returned. Apparently there were 6 people there before I arrived and no one talked to anyone else.
“Well, if there is one thing I am going to do while I’m here, I am going to get to know people. I can’t imagine spending several days here and not talk to the other inmates,” I said.
“Inmates?” she asked as her eyes brightened. “I’d never thought of it in those terms. That is absolutely hilarious,” she said. We both giggled about it for a bit. Laughter in the loony bin was unusual and everyone else stared at us.
The nurse turned in her chair, watched us for a bit, turned back to her desk and wrote something down.
“So, we are being watched too?” I asked.
“Yea, they watch everything we do here,” she said.
“Big brother is watching us,” I said.
“Huh?” she asked. “Oh it is a reference to the novel 1984 by George Orwell where the government watches everything that everyone does,” I briefly explained.
“I’ve never read it,” she said as a sparkle formed in her eyes. “But you know Cindi, that nurse kinda does look like she could be “big brother” doesn’t she?” A sense of irony shot through my being and I wryly grinned at her. And then we burst into laughter.
Big brother turned in her chair watched us for a moment and then turned back to her notebook and wrote something down.
Another inmate poked her head out from her cave to see what was going on. Her look was puzzled as she stepped out into the common area. She paused for a moment and then walked over and sat in another easy chair.
“Okay she said, I’ve been here 4 days and no one has said anything to anybody else. What’s going on here,” she demanded.
“Oh we are just talking about big brother over there,” I answered. She quickly glanced at the nurse and then absolutely hooted as she laughed. Her laugh was infectious and carried throughout the loony bin.
Big brother turned in her chair watched us for a moment and then turned back to her notebook and wrote something down.
It wasn’t long before two other women joined us and we talked for the rest of the afternoon until supper time. The dreariness we all shared was replaced with rapid discussion and righteous laughter.
Big brother turned in her chair watched us for a moment and then turned back to her notebook and wrote something down.
Supper came in on carts from the kitchen. Everyone broke up and headed to their rooms.
“Hey, where’s everyone going?” I asked.
“To their rooms for supper,” Andrea answered.
Not thinking, I shouted out “Hey everyone, let’s eat together.”
Andrea chimed in “sure, why don’t we eat together?”
So the four of us collected our suppers and sat down at the table next to the fridge. The meal took a whole hour to consume. We had a wonderful time chatting, laughing, talking, laughing, sharing secrets, and laughing some more.
Several times throughout the hour, big brother turned in her chair watched us for a moment and then turned back to her notebook and wrote something down.
“Doesn’t that get to you after a while?” I asked everyone.
“It sure does,” answered another. That’s why we spend all of the time in our rooms,” She continued.
“Well, that has to stop,” I said. “I’m not going to let that determine how I act here,” I continued.
“You know Cindi, you are right. I haven’t felt so happy in a long time. I refuse to let big brother bother me any more,” she exclaimed. We all agreed that we would try to ignore the government spy.
Big brother turned in her chair watched us for a moment and then turned back to her notebook and wrote something down. How boring her job must be.
We split up and went to our rooms. I brushed my teeth and spent some time channel surfing, looking for a news program. But they had ended. My energy was drained. The day had been grand, even though it started in the depths of pain and suffering. I was very tired. I cleared the items from my bed. I hung my clothes and put my personal articles in the drawers. “I’ll just lay down here for a few minutes and I’ll feel better,” I thought to myself. A sound in the darkness woke me up. I had clearly fallen into a deep sleep. I still had on my wig and very likely a very messy face. I did not like to sleep without cleaning my face. I got up and removed “the wig”, with reverence. I dedicated a drawer to it and carefully laid it there. I washed my face and brushed my teeth and then properly went to bed. I lay there with my eyes wide open reviewing the events of the day. I recalled the depths of despair and the rise of my spirit. I realized that I had probably made some new friends too. And then I it came to me that I hadn’t told them my deep dark secret. And I knew that in my first group session with them, it would be THE most interesting thing that they had seen or heard while there.
I tossed and turned. Worry about the impending group session was all-consuming. How would I present this? I did not know. I tossed and turned some more. I flipped on the television but could not find anything interesting. Finally, I dressed and went out to get something to drink. In the dining area sat the only male in our lock up. I glanced up at the digital clock on the wall. It read 3:10 AM. I opened the fridge and found nothing to my liking. I wanted a cranberry juice. I wanted comfort.
As I closed the door in dismay, th
e fellow at the table looked up at me and said “there’s no beer in there if that’s what you are looking for.”
I turned to him and noticed his features. He was older and bore the marks of a hard life. His face was wrinkled. His hair was a dirty dark color with specks of coming gray. He wore a light blue plaid cotton farm shirt. The open buttons at the top showed a clean tee shirt. “I was looking for a fruit drink, not a soda” I replied.
I secured a Styrofoam cup from the dispenser and filled it with water from the cooler. I sat down opposite him. “I’m Cindi,” I announced as I extended my hand.
“I’m Jim,” he said as he waved off my extended hand. He exuded a complex air of frustration, tension, and rage.
“So what’s keeping you up late?” I asked him.
“Aren’t you the one who started the happy fest this afternoon in the common?” he asked.
I answered “yes, that was me.”
“You know that this is a very dreary place Cindi. I haven’t heard laughter or seen anyone talking outside of group sessions,” he explained.
“I got a sense of that,” I said as I noticed big brother’s night time replacement taking notes.
“You don’t want to talk to me,” Jim offered.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I have an anger management issue. I hurt my wife. I hit her. I hit her more than once. Does that scare you?”
Oh, crap, I felt to myself, this guy is a wife beater. I was very scared. “Yes Jim. It does,” I answered. “That’s the first god damned honest answer anyone has given me in this place,” he said.
The big brother replacement turned and took more notes.
“What are you here for, Cindi?” he queried. I had not been asked this question before from my newly formed friends. I hesitated to answer his question.
“Now come on, I’ve told you mine, you can tell me yours. You don’t have to wait until tomorrow’s group session,” he said. I rolled the thought over in my mind. If I can tell someone this tough and gruff, it might make it easier for me tomorrow. “Jim, I’m a transsexual and I’m here on suicide watch,” I told him.
He looked me squarely in the face, rolled his eyes back and forth and up and down as he scanned my every feature. He stood up slightly to see if he could extend his vision beyond the lip of the table where we sat. “Are you a man or are you a woman?” He asked.
