Day 13:
A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days(write
a letter)
Dear Lady Gaga,
Back in 2010 I was
locked up in the psychiatric ward. Every possible connection to the outside
world was cut off, leaving me stuck in a room with walls of three different
hospital colors. I spent the days reading books to escape the place I was in,
and ended up reading 20 books during my three-and-a-half month hospitalization
period.
I was originally
brought into care due to my self-destructive behavior, which was connected to
my disastrous past. However, something else was characterized as the cause for
my problems. Earlier that year I had met a Lebanese woman online, and had in
some naïve sort of way fallen in love with her. We were speaking non-spot for
about a month or so. It turned out, however, that this woman was, though young
and just four years older than me, married. Her husband of the time got a hold
of our texts, and threats started pouring in. Helpless, I told my parents of
what had happened. This happened to coincide with the climax of my
self-destructiveness. So, inevitably, when I was put in hospital, my little
love affair was put as the blame.
For the next two months
I was the main subject of gossip among the nurses of the ward. I was typified
as the lesbian lover of a Lebanese housewife. Instead of helping me with the
problems at hand, I had to repeat my “scandalous” story to every nurse in every
treatment meeting. I was banned form any contact to the internet. My phone and
my laptop were taken from me. A rumor had somehow come about that my Lebanese
friend and her siblings were developing some sort of mass suicide plan. My
father and stepmother scolded me of having been in connections with a possible
terrorist, making assumptions of them having used me in some sort of sexual
play.
After the two months, I
was discharged.
But after a week, I was
locked right back in. During a treatment meeting I had told my nurse that I had
been sexually abused. My parents, appalled, did not believe me but instead
stated I must be psychotic and locked me right back in. I had to go through
several psychosis tests, police investigations, the works. The nurses told me
they believed me, but again and again my “false memories” were put on the
backshelf as some sort of symptom of a more serious mental illness. I was
banned from seeing anyone, including my siblings. My father would come in,
teary eyed and white-faced, to describe things that would account for my
“change”. I would cry for hours, curled up into a ball on my scratchy hospital
bed.
To escape, I wrote and
wrote in my diary, hidden from the nurses. I would lie on my bed, earphones
attached to the little cd player they had in every room. I’d listen to the Fame
Monster on repeat for hours, read the lyrics in the little booklet, and attempt
to forget everything. I had a Monster Ball audio recording on my iPod, and
would listen to that with my eyes closed and pretend that I was there instead. I
can’t imagine what it would have been like without you, screaming words of
acceptance and love and strength in my ears. I stuck to my word, and stood my
ground. I stayed in a youth home for the following summer, again accompanied by
your music. And in the fall, when I was actually able to go to the Monster
Ball, I cried my eyes out.
It felt funny, for
somebody who never knew of my existence, could be able to say the exact words I
needed to hear. I stayed strong.
Thank you.
