Bite Me by Tommy Hilfiger & Ally Hilfiger

Author:Tommy Hilfiger & Ally Hilfiger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography / Medical, Biography & Autobiography / Personal Memoirs
Publisher: Center Street
Published: 2016-05-10T00:00:00+00:00

sixteen

THE PURPLE GODDESS

“Antibodies to the bacterium that causes Lyme disease have been found in a number of psychiatric patients, suggesting that Lyme disease might trigger psychiatric illness.”

—AMERICAN JOURNAL OF PSYCHIATRY

Though I didn’t fully know why I was in Silver Hill Hospital, I was so happy to be out of the ACU that it really didn’t matter. Earlier I packed my things and was driven by a white van the fifty yards that separated the buildings. We pulled up to Barrett House which looked like a traditional early American home with charming windows and pretty landscaping. As I approached the home-style door, I was looking forward to being in a place that didn’t have bars on the windows and hospital corridors. I was taken to a room with two beds, so I knew I had a roommate. Not the most ideal situation, but anything was better than sleeping where I had been.

After I put my stuff in the room, a counselor led me to a living room, where I sat on a caramel-colored wooden chair with an oversize back. Surrounding me were women of all different ages who sat on a couch, armchairs, a rocking chair, or folding chairs; one person was sprawled out on the floor. My joints were aching, and I couldn’t sit comfortably in any chair; therefore I was fidgety. Thank goodness the chair on which I sat at least had a cushion. I didn’t care that it was mauve, stained, and lumpy; I just didn’t want it to squeak while readjusting.

A woman walked into the room who looked like she had been working there for quite a while. She had on a peach sweater, pleated khakis, and gold-rimmed glasses. “Okay, ladies, we are going to fill out a PTSD packet today. Does anybody know what PTSD is?” The woman was chipper, yet firm and meant business. She reminded me of one of my math teachers in sixth grade at the Convent of the Sacred Heart.

A woman in her late forties with bushy blond-grayish hair, skinny legs, and a large gut raised her hand. She was wearing baggy teal leggings and a pale yellow turtleneck. Her face was red and bloated and she looked as if she hadn’t slept for days. I didn’t know where any of these women came from, why we were all here, and what we were doing. “I’m a nurse,” the lady said, “so I am very familiar with post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Naturally, I thought the group therapy session I’d joined was about PTSD. Both Dr. Shander and the nurses in the ACU had mentioned that I might be suffering from post-traumatic stress. As I sat there, however, I realized that PTSD was not the main focus of the discussion. We had to fill out a pamphlet that asked questions like “When was your first drink or drug?” or “Do you black out when you drink?”

Why do they want to know about drinking? I wondered.

In looking back, I know it seems crazy (pun intended) that it took me so long to realize I was in an alcohol and drug rehab.

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