The Crazy Chronicles, Part 8: Molly

"Bitch, nobody fucks with crazy." - quote from a reader, suggesting I tell people I was in for a psychotic break to keep them from being judgmental. I'm having this printed on a t-shirt.

Monday, 9 p.m.

It's really hard to watch others come, but it's grueling to watch someone leave. In such a short period of time, you become very attached to the other people in with you. You share so much and they have seen you at your most vulnerable, scraped raw by whatever brought you here to this place.

When Jo left on Monday night, I felt her absence immediately. When another patient, Candace, left the same night, I was shocked to see her crying silently, grimacing in emotional pain by the door. She was a meth addict and had been here for over 30 days. She rarely spoke or participated, but was quick to smile. She didn't feel ready to go home, and as the word spread through the room that she was breaking, we moved quickly and quietly to surround her and offer her one more prayer. She was one of us. That was all that mattered.

Later that evening, over a gripping game of Yahtzee, we all watched in silence as our newest family member, Blayne, bounced into the break room. His grandparents finished signing him in while he jittered and jived and shucked.

"That boy's gonna be feeling some pain in the morning," Carter said without taking his eyes from the Newsweek he was reading.

"What do you mean?" Linda asked.

"Withdrawals," I answered.

I watched him shimmy back into the hallway and only then noticed a tiny woman sitting in the intake chair. I had assumed she was with his family, but they were trying to keep Blayne in one place long enough to say their goodbye's. Meanwhile, she was sitting, hands wringing in her lap, looking very small and lost. Her profile stunned me. It could have been my Nanny, 30 years ago. I got up to go out and take a closer look. I went to my room and on the walk back, I looked at her from the front. Hell, she could have been my Nanny's twin, right down to the way her hair was colored and permed. She met my eyes and then quickly looked away. The frightened, shamed way her eyes darted around was achingly familiar. My God, was that really me, just 2 days ago?

I walked over. "Hi. I'm Crystal."

"I'm Molly," she whispered. Her hands continued their frantic dance in her lap.

"Molly," I repeated. I thought about all of the inspirational things people said when newcomers were hurting. Some of them made me cringe. We hope you enjoy your stay here, one person actually said to another. I thought, Holy shit, are you going to give them a warm towel and a continental breakfast with their d.t.'s? I knew the platitudes came from the best place in the heart, but that wasn't what some needed to hear. So, I said, "Molly, it will never be as bad as it is right now and through this first night." I immediately regretted it. Great, Crystal. Why not give her a fucking Hallmark that says, "Welcome to Hell, now with Lime Jell-o!"

When she favored me with one tentative, heartbroken smile, I thought maybe I wasn't so much of a bumbling moron all of the time.

"Crystal, why don't you show Molly around and then show her to your room." My roommate, Dawn, had been released that morning and beds were in demand. They never stayed vacant for long.

I skipped all the niceties ("and here's the coffee pot! And the magazines! Someone gouged all the eyes out, but there are some good articles if you can fill in the blanks!") and led her straight to the room.

"You look like you could rest, but if you want some company...," I said as I showed her where to put her things. "We'll be in the break room until they turn the t.v. off. Some of us stay in there later. The night owls." I was babbling.

She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her feet. She was so damned tiny.

"Umm, I keep it really cold," I continued. "The a/c is over there, against the wall. Do you need some more blankets?"

"I'm fine, thank you. You just keep it however you're comfortable."

I went back to the break room and sat, bothered. How the fuck did this happen to so many of us? What went wrong?

"Don't do it, kiddo," Carter said, still reading his magazine.

"What?" I asked.

"You got enough of your own problems without taking on others. You're here to work on you."

I knew he was right. But, I also knew that there were so many people in my life who, with one word, one gesture, had helped me and changed me. If I couldn't try to do the same for someone else, I didn't feel like there was much reason for me even being in existence.

"Shit. Nevermind, then. You're one of those," Carter sighed.

I wadded up my Yahtzee score sheet and threw it at his head. "Shut up, you bitter old fuck."

He laughed and turned his page. "Aww, kiddo, you're keeping me young."

"Yeah. Me and Viagra."

An hour later, Blayne came in and bummed a cigarette. While talking to one of the other guys, he ran his hand through his hair and belatedly realized that the hand he had just used was the one holding his unlit cigarette. It was now broken in two. "Awww, fuck me to death," he whimpered as he started to cry.

I went to bed. Tomorrow, I have to really start sharing, I promised myself. Just as soon as I make sure Molly's okay.