Emily's Story
Start writing a post
Health and Wellness

Emily's Story

I met Emily in a mental hospital. She had a cutting problem and she was very good at basketball.

45
Emily's Story
Huffington Post

I have been to the mental hospital twice: once when I was 12, and again this March. For whatever reason, the first trip was much more eventful than the second. It may have been that I was in the adolescent wing for the first trip, even though I was 12 and only teenagers are supposed to be in the adolescent wing. Hormones were pumping, not just for me, but for all of us. There was a hot head who fought people, and had at one point apparently shot himself in the pelvic area, missing his femoral artery by mere centimeters. There was the ginger girl with a lisp and a bad anger problem. There was another girl who was addicted to heroin and had had eight miscarriages by the time we crossed paths.

Then there was Emily.

Even though it was some eight years ago, and my memories of that time are spotty, I remember Emily clearly. I remember her brown hair, as straight as hair can possibly be, that thinned out the farther down her head it fell, so that by the time it tapered off at her shoulders, it was wispy and wiry. I remember her dark eyes, so dark that you could call them beady, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; they were deep, black and endless. I remember her blemished, oily face, but she was still pretty; she had a soft smile that made you feel warm. And I remember that she had an athletic figure, muscular legs and toned arms, which boldly contrasted with the deep cuts covering her body from the neck down.

They were horrific. Since then, I’ve been around many cutters, but Emily was one of the first I saw, and she’s still the worst. It was not the volume—which was still there—but rather the cold, mathematical placement of each incision. Invariably, her cuts were two inches across, flawlessly spaced two inches apart. Bands of inflamed cuts completely covered her arms and legs, spreading to her chest. These cuts were not impulsive; they were planned and calculated, and performed with surgical precision.

When I first saw Emily, I did not expect her to be so kind. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but I figured she would be more doleful and less conversational. This was not the case. Emily was easy to talk to, especially with that smile. She made good eye contact. She was funny and soft spoken with an even softer voice, but whenever she talked, it was easy to hear just how broken she really was.

We talked about music while we ate lunch. Shared some stories. I thought she was cool, but we only became friends when were taken down to the gym for recreation hour. The gym had hard carpet floors and a basketball goal. I was already obsessed with basketball at that point, so all I did—every day—for that one hour was shoot around; it was my favorite part of the hospital.

I had been shooting for a few minutes when Emily walked up to the three point line and asked for the ball. I was intrigued and snapped a bounce pass her way. In one fluid motion, she caught the ball and shot a three pointer with beautiful form—swish. My jaw dropped. I rebounded and passed it back—another swish. I kept feeding her as she worked her way around the arc; she didn’t miss one shot. After she sunk her last three from deep in the corner, I held up my arms in disbelief, and she smiled smugly to herself. She played basketball when she was young, she said. She was always good at shooting.

For the rest of my stay, I played HORSE with Emily every time we went down to the gym. She mostly crushed me. We bonded over those games. It was an escape—the cuts on her arms didn’t matter as much when she was draining threes, neither did misguided suicide attempt that landed me here, the hopelessness that followed. In some ways, those shoot arounds were more therapeutic than any group session or motivational speaker could ever be.

When I was discharged, on Christmas Eve 2008, I said goodbye to Emily and her broken voice and dark eyes. I wished her good luck and offered some encouragement; she didn’t say much back, only a quiet goodbye and a gentle hug. That was the last time I saw Emily. I think about her often. I think of her silky smooth jumper. I think of the possibility that she succumbed to her illness. I think of the possibility that she conquered it. I think about those perfectly placed cuts on her arms—those awful cuts. I wonder how those scars would look now. I hope they’ve faded with the pain in her heart, at least a little.

Report this Content
This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
Student Life

Waitlisted for a College Class? Here's What to Do!

Dealing with the inevitable realities of college life.

54990
college students waiting in a long line in the hallway
StableDiffusion

Course registration at college can be a big hassle and is almost never talked about. Classes you want to take fill up before you get a chance to register. You might change your mind about a class you want to take and must struggle to find another class to fit in the same time period. You also have to make sure no classes clash by time. Like I said, it's a big hassle.

This semester, I was waitlisted for two classes. Most people in this situation, especially first years, freak out because they don't know what to do. Here is what you should do when this happens.

Keep Reading...Show less
a man and a woman sitting on the beach in front of the sunset

Whether you met your new love interest online, through mutual friends, or another way entirely, you'll definitely want to know what you're getting into. I mean, really, what's the point in entering a relationship with someone if you don't know whether or not you're compatible on a very basic level?

Consider these 21 questions to ask in the talking stage when getting to know that new guy or girl you just started talking to:

Keep Reading...Show less
Lifestyle

Challah vs. Easter Bread: A Delicious Dilemma

Is there really such a difference in Challah bread or Easter Bread?

35399
loaves of challah and easter bread stacked up aside each other, an abundance of food in baskets
StableDiffusion

Ever since I could remember, it was a treat to receive Easter Bread made by my grandmother. We would only have it once a year and the wait was excruciating. Now that my grandmother has gotten older, she has stopped baking a lot of her recipes that require a lot of hand usage--her traditional Italian baking means no machines. So for the past few years, I have missed enjoying my Easter Bread.

Keep Reading...Show less
Adulting

Unlocking Lake People's Secrets: 15 Must-Knows!

There's no other place you'd rather be in the summer.

957534
Group of joyful friends sitting in a boat
Haley Harvey

The people that spend their summers at the lake are a unique group of people.

Whether you grew up going to the lake, have only recently started going, or have only been once or twice, you know it takes a certain kind of person to be a lake person. To the long-time lake people, the lake holds a special place in your heart, no matter how dirty the water may look.

Keep Reading...Show less
Student Life

Top 10 Reasons My School Rocks!

Why I Chose a Small School Over a Big University.

184553
man in black long sleeve shirt and black pants walking on white concrete pathway

I was asked so many times why I wanted to go to a small school when a big university is so much better. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure a big university is great but I absolutely love going to a small school. I know that I miss out on big sporting events and having people actually know where it is. I can't even count how many times I've been asked where it is and I know they won't know so I just say "somewhere in the middle of Wisconsin." But, I get to know most people at my school and I know my professors very well. Not to mention, being able to walk to the other side of campus in 5 minutes at a casual walking pace. I am so happy I made the decision to go to school where I did. I love my school and these are just a few reasons why.

Keep Reading...Show less

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Facebook Comments