Security Hoodie

I’ll never forget it. It was February 4^th, 2010. I was sitting in a chair and a nurse was asking if I knew the date. I asked her for the time and it was 2 something in the morning, so I told her it was February 4^th, but it had February 3^rd a few hours ago. She laughed and made some sort of comment that I didn’t hear. I was exhausted. I had been in an ER for hours and I was tired of all the questions. I was tired of the questions, I was tired of crying, but more than anything I was tired of the overwhelming emotional pain that had become part of my daily life.

A picture was taken and the nurse pulled up a chair for me to watch her sort through my bag. A few hours earlier my school therapist had asked what I would like her to pack for me. She was going to go back to the school and pack me a bag out of my dorm room. I told her to pack a few jeans and hoodies…specifically the black thin hoodie. I requested a few pajama pants and a tank top but that was all. She asked about where my toiletries would be and I gave her a few more directions, so she could properly navigate my single dorm room.

The nurse pulled out my hoodies and pajama pants and proceeded to tell me that if I wanted these items, the strings would have to be removed. At first this seemed crazy to me, but then I thought about it and realized I was in the nut house, so I guess mental patients could be creative if necessary. I told her it was fine and she passed the clothing items to another nurse who proceeded to pull the strings out. When they got to my little black hoodie they informed me that the strings were sewn in and in order for me to have the item they would have to cut it out. A looked at the pathetic little thing and all of a sudden, more than anything, I wanted it around me. I started crying again and told her to do it. After the snap of the scissors I held out my hand and she passed it to me.

I pulled it on and rapped my arms around myself, embracing the cool warmth of its fabric. The nurse showed me my room and then left me alone. My roommate mumbled something about the light. I shut off the light and walked back down the hall into the dayroom. I sat in an empty chair facing the nurse’s station. I pulled the thin, black hood back over my head, wrapped my arms around myself and cried. I rocked hard, back and forth and sobbed for a long time. No one bothered me.

That hoodie is currently sitting on my bed. It has been with me through everything. But now it’s worn and ragged. My mother complains about it every time she sees it and she has sewn up more than one hole. It has seen depression and mania…panic attacks and hallucinations…paranoia and delusional thinking. It that hoodie could talk, no one would look at me the same way. It’s seen multiple psychiatrists, way too many therapists, one too many orthopedic surgeons, entirely too many ER’s and five psychiatric hospitalizations. It’s my go to article of clothing when I’m falling apart and it’s quite possibly the most comfortable thing I own. But the truth is…it’s reaching its end.

Right now the thought of putting that hoodie in the trashcan makes me wanna punch someone in the throat for even suggesting it. In other words…I’m not quite ready to let it go. But I’ll get there. Right now, I’m like a child, still clinging to its blankie…but one day, like that child, I’ll outgrow it. One day, I’ll confidently toss it in the trash and walk away with a smile. One day I’ll put on a different hoodie…it will smell new and feel crisp and warm and I won’t long to throw it off and retrieve old faithful. But for now, I’m sitting here all snuggled up inside of it, smiling away and thinking of a brighter future.

Love, Randi