It was all I could think about

Dear Little Sisters,

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It was all I could think about... I had a plane to catch in a couple of days with my dance company for a performance in Los Angeles on Saturday afternoon. The problem was I was on 51-50 hold in a psychiatric ward in Mountain View. How the fuck did I end up here? 

Well this is part two of the night that I decided to stab my wrists and as a result taken into the emergency room. The days that followed were a surreal haze of interactions, tears, and solitude. Sometimes I forget that moment in time, that is, until I look down at my left wrist and see the now subtle scar that runs right alongside my vein. I used to fear that someone might notice it but now it’s simply one of the many scars that I carry, most of which are not physical and cannot be seen. 

Maya Angelo said, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”  In the days that I spent in the psych there are three people that I will never forget. I don’t recall exactly what they did or what they said but I recall exactly how they made me feel. 

The first was the doctor that treated me in the emergency room. He made me feel so stupid and shamed for having drank wine when I was feeling depressed. Even in the midst of my despair I managed to tell him that perhaps he should avoiding telling someone who was about to be put on a 51-50 hold something like that and that if I truly had better ways of coping with my situation, which he knew NOTHING about, than maybe I wouldn’t be there right now. He apologized. Asshole. 

The second was the woman who was my roomate. The moment I came in I could feel her warmth and care. She gave me both the space I needed but also offered me the comfort and attention when I needed it. Again I don’t recall exactly what she said or did but I could feel her love, like that of a mother. I find it incredible that in the midst of her own pain she was able to find enough openness to see me. Isn’t that how it works? It is often those who have endured the most pain and hardship that are the most empathetic because they know the depths and darkness of their own greatest fears and pains and would never wish that upon anyone. 

The third was my nephew. He was only a child but my sister took him to visit me. He didn’t know he was in a psychiatric ward and that I was being held there against my will. Seeing him run down the hall to embrace me made me smile in the midst of my own dark cloud of fear and shame. His innocence and lightness of being was a stark contrast to everything that was inside of me. Everything that was slowly crawling out after years of being chained inside. The memory of how he made me feel is what later inspired me to make a frame during “art time” to hold a picture of him and I. He is a reminder of the hope that I have to break cycles of abuse. 

After being held for 72 hours, I was released to my sister just in time to go home, pack my bag, grab my dance costumes, and be dropped off at the airport just in time to catch the fight with my dance company. It’s crazy that that is all I could think about in the midst of the storm that was just beginning to brew inside of me. I couldn’t let my company down. I still refused to show anyone on the outside anything less than the dedicated, perfectionist Maria. If only I knew what was to come.  

If you look closely at the pictures from that performance you will see that my left hand is bandaged and there are band aids on my right arm covering the bruises. Nonetheless, I am still smiling and gazing into my partner’s eyes putting on the show that folks came to see. It’s ironic and fascinating that one of my best friends made me an art piece from one of those pictures and titled it what only few can see,”between all the pain and glory.”

Love, 

Espe