Chapter 25: Re-calibrating

The psychiatric ward is not the scary place from the movies. It is quiet, calm, and structured. The silence here is therapeutic, a gentle hum of healing instead of the oppressive void I had been living in. My days are organized around a simple, predictable routine: group therapy sessions, individual meetings with my psychiatrist, art therapy, and quiet time for reading and reflection. There are no radios, no computers, no connection to the world that had hurt me. It is a complete systems reset.

In therapy, I learn to untangle the knots of my own thinking. I learn that the sad-hams’ attacks are not a reflection of my worth, but of their own bitterness and insecurity. My psychiatrist gives me tools to reframe their abuse. "They are transmitting a signal of pure noise," she tells me, cleverly using a metaphor I can understand. "You have been letting that noise get through your filters and overwhelm your receiver. We need to teach your brain how to filter it out, how to recognize it as just that - noise, not a valid message."

Slowly, the medication begins to work. It is not a magic happiness pill. It is more subtle. It is like a noise blanker for my brain, dialing down the constant, overwhelming static of anxiety and despair, allowing my own thoughts to finally be heard again. The fog begins to lift, not all at once, but in patches, like the morning mist burning off a field.

My friends are my constant support. They are not allowed to visit in the first week, but they send messages through my parents. Doretha sends a care package filled with my favorite Japanese snacks and a silly comic book. Samuel, in his own way, sends a message of support: a printout of a complex antenna design with a note that reads, "Get well soon. We need you to help calculate the radiation pattern for this." Azhar calls my parents every other day to check in.

And then there is Gregory. He sends a single, handwritten card. Inside, it does not say "get well soon" or "thinking of you." It just says, "CQ Haruka. The frequency is waiting for you. 73, Gregory." 73. The ham radio code for "best regards." It is the most powerful message I receive. It is a message of hope, of belonging. It reminds me that my community, my real community, is still out there.

After ten days, I am allowed visitors. My team comes to see me. They do not treat me like I am fragile or broken. They just treat me like Haruka. They bring a laptop and show me the latest modifications they have made to our SDR software. They argue about the best strategy for the upcoming RTTY Roundup contest. They include me. They remind me who I am.

"We miss you at the controls, Haruka," Samuel says, and for once, there is no hint of rivalry in his voice, only genuine respect. "No one can run a pileup like you can."

"We filed a formal complaint with the FCC," Azhar informs me. "We sent them all the logs, the recordings of the interference, the screenshots from the forums. It is a long shot, but we are not letting them get away with it."

Seeing them, being with them, is the best medicine of all. They are my team. They are my family. They have my back. The sad-hams tried to isolate me, to cut me off from the community. But my real community is right here, in this sterile hospital visiting room, talking about radio waves and a shared passion.

When I am discharged from the hospital a week later, I feel like a different person. I am not "cured." My depression is something I will always have to manage. But I am no longer its victim. I have tools. I have a support system. And most importantly, I have a renewed sense of purpose.

I go home for a weekend before returning to school. The first thing I do is walk into my shack. I look at my radio, my old friend and recent enemy. I am not afraid of it anymore. I sit down, take a deep breath, and switch it on. The speaker hisses to life. It is just a sound. It has no power over me except the power I choose to give it.

My recovery is not about ignoring the noise. It is about learning to operate through it. It is about strengthening my own signal so that it is stronger than the static. I am ready to get back on the air. I am ready to take back my frequency.