This really happened to my friend and they shared their narrative essay that they wrote bc we had to pick an event that happened in our lives like a wedding, graduation, pride parade and many others. But this is what happened to them and they decided they were ok with me telling their story to you all so here it is. This happened in I think March or February around that time this year.
(TRIGGER WARNING!!! Mention of self harm, suiside, and intense scenarios!) Yup. You read that correctly. I have been to a mental hospital. It was crazy! The people were scary, ) the place was scary, and overall I HATED it. It all started at school. I was already feeling sick. I was already lost in my thoughts. Knots pulled tightly in my stomach. I don't know what led me to it but I couldn't help myself. Although I didn't get what I wanted from it, I cut anyways. It never bled so I kept trying. No blood, no satisfaction. It was driving me crazy.
Later that day I was paralized with fear. Fear of her. More like herself. Scared of the girl in my head. She looks just like me. She was dead. She died different times every time I saw her. Snapped neck, stab wounds, suffocation. She was what I'd wanted. I ran away from her and went to Mrs. Hardwick. I told her my mistakes. She cared.
Later I was in the counselor's office. Breathing heavily, tears trickled down my cheeks, although I wished it were blood. Police were in the room. Time had passed. My dad was called to the school. We soon went to my therapist a while later.
"It happened again," I said.
"What are we gonna do, girl?," my therapist responded.
"I don't know." I said exasperated.
"There is another option...,"my therapist said.
"I don't want to go...," I knew I had no other options.
"Mommy don't leave me!" I said.
"It'll be ok. I love you,"my mom replied with tears in her eyes.
It was late at night. I was in the hospital. "Welcome to Hell," I thought.
They checked my body for cuts, scratches, and all that stuff. At the time I only had those two. That night I couldn't sleep. I hated it there. I felt insane. And sometimes I feel like I need to go back. But I never will. It was terrifying there.
The second day was even worse. Alone. I was alone and afraid. I wanted to run. Apparently I wasn't the only one. She jumped over the counter. She broke the coffee pot and ate a shard of glass. That was my first roommate.I was afraid. Would she hurt me. Legs up to my chest in my chair, muttering under my breath. I didn't want to be there.
Another resident softly spoke to me, "Hey, it's ok. It's not usually like this, I swear."She appeared out of the light I forgot there was. She didn't want me to be afraid. She cared. That was my first friend there.
The days kept rolling on by, seeming to get longer. I kept lying to them, lying about getting better, taking the medicine they gave me. They believed me. All that mattered at that point was getting home. They don't even know I was lying. I was the easy patient to take care of. I always listened to the adults.
The dreams were the worst. Dreams of my family. Dreams of home. But they were different. They were about my family, but they weren't the same. Every dream I had, I was going back home from the mental hospital. The house would be different. My family would act weird... It's hard to explain how they were different. I forgot how many days I'd been there. I'd be in and out of reality. Not even paying attention. I hated that place.
People were in and out of there. My friends would go to residential. It was another mental hospital, just a couple minutes away. It was a worse place to be. They would send you there if you weren't doing better. But little did I know that I'd soon be out. I'd be home. Little did I know things would get better, little by little.
Release! Finally! They told me I'd get released soon. I didn't feel better but home was so close I could feel it. All I wanted by then was my dad's cooking. Heck! He could add all the things I hated to my meal and I'd still eat it. I didn't care what he'd cook. My mom's hugs. My brothers crazy-ness. To see my sister. She was born while I was gone. I felt terrible. I wanted to cry. She's my princess. She's the reason I'm still alive.
Then finally. I was home. I was safe. I was ok. It was crazy. It was scary. I'm better now and I'm still learning how to love myself.
