That time I was held against my will.

Okay, let's talk about it. 😅

Trigger warning for sad things.

I just want to start this by saying I know I have some kind of privilege. I share my experiences, and for some reason, people allow it. I don’t lose anything (worth losing), people close to me don’t judge me for what I share, and I generally don’t feel shame about what happened. So, I want to use that privilege I have to speak on the mental health system.

As some of you may remember, in March of 2023, I disappeared for a few weeks.

Up until then, I’d been in a mental health crisis for years. It was getting to the point where crisis teams were coming to my apartment more often than my Uber Eats deliveries. I’d call the suicide hotline weekly (I know they were SICK of me). I tried medication. I ended up in therapy. I did everything a person could possibly do to help themselves.

And you know what I was met with when I stretched out my hand for help?

The crisis teams would look at my pink decor and my tiny dog and my smiling face and think I was wasting their time. “We’re here again?” is what they said the last time they walked in.

The suicide hotline was always so friendly but would give me the same spiel about “coping skills”. Asking me if I could maybe read a book or listen to music. But I didn’t need books or music. I needed money!!! and time and support. Things a capitalistic society can’t really provide when you aren’t able to, you know, work.

And then, when I ran out of ways to help myself, I isolated myself. I couldn’t be a good friend because I was too sad. Imagine trying to eat brunch, and your friend just busts into tears at the table. That was me. I couldn’t be a good anything, really. Everything I tried failed. So, my broken mind told me I’d be better off gone. To me, it made logical sense.

That’s when I ended up in the hospital.

I’ll spare the bulk of the details for now. But just know I was treated so poorly that it fundamentally changed me and my view of healthcare and the mental health system as a whole. It makes me want to cry, knowing there are people more vulnerable than me locked away against their will alongside other, more dangerous people. Under the watch of nurses who were overworked, at no fault of their own. I was mocked and mistreated and only released because a nurse heard me explaining how a doctor had threatened me on the monitored phone line.

She came to me, her eyes full of kindness and compassion, to whisper, “Did he threaten you?” and I, having been freshly threatened, lied—of course. I quickly stuttered, “N-no,” before shuffling away to “hide” in my room. Hide is in quotations because there were cameras in the rooms. There were cameras everywhere. And I had the displeasure of sharing my space with an older woman, who kept oscillating between cooing and calling me sweetheart and screaming, declaring me a trifling bitch. So, that was fun.

When I was told to socialize more, I tried to explain I was overwhelmed. I’m neurodivergent. I just wanted to sit in my room and quietly read. They didn’t care. If I didn’t socialize, they said, I wouldn’t be released. So…I went ahead and played my crossword puzzles with Pickle—a man who was in for threatening to kill dozens of people. To be fair, he did call the police on himself, though. And he was pretty chill. Anyway, I made sure to face the cameras. Gotta look social to be deemed fit to re-enter society.

After a few days, it really dawned on me that what was happening was similar to jail. I was being imprisoned for harming myself. Punished for my own self-loathing. And when I was released, I was sent an enormous bill, of course. Because if I wasn’t overwhelmed enough, why not also expect me to pay for my own imprisonment?

I ended up being discharged with a girl who had been locked away two times before. She was the Queen Bee of the place. A pretty young woman who had tried to tell me who I should and shouldn’t talk to. I didn’t listen, of course, and ended up befriending the girl she told me to stay away from because I can’t stand a mean girl. And usually, the people who are pushed into the shadows are the ones I vibe with most.

Anywho, Queen Bee was bouncing and happy to go, but I looked at her paperwork, the ones they don’t share with us, and they’d marked her chance of readmittance as “high.” I glanced at my own paperwork, and it said my chance was “moderate.” I almost laughed. I thought, You will never catch me in this hell hole again.

After my experience, I never had another suicidal thought. Who knew being treated with utter contempt would help so much? I can only thank God. I survived what I’d done, and now I see how people are being treated and can speak on it in time. I would have never known what they were going through if I hadn’t gone through it myself.

If you’ve ever experienced anything like this. I am so sorry. You are not alone. In the midst of all the bubblegum mental health advice we see, advice even I’ve given, I know there are issues that need much more than a cute graphic.

If you’re thinking about trying what I did…don’t. Not only are you statistically likely to fail, you will end up held at a hospital and released with a large bill. You will significantly slow your life down and make everyone nervous. I’m sorry if this is harsh. But it is real, and I don’t want anyone to go through it. I honestly don’t know what to do or how to help those who are there. But God put it in my heart to do something. And I hope in the future I can.

Now, another Sad Girl submitted her own story, and it is much more positive than mine. While she went through similar things, she’s focused on the one bright spot that shone in a dark place. Definitely makes me think about how I tend to lean in and deeply observe the shadows. Please check out her essay as well!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Read my surreal novel: How to Be a Better Adult

Read my nerdy self-help book!: The Magical Girl’s Guide to Life

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