Psych Ward Stories

At home, I was reunited with my dog. He was elated to see me and jumped all over me. Harry handed me a bag from the first hospital, “They gave me this. It's everything you had on that day.” I opened it and pulled out my jeans and my sweater. The sweater was covered in vomit. I scrunched up my nose and threw it in the laundry.

I had to charge my cell phone before I could use it. I sent texts to my mother, my sister, and my best friend, Sam. I told them that I was out of the hospital and feeling fine.

Now, I suppose this is the part where I tell you guys that I went to therapy and got better, but I didn't. I went twice and hated it. I'm still depressed and currently not taking medicine for it. I still think about wanting to disappear on occasion, but I guess that's all part of living with the disease.

I am nowhere near perfect and my life is a crazy mess, but I deal with it.

I STRONGLY encourage anyone feeling depressed and/or suicidal to TALK to someone. Anyone. There are hotlines you can call for free. There are clinics you can go to that are inexpensive. Life is hard, trust me, I know. It has it's good points too, though. Please be around to see them.