I remember that the ambulance ride from one hospital to another felt like eternity. I sat, strapped onto the gurney, unable to move my limbs. Everything felt blurry, all the headlights from the little window were the only indication that time was, in fact, passing. My mom sat next to me with a blank expression that had been sealed like that since I first saw her that night.

The ambulance guy asked me the same questions which I had answered before, but this time I was less snarky. I felt resigned. I had made my bed and now I had to lie in it, knowing the pain I was causing my loved ones now. It was pain that I had only ever meant for myself. A large part of me was at peace because I finally felt seen, like they were seeing past the whole facade that I couldn’t tear down within myself. I was being heard.

But, another part of me felt anxious. Out of control of the situation. Anxious because of the unknown approaching. I tried to squirm on the gurney but the straps allowed no movement to occur.

When we reached the hospital I was taken out and taken inside. I tried to memorize the route we took to enter the psych ward, but my mind was in such a haze that everything was forgotten swiftly. I remember that there was an elevator and hallways with rolling a hills as the background, something out of a children’s book. The background on the walls lasted for awhile and I remember feeling a shiver of discomfort about it. The wallpaper was probably something to distract me from facing my own chamber of horrors. Probably just a way to make me calm but all it did was heighten my anxiety and my fear. I felt my heart starting to speed up and my head starting to drum, so I closed my eyes instead.

They finally unstrapped me from the gurney when we made it to the entrance of the unit. My mom said thank you to them and they left, just like that. A nurse who I don’t remember well answered the monitor that the ambulance guy called her on. She let us in and we sat in this bland office that I don’t feel like describing because that would be a boring description.

I didn’t like the nurse right away. I didn’t like how she smiled as if there was nothing wrong with me or with the world. I didn’t like how she would squeeze my shoulders in a sign of comfort when I was anything but that. She looked like an older woman, with a thin face and short dirty blonde hair. She had these clear round-rimmed glasses that made her eyes look too big. She had a few teeth missing, but nothing too serious. She can be described as someone who is “jolly.” I didn’t like it.

She gave me this huge clear water jug and said I could keep it as she began discussing terms and regulations with my mom. I sat there with some of the blankets they gave me on the gurney wrapped around my body. I felt too exposed to the world. I felt as though all eyes were on me and I didn’t like that feeling at all. It made my skin crawl.

Another nurse came in with that mobile vitals machine to check me. She seemed too serious in comparison to the other nurse. She had a couple tattoos that I would have to ask her about later, at a more appropriate time. She seemed nice, just very serious. I noticed the way she moved was like watching someone carry out a procedure they had practiced a million times as she checked me.

“Are you ready for a tour of the unit?” The main nurse breached my thoughts. My mother and her got up and I reluctantly followed. I was only here because I knew it would give my mom comfort knowing I was “getting help.”

The unit was one floor in the shape of a square, with one main hallway that circled around a middle section for the nurses and doctors to monitor the patients. In the middle section was also a small kitchen area and a huge flat screen tv hanging on the wall. The nurse said that we always ate our meals there.

On one side of the unit we had a therapy room, a recreational room that I wouldn’t really classify as an actual recreational room but it was just called that, and offices for the Counselors. There were these huge double doors that lead to a different unit of the hospital. There were also other assortments of offices such as the Social Workers room, the nurse’s office and bathrooms, and a snack room. After those things, the rest of the unit was just rooms for patients.

I remember walking by and peaking into the rooms, seeing these other people within the big rooms they offered. My nurse said we either had to keep the night light in the room on or a nurse would have to come in every fifteen minutes to check if we were still alive.

Alive. It had seemed like a weird concept at the time because that night I felt like I was already dead. I felt like a walking ghost while my mom utilized this facility to cope with the loss of her little girl. I didn’t feel like I was present, just someone observing this play out from the sidelines. I imagined myself as someone in far worse condition than I was. Then I imagined what that person would think of me coming here. Would they think I was pathetic? Would they think I had no right to be in this place because all I had to do was “run some dirt on it” and grow a pair? Was I the product of my own evil doings or the product of what my environment had made me?

Everything seemed too hard to process, so I didn’t process it. I went on pretending I was that ghost watching everything pan out.

The final destination on the tour was my own room. It was twice the size of my room, with a huge window on the wall that had a view of the outside world. The floor looked like wood but I knew it wasn’t, there was a twin-sized bed in the middle with a desk and a night stand occupying boy sides. There was this foam door velcro-ed to the wall, dividing the bathroom from the bedroom. There was a counter with a sink and a couple shelves next to it. It was all very plain and simple, nothing looked like it could harm me and I knew that was the point of it all.

There was a brief moment that I noticed in my mother’s eyes. Indecision and hesitation. She also feared the unknown that could result from this. I knew her so well. I knew that she would do anything in her power to appear to be the calm and collected soul even though she was broken on the inside. So, instead of forcing her to keep up the act, I played along,

“It’s okay mom, you can go, I will be alright. It’s really late and I am really tired so you should get going.”

My lame attempt at a reassuring smile seemed to work because she gave me the same gesture back. The nurse just stood by quietly allowing us this moment.

I hugged my mom and I could feel her desperation and regret throughout the entire exchange. I had caused this. It was all my fault.

Once she left, the two nurses helped me in to my new bed, as if I really needed help getting into bed. The main nurse still carried that vivacious smile that made me sick. The other nurse also carried her similar manner of seriousness. It was just me weathering the storm by myself now.

After a little bit of conversation to try and comfort me, they left me alone in the room.

It was just me now. Only myself to be focused on, only myself to process the events of the night. I can recall the throbbing ache in my heart, it wasn’t regret, but something else entirely. It was just sadness for the destruction I had caused. The guilt of knowing the hurt I was ensuing.

The memories of everything that happened kept replaying in my head, unable to pick one singular moment. I felt crowded and claustrophobic in my own body, but I also had never felt more alone at that moment. I would never wish that feeling upon my worst enemy.