I made the realization that I had to leave and soon. I didn’t want to, but I honestly couldn’t rationalize anymore. If I stayed, I would hurt the person I loved. I packed a small bag of clothes and essentials from around my home. Lastly, I packed my favorite plush bunny on top. Even at 26 years of age, I could not help but still want to hold onto it when scared. I took the packed bag into the living room, grabbed my purse and keys, and outside I went. I had not told anyone what I had planned other than my boss. Otherwise, no one knew.

My mind was fixed on the last appointment. “You might want to consider treatment options available inpatient,” my doctor had mentioned. “But that means—“ I began to speak but she interrupted me with, “Yes you will have to focus completely on treatment. No work. No outside stressors for at least six weeks.” I remained silent and stared at the white wall in front of me.

I couldn’t bare to tell anyone. I didn’t want them knowing. My friends, my family... Struggling with health issues all my life had set me up for strained relationships and family members who gaslight me—claiming I was too young to have so many problems or claiming I was crazy. They were always out to get me from the beginning. When I felt like the whole world was watching my every move and paranoia set in, no one was there.

I took a bus to the hospital. Once there, I went inside to the front desk. I was taken back to a white walled room with only a bed, TV, and a window. I sighed and took it all in. How long would I be in this room? Would anyone try to come see me? I hoped they didn’t. Tears began to fill my eyes as I realized what all of this meant. I could feel it hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t be here.. I didn’t need to be here. I felt my heart rise into my throat, and heart palpitations chimed into my eardrums. I turned around to see a nurse enter the room. “No, please,” I whispered and began to cry. The nurse shushed me like a child and gently reached out to touch my back. “You’ll be alright. This treatment should help,” she cooed and handed me a hospital gown.

I began to cry and wondered why I allowed this to happen. The nurse said “You’re fine, dear. You’re fine.” While I could hear her words, they didn’t make sense to me. “No,” I breathed. “You just want me to believe that.” She only smiled and said, “I need to do an IV.” I shook my head and began to scream as she came closer. More nurses came into the room to pin me down, and eventually I only saw black.

A few days had passed. The TV was on, but I had no idea what was happening on the screen. I stared into space, and I refused to eat. Who knows what was in the food and what it would do to me? A doctor came in once again and tried to talk me into eating, but I refused. A nurse came in later and checked in on me, and this was the schedule. Nurse would check on my IV and hand me some pills. I only took those, because I was curious. Supposedly, they would help. And if they didn’t work, it would be onto another one.

I woke up one morning, and I felt different. I didn’t know how else to put it, but I just felt different than normal. I told my doctor when she came into the room later, and she only smiled. “Maybe that means it’s working,” she commented. “Let me know if you feel anything else or if anything else is different,” she said and left the room. When the nurse came in next, she left a plate of food to the side of me. I wondered if I should try to eat—which was odd for me. I saw my friend come in with the nurse, and I said “I don’t want any visitors.” She looked at me confused and said “No one is in here but us, sweetie.” I sighed and laid back in the bed. “Why are you lying to me?” I shouted and began to cry.