“Did you ever mean it?”

“Once, yes. But only once.”

The gripping rubber of my socks rubs on the metal framing of the hospital bed. I look down, knowing the doctors is looking straight through me. He asks again. I try to drown out his interrogation.

“You were released last week. We asked your parents how you were feeling and we were reassured you were doing well.”

I lied. I was put on new medications after I was committed. They eased the pain for a few days, until I started doubling the dose. Then tripling it. After a dose presumably too high, I woke up here.

I reached up to itch the burn on my chest but my arm is tethered to the bed.

“My mom asked how I was feeling every morning. When I got home, I was high from the pills. I told her I was happy. I came down the next day so I took more. I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” as the last words left my mouth, I knew I was lying.

The doctor knew too.

I knew there was a possibility I wouldn’t wake up. I didn’t care.

“We believe it’s in your best interest to be committed for a longer observation. Our hospital doesn’t offer the treatment you need but your parents have signed legal permission to have you transferred.”

“I am a legal adult, my parents can’t-“

The doctor interrupted, “Due to your inability to make decisions, we have given your parents the legality to have you committed.”

A nurse opens the door, one hand holding a syringe and the other holding the door for my parents. A disgusting look of concern displayed across their faces.

The doctor pats the bed before he silently slips out of the room.

The nurse explains she is administering a drug called “Hadlol” before they start the process of transferring me to the loony bin.

“This will calm you down and maybe help you sleep,” her voice sweet and concerned, making me feel like a burden.

My dad clears his throat stepping in front of my mom as usual. He has always had the habit of seeming above her. Quieting her.

My eyes begin to feel heavy.

“We will call every day. We care about you and we are doing this for you,” my dads voice is cold.

They are doing this for themselves. Shipping me off to be someone else’s problem. Before I can open my mouth to make a sarcastic comment, the sedative takes over and I fall asleep.