The car they put me in had a cage, like a cop car.
After my final counselor’s visit, I was sent to the ER, where I spent literally a day waiting to find out what would happen next.
The worst part was when my dad drove 3 hours to visit me there.
I am so thankful for it, don’t get me wrong. He called around and found the best psychiatric program to send me to.
He kept me company when I was bored out of my mind. He brought me Taco Bell when I hadn’t eaten all day.
But the tears in his eyes will never leave me.
This was his first experience with serious mental illness. He looked confused and scared by my rambling ideas about books and my plans for my social network website.
He didn’t really seem to understand what was going on, he just knew it wasn’t good. He wanted more than anything to make sure I was ok, but I had nothing to offer him.
I wasn’t ok, and it was scary to let him see that.
I didn’t want to let any of my family see my problems. Ever. But some things get really hard to hide.
At the end of it all, they took me away in a car that made me feel like a prisoner. My dad said he would see me there, he would see me soon. But it was the middle of the night and I knew he’d need to go to sleep before he could come visit.
So he said his goodbyes and I climbed into the secured car, and I stared out the window into the darkness until I arrived at the beginning of my recovery.