I'd tried killing myself. Unfortunately, I failed. They sent me to the nuthouse and I couldnt take anyone with me.
I was scared so I never spoke to anyone, but there was a boy who'd just started working there. He didn't do much, I think he was just a volunteer. He was the same age as me so he couldn't have been working there as a job. He always got me water and I was the first patient he saw everyday. He never pushed me to speak or look at him and I think that's what made me so comfortable around him. He let me go at my own pace.
After three months in the hospital, they decided that in order to get me to feel better, they needed me out in lounge more often. They had to carry me there, screaming and crying and kicking as much as I could. They locked my door to my room and I couldn't go back.
I sat in the corner crying, with my knees to my chest and my head down. I couldn't believe they'd do that to me. I thought they wanted me to get better. They didn't even let me grab my journal. I had nothing to do and no one to talk to. I was terrified. Ryan wouldn't even know where I was, so I wouldn't even be able to see him. I was devastated.
