Sonder: Youth Mental Health Stories of Struggle & Strength | Page 41

A Chance to learn
by Kay
When I was fourteen years old, I was hospitalized for suicidal ideations and self-
harm. My official diagnosis is Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety
Disorder. I naïvely believed that my time in the acute behavioral facility had cured
me of my afflictions. But during my hospitalization I had focused on discharge rather
than treatment, so I hadn’t learned anything about how to handle my illnesses. I fell
into a hard low some months later and tried to take my own life by drinking laundry
detergent. Twenty-two hours hooked up to machines passed, my parents took turns
between visiting me, working, and counseling my traumatized siblings. From there, I
was transferred to an acute care mental health facility, but this time I wasn’t allowed
discharge until there was an after-acute-care-plan. That was determined to be
admittance into a residential mental health treatment center in Texas. I didn’t think I
needed the help, but I thought I owed it to my family to prove that I was committed to
getting better, so I went voluntarily.
The hardest thing that I have ever had to do was hug my mom and dad goodbye and
let go not knowing when I would get to hug them again.  I was told that if I have good
behavior, and show improvements in my treatment, I would see them again, soon. There
were scheduled calls twice a week, twenty minutes long each. I couldn’t hide behind my
parents this time--my health was now my responsibility, and it taught me a lot.
In the first couple weeks at the residence, my anxiety level skyrocketed. I couldn’t
talk to any of the other girls in my own unit because they were on a “community
rebuild” for poor behavior. I was also put on “safety” because of my status as a
newbie. I had to sleep exposed in the dayroom, crack the door when I went to the
bathroom, and I wasn’t allowed outside of the unit. My feet would swing an inch
above the old carpet, my eyes averted as the others got in line to go out. It taught
me that even if the help I get isn’t the help that I think I need, I am not the person to
decide that when I made such poor decisions for myself. The Youth Care Counselors
and therapists there were there to help, and I just needed to accept it. Don’t get me
wrong, there were times that I wanted to ignore the counselors and just do what I
thought was best for me, but the thing that kept me compliant was the mental image
of being home with my family again.
There were horrific moments that I witnessed throughout my treatment. Two peers
had a fight, and some of the other girls tried using distractions to spare me; I was the
youngest. We weren’t allowed to have friends, but I was close to some girls and it hurt
me to watch them break. One girl, ‘H’, learned some horrible things about her family,
she started screaming and wouldn’t stop. ‘A’ tried to escape by running out of the
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