I remember the way I felt when I decided to die

When I decided that I knew better than whomever had created me

The appeal of that cold breeze of death that promised to take me far away, anywhere but here, to be anyone but me 

The weight of my existence left me feeling heavy 

The burden of guilt

I felt guilty for continuing to breathe 

I felt my time was up and I was wasting away at a child-like sense of false hope

Stuck inside the bottomless void that is my mind, I spiraled uncontrollably downwards 

Repeated notions echoed their way throughout 

Screaming that I am worthless, unlovable, and disgusting 

My rebuttals were muted by their persistent intensity 

The irony of using the very medication that was intended to aid my healing to end my life 

My attempt landed me not in the hands of the cold breeze, but rather in the hands of the emergency room

A bed with no sheets, a room with no chairs, a camera in the corner. I am watched

Interestingly, I felt not cared for, but punished

Treated like a criminal, locked away…forced to get better

Grouped together with my peers, but that's not veracious 

I am not like them. The staff assure me that they don’t know how to help me, I am different 

Day after day, I am sick 

The neutral walls of the hospital become familiar to me

The deafening sounds of silence, as I am left with my own thoughts, become like music to my lonesome mind 

They feed me chemicals that are designed to rewire my brain

Fool it into wanting to survive 

It doesn’t work

They sit me with trained professionals who aim to show me new perspectives

It doesn't work

So what did? 

How do I find myself back in the outside world? 

Away from my neutral-walled, deafeningly silent, prison? 

Butterflies fill my stomach as I brace myself to inform you that I do not have an answer 

I am not well

I am still sick 

Still I find myself gasping for air in a room full of oxygen 

I am not well

But I am better.

-Hailey Partridge