People other than me seem to have an easier way of choosing not to care what others think - but gosh… connection & knowing u have someone in ur corner, having their validation that you’re allowed to maintain your freedom its a need. A need to not feel your insides dying. After seeking help.,That’s the only mission you’ll have again.. fear to have to “get help” again. I was never the same after seeking mental health professionals help, hospital-level care i volunteered for and thats what i got. Our mental health system, really the entire medical system, but mostly mental health is so ass backwards!! Its amazing that one small act of kindness can change a world or even save a life. It can do a lot more than lithium. You see, We are all dominos that fall into each other until the last is you. The premise of this entire story is not to tell you about evils, but to tell you that the world isn’t black and white. There’s gray, and it matters. Because not one person is evil, not one person is good, but one moment can be evil and one moment can be good. Energy has always been my language. So, in the moment I share next, one human—with personal experiences completely unrelated to me, experiences that created this version of her—said three words that made me decide I would die before I ever actively sought help. I will never allow myself to break enough to ask for human help again. Her energy was unmatched—the most demented and twisted fucked up evil shit and look accompanying the words to start to a moment that I will never be able to forget. Even if I want to. So I am crying. Gosh am I crying. As I sit there, sobbing, another new voice comes into my little pity party: “You need help.” I look up. A young Black woman named Noel, a staff member in the hospital, said that to me. I looked down again at my grippy socks. “I will get her,” I said. “You don’t fucking say that. What is your fucking problem?” Then I stood up. I walked to the counter and asked them for a phone call. They said no. I’ve always been very knowledgeable about my rights, so next I requested to file a grievance, which I wanted to make clear I was entirely entitled to in that situation, and had a right to have. When they told me no, I began to get frustrated. Before I could get any more hysterical or panicked, six grown adults drag me, in a sick and animal-like way, as I fought for my actual life, approximately thirty feet away to a private room with one singular bed in the middle and straps on both arms and legs. I’m still fighting. I try to punch one of them. The thing about when people are wrestling with you, it doesn’t matter what it’s about—as a human being, your only instinct is to fight back. And like HELLL I FOUGHT.
