I fought with all my will. One thing about me—I'm strong when it counts. They felt that. I swung my fist, just hoping to hit one of their faces. Just one. Anything to fight whatever was happening. Whatever they felt threatened enough by to drag me like... well, an animal. And it was an animalistic interaction. My autonomy, my sense of being, my sense of worth, my sense of hope—all diminished. I had been sexually assaulted on two occasions, but this violated me in degrees that bring tears to my eyes. I imagine another young girl fighting right now, just like me, begging for mercy. Begging to be treated as if she is real. Begging them to just please shoot her with the sedative so her body will stop swinging, begging her instincts to stop signaling danger. Each sign of distress is another day. Another day. Another fucking day. I was dragged approximately 30 feet, feeling every inch of the drag under the stares of the other patients. Now who is the craziest here? I didn’t see them do this to another patient to such an extremity, but don’t confuse that for a lack of mistreatment toward others. This is where evil lives. Dystopian. Fucking sick. I had almost given up, having fought all my fight, when I heard a deep voice: “TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER NOW!” And they did. I had half a strap wrapped around one leg, in the process of being tied to the bed. My hospital gown had already been riding up since I woke up—around 6:00 to 7:15 in the morning. If I'd already shown my body then, what was this? They all recoiled into what I could only assume were hot molten caves in literal hell. I'm not sure how far that went or which particular staff members were involved. But I do know it was the most dehumanizing, awful, and disgustingly shameful moment that came over me as I sat there—hair mangled, exposed—with one leg recoiled while my hands scrambled to unfasten a strap a staff member was trying to undo. Just anything to claim some dignity... as if there were any left. I pulled my legs tight to my chest, red from the cold, and I fucking bawled. I was left alone in that room to have a moment. That was the most grace I got from any of them. A woman—I don't remember her name—came in and asked if she could speak with me. Looking back, it's so notable that she had the basic human awareness to ask for permission after such a terrifying, clear violation. This is the worst trauma I carry. This is the worst thing that could happen to a person. To someone who had no will to begin with—losing whatever shreds they had left when they were simply trying to find connection, love, and validating words of affirmation and belief that you are... okay just the way you fucking are.
