I came here alone. I snuck out and I walked the five miles to this pastel hellscape that is Westwillow Behavioral Hospital. To only be greeted by my father’s car waiting in the parking lot. My father was always one for a good mystery, but this time, he knew exactly where I was going. After we silently glanced at each other, we walked into the hospital lobby together. Not uttering a single word.

The hospital’s lobby was quiet, no one but us were there to be admitted. As my father started talking to the receptionist, the receptionist gave me a little white bracelet with my name and information on it. It wasn't my first time here.

Maybe after a few minutes of sitting down on the abnormally heavy and uncomfortable chairs, I notice an ambulance pull into the hospital with a car following behind it. The driver of the car looks worried and sleepy. When the ambulance stops, an EMT climbs out of the vehicle and walks towards the back of the ambulance. With a single fluid movement, the EMT opens the back doors of the ambulance and with the help of the other EMT inside of the vehicle, they pull out a stretcher. I recognize the person in the stretcher, Emily Jeffcoat. We weren’t really acquaintances, we never really talked, but I at least knew she was in my English class at school.

After the stretcher squeezed into the lobby, the receptionist was already asking questions.

“Can she walk?”

Was her first question.

“Oh yeah, she tried to run away from us the first time.” Responded the EMT.

Emily hopped off the stretcher after the seat belts and other safety restraints were removed. She walked over to a seat across from mine.

Emily broke the silence after maybe 5 seconds, “Wait- Are you in my English class? Mrs. Coleman’s class? Fifth period?"

I nodded silently.

“You probably didn’t recognize me…” Laughed Emily. “…I usually have makeup on.”

“I had an idea that was you.”

I laughed

She got up and sat back down onto the chair next to me.

“So- Are you being admitted?”

asked Emily

“Yep…”

There was silence.

“It’s my 15th time in a hospital.”

"I've lost count of how many I was in before.”

“I was in and out of these places since I was 11.”

To my knowledge, Emily was 17.

Emily was wearing what appeared to be paper scrubs. I knew they couldn’t be paper but they sure looked like it.

Just as we settled down into our chairs the best we could, my name was called by a nurse.

“Well, this is where I leave you, see you later, I guess.”

“See you soon, Margo.”

The nurse lead me over to some double doors with a small metal detector in front of them. My father and I passed through it without a problem after giving most of our stuff to the receptionist.

Just as me, my father, and the nurse turned the corner, I heard a loud scream. It was Emily.

With the nurse looking back towards the waiting room where Emily was still screaming, Me and my father rushed into yet another smaller waiting room.

“Someone will be with you in just a second.”

Announced the nurse.

I hated when people screamed, especially people who I knew.

“Did you know her? I saw you talking to her." My father asked.

“Kind of…”

I responded.

The waiting room the nurse led me to was cramped and poorly lit. But, for some reason, it was comforting, and it was the most comfortable of the two waiting rooms. After the screaming stopped, another nurse entered my room.

“I’m here to take your vitals. I’m Ida by the way.”

Nurse Ida seemed to be someone who was tough, but caring in her own special way. She wheeled in a small machine that was used to record my vital signs. It beeped loudly as Ida began pushing certain buttons.

“Hold your arm out.”

I followed her orders and lifted my left arm out. She wrapped the fabric cuff around my shaking arm and told me to relax. After I finally relaxed, she pressed a button on the machine only to be ambushed by another loud beep. But, after the beep, the fabric cuff began to inflate and clenched tightly around my arm.

“Huh, 139 over 92… you must be anxious.”

“Isn’t anything over 90 unhealthy?

My father asked

“Technically, but here, we tend to be a bit more flexible on it a patient’s first time. They tend to be anxious and that increases your blood pressure.”

“Oh, OK.”

“But, if it stays high like this, we might be able to do something.”

After Ida finished taking my vitals and writing the numbers down onto a small pad of paper, she left the room taking the beeping machine with her.

"She seemed like a tough old broad."

Laughed my dad, trying to lighten the mood a touch.

"No kidding."

The screaming began again. Growing louder with every second this time. Emily was being forced down the hallway and she was passing our room. I cracked open the door and I saw her, being carried and screaming down the hall towards an open room. It was terrifying seeing her like that. I hated seeing anyone in such distress. The screaming stopped after maybe 2 minutes.

Shortly after the screaming ceased, a willowy, female therapist walks into the room after knocking on the door twice in rapid succession. She introduces herself as Rosalind to my father and me. Rosalind has my father wait in an adjacent room to ours.

“So Margo, Why are you here at Westwillow this evening?”

“Frankly, I don't remember. ”

“Well you must be here for a reason, right?”

Rosalind short-handed some words on her paper

“I’m… sad.” muttered Margo

“The receptionist told me that you told her that you walked all the way here from… Where was it…? Eastglen?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Wow, that is a good hour walk, you must be exhausted.”

“I’m ok.” I lie. In truth, I was aching both physically and mentally. I needed help and I didn't know how else to get it other than Westwillow.

“Why did you walk all that way here?”

"I was assuming that my father wouldn't take me given my past experiences with hospitals like these."

"What kind of experiences?"

"I-"

"What do you do while you are in the hospital, Margo?"

I really didn't want to tell her anything, but she kept insisting I tell her.

"I have sex with other patients, my father does know that I do that sometimes hence why I snuck out."

I made the mistake of shucking off my leather jacket when I walked into the room. If I didn’t, Rosalind wouldn’t have noticed the long red scars stretching across my bare forearms.

“Do you cut?”

Rosalind announced while pointing to the scars with her pen.

“Only when I need to.”

“When would you say that you need to?”

“Whenever I have… thoughts.”

“What kind of thoughts? Suicidal?”

There were a few beats of silence before I spoke again.

“No-! I mean…”

“What do you mean, Margo?”

“I want to die, sure, but doesn't everybody? Doesn't everybody sometimes question if they should overdose on a certain medication, or slit their wrists until they pass out? Tell me Rosalind, Doesn't everybody feel that way?”

Rosalind clicked her pen closed after writing a lengthy sentence on her paper.

“No, Margo. Not everyone feels that way. It's actually very unhealthy for you to be thinking about death and suicide in the way you do. You are going to be admitted tonight.”

“Great-” I mutter while burying my face in my hands.