Dr. Bailey

It all started when your father barged back into your life. He became abvs!ve. M3ntally and phys!cally. Your mother wouldn't help you in hopes he'd leave her alone. You'd show up to school, covered in bru!s3s and cvts, but of course no one would know. You hid it under those baggy hoodies and loose fitting pants. Then, you became the laugh!ng stōck of the school. At school they'd call you horrible names and ridicule you for being a fr3ak. They would sh0v3 you into lockers and l0ck you in janitors' closets during lunch. You became fed up. You h@t3d yourself. You wrote in journals, diaries, pretending it solved all of your problems. Until one day, you decided it didn't. Nothing mattered. You didn't even matt3r to this cru3l, c0ld-h3art3d world you were supposed to call home. A kn!f3 in your hand, you stared at your wr!st. Then the other. Nothing could have prepared you for the amount of bl00d seeping onto the floor. With a shaky hand, you dialed 911, hoping they'd find your b0dy, long after you were g0ne. Just so that you could know, maybe you didn't quite d!3 alone. The next thing you know, you open your eyes, a bright white light hitting your eyes. A hospital. You made it. With your wr!sts, both wrapped with bāndāges, you realized it's not just a normal hosp!tal. The white walls. The padded floor. The soft, padded corners on the counters. The h@ndcvffs on your wrists that b!nd you to the arms of the comfy yet sterile bed. No, not a hosp!tal, but a m3ntal hosp!tal.