"During the month of April you were admitted to ward, on a level 3. You stayed for 3 months and completed all your therapy sessions. Your willingness for group therapy was mild. You refused to take medications. You were restrained 8 times total during your stay. Is this correct?" 

"Your psychiatrist sent over your diagnostic sheet. You were diagnosed with Bipolar 1 Disorder, SPD, OCD, Anxiety Disorder, Paranoia Disorder, and Schizophrenia. Your medications during the 3 month stay are stated in your file." 

"Your treatment options were stated to you. Do you need me to go over them again?"

"In the month of September you were admitted a week of ward, on a level 4 for a psychosis episode. You were given a dosage of tranquilliser to restrain your behaviour. During your week stay you had two cases of misconduct. All charges were dropped in the case of mental distress."

"Today you are being admitted for 9 weeks, on a level 3. All your rights will be stated to you. Your treatment plan will be worked out by your therapist. Any refusal of medications or treatment will further your stay. You will be handed over to the authorities on the case of escape. You will have security outside your room until you are proven safe and trusted. There will be no use of electronics. Any electronics on your person will be locked away until your time has finished."

"You should've killed yourself when you had the chance Aleks" 

"Now you're locked up." 

"You deserve it though." 

"Pathetic." 

My eyes skimmed over the words written on the papers. None of it felt important. Everything around me felt like a nightmare that was too real and too much. My mind was working on instinct. My ability was limited as I signed my name at the bottom of the admission paper, as I've done many times before. The words read the same as last time. The reminder of an open wound that has yet to close. There was several orange Rx containers sitting on the heavy oak desk surrounded by worn folders. The name was noticeable. 

They were for me. 

I desperately wished I was having another nightmare, where things would go weird and then I'd suddenly wake in my bed away from the woman sitting in-front of me, away from the pill containers sitting on the desk, away from the papers that stated too many truths. 

I wanted to scream. 

I wanted to run. 

This was not a nightmare. This was a torturous reality. As I stood up from the hard chair, the world became darker. Rounder. My vision turned but another being taunted me at my shoulder. My knees suddenly felt weak. Feeling the planet shake beneath my feet. The room was warped, dark. The woman said nothing, or from my view nothing was ever said. 

It only lasted a second. 

I extended my hand, where a gracefully aged hand met in the middle. I breathed out a 'thank you' for her time, but my thank you was more of a threat than gratitude. I wished I would be going home. I wished I could flop on top of my sheets and sleep until death settles into my bones. Instead a nurse came into the small office to lead me back out to the white tiles and trough the metal gate. 

"You got yourself in this mess Aleks." 

"Your fault." 

"Always is." 

"Should've offed yourself yesterday." 

"Pathetic." 

Pathetic.

At this point I knew I was crying. The fear was bubbling in my stomach and I was sure I'd vomit. My hands were shaking as I kept my eyes steady on the passing of white tiles below my sneakers. I've seen this hallway so many times. I've been in these rooms so many times. Each time it felt brand new. The fear felt new, completely encasing my entire being. 

9 weeks. 

"Get used to white walls." 

"How mental can you be for being here again Aleks?" 

"You're so weak." 

9 weeks.