The first time I needed to go to the hospital for mental health reasons, I was in my early 20s and I was scared. I didn’t know what to expect or what was going to happen.
I had nearly no familiarity with talking openly to anyone about my inner workings, let alone to strangers. Eventually, you, the doctor, commenced with asking me what was wrong.
I didn’t know how to respond. I froze while searching for my words. And that’s when you said “it.” “Did your boyfriend break up with you?” I stared back bewildered, and eventually replied: “I don’t have a boyfriend.” You: “Oh, is that why you’re sad?” Me, in disbelief: “… No.” If this was the only interaction I had like this that day, I probably could have lived with it, but it didn’t stop with you.