I found myself in a stark white room, itchy from the pilled fabric chair. Sitting next to me was a man in a hospital gown, attempting to pick off and eat the chipped linoleum.
I glanced down at my right thigh, embarrassed and disillusioned by the foot-long bandage. This was rock bottom. I was committed to a mental health institution for a 72-hour suicide watch.
Fresh-faced and hopeful, I moved to the sunshine state when I was 18, not even enough time for my graduation cap to reach the ground.Read more on themighty.com