English Assignment - Personal Narrative

I wrote The following assignment for my college English class (Duel Enrollment). It speaks a voice I feel some people near to hear.

 
!! CW: DESCRIPTION OF POLICE, MENTAL HOSPITALS, POOR MENTALITY ETC !!  ! ! !  !

When I was 13, the world felt like an extreme whirlwind of emotions. During one of these internal storms, I found myself in a situation that would leave a mental scar on me for years to come. What began as a normal day at home instantly shifted into a depressive episode, leaving me with a racing heart and a broken mind trying to make sense of it all. Within hours, I found myself being transported from the only place I knew as home by officers meant to “ensure my safety.” The destination: a mental hospital. 

The journey began with a very quiet uneasy feeling.I remember the stern faces of the officers, their presence rattling my already weak mind and body. My parents looked insanely vexed, wondering what the hell was going on, an exchange that only added to my corrupted mindset and anxiety. I felt like a prisoner, restrained not by handcuffs, but by an emotional weight pressing against my chest, my head pounding with overstimulation. As the officers guided me into their car, I felt a wave of depression come over me, the voices in my head whispering that I “should’ve gone through with it.” The officer driving said, “Tell them everything, they’ll help you with your situation.” His words at the time, reassured me.

When we arrived at the mental hospital, the air was thick with an eerie silence, ironic considering the noise in my mind. The dimly lit room stretched out in front of me as if it were a maze, filled with liminal furniture and cold, clinical-like walls.  This place felt like another planet, echoing with the sounds of staff running around and distant conversations. However, amidst the sterile, already horrific environment, I  heard a piercing scream by a woman in distress. It sent absolute shivers down my spine, causing me to panic further. “Who was she? How long has she even been here?” I wondered. 

The woman’s cries caused the air to become rather scarring. I could see her, a figure squirming around screaming and struggling. My heart raced just thinking about what anguish she might be in. Her screams became a painful reminder of my internal battle. Each echo of her voice felt like another physical representation of what I felt. 

In that waiting room, entranced by my intense emotions at just 13 I contemplated the meaning of madness and despair. I realized then, that this mental hospital wasn’t a place of treatment or a sanctuary, no no no, it was a place of reflection of the battles we have within ourselves. As I watched the woman, she wasn’t a representation of fear, but a representation of struggle. As agonizing as her screaming became, I realized that her pain was simply just a representation of what many of us in that room experienced every day. It is a shared human experience. 

When I left the mental hospital, my heart was still heavy with the memory of the woman’s cries of anguish and distress. At 13 I stepped into a world where emotions were raw and uncensored. Many of those emotions that were felt were uncared for by society, unlooked at, and untreated. That moment of physical representation of suffering stayed with me. It taught me that strength arises from vulnerability teaching us healing. Today I carry that lesson with me, using it as a compass through darkness.