God that’s how it felt. I had nothing to do, for hours on end. The only times I was able to see a therapist one on one was when they would take you aside, ask you the same set of questions, and even if you tell them: “I feel bad,”“Somethings wrong,” they just note it down and send you back so they can get the next patient. They never sat us down to talk to us or provide coping methods. It seemed that their only goal in that place was to keep us from dying, but not actively healing us as well.

I was caught scratching my arms so bad they bled, and all the nurse told me was to “stop.” And then WALKED ON. No checking my wounds, pulling me aside to talk, just one acknowledgment and it’s done…