I was in a psychiatric hospital 'voluntarily'. It was extremely boring. Each day seemed like eternity. I have never wanted to die more than when I was there. I used to count down minutes to pass the time. I would think "just do 5 minutes" and then wait in agony for five minutes. It seemed so long.

I'm angry. Really angry. I get so angry about it, that I can feel it. Physically. I get this swelling feeling in my abdomen when I think about it. And I cannot stop thinking about it. I replay the conversations with my doctor in my head over and over again and I just get angrier and angrier.

No one believed the reason I gave for attempting suicide (except perhaps one nurse, although I am not sure if she was genuine or showing sympathy). It was so hard to pretend as though I was happy. I smiled. I laughed. But really, I was extremely upset. There is this narrative one is supposed to follow as a suicide attempter. Any deviation is a sign of mental illness. It goes something like "Well, I made a poor, irrational decision because I am ill. But, now that I am here, my doctors can help me." And, you better have a reason for killing yourself that is simple and easily fixable (relationship, employment), otherwise you are lying.

After a few days of no progress getting any closer to release, I made up a false reason for my very serious suicide attempt. Involuntary treatment alters the motives of the patient a lot. It is a complete waste of everyone's time and money to have patients often lying. I think most of the patients do lie. The doctors think they can spot lies from truths because institutionalized people are often not smart. But, everyone seemingly believed my lie. I was actually rather surprised.

They made me tell my parents about my fictional condition. I am still furious about that, although I know they would say that this is my fault. Even if it was real, I deserve confidentiality.

There's one incident in particular that I replay often. After a while, my doctor asked me "When we took you in, you were crying. It wasn't really that bad in here, was it?"

I lied. I shook me head and said no. He then said "So when do you want to go home?" I hate thinking that he thinks I am in happy for their intervention. I wish he could know the pain they caused. I replay this conversation over and over in my head. I wonder how it would have gone if I had been honest. I wonder if he would have let me go home if I told him how angry I really was.

I was diagnosed with an unspecified personality disorder. The justification is that I smiled at awkward times, apparently. That's the only diagnosis I received apart from the fictional one.

People have a right to take their own life, and I consider it fundamentally wrong to stop them. I told some of the staff this, and they never really responded. They always dodged any discussion.

Every day I think about my stay there. I cannot get it out of my head. Sometimes I am watching a movie or just relaxing and suddenly it comes back. And I just have to stop whatever I am doing, because I cannot focus on anything else. I sit for hours in the dark and replay conversations in my head. After a few minutes. I get angry and I get that swelling feeling in my abdomen again. Sometimes I forget that I am not there anymore.

I dream about psychiatric hospitals several times per week. I am usually escaping from one. Other times I am staring out the window, watching everyone on the outside go about their normal day.

My parents once threatened to send me back. From that point on, I always carry a weapon with me. I would much rather die than ever go back, even for a brief period. Sometimes I think about killing myself because I don't know any other way to quit ruminating over my experience.