Alone in my car, an empty McDonald's bag on the floor as I'm staring outside a mental facility was clearly not my finest moment, but my most defining moment. I was drunk on sadness, actually paralyzed by fear and had an actual haze over my red eyes and nothing could help relieve it. My mom had called earlier in the day to set up an appointment, which I had no clue about it. People who were probably about to jump off a literal cliff needed a certain time to come get help from 1,000 miles away. I had missed class the entire week before I dragged myself out of bed and thought to go get help. I had my usual therapist on campus the week before, but found no help and no use in walking the 1/4 mile to see her and tell her I want to die.

I spent eight hours trapped in a room, given meals like every patient there and talked to by three different people who probably only took up a quarter of the time. One panic attack left me frozen, my usual reaction and heaving for an hour and a half. They don't give medicine till I'm an actual patient, so I was stuck with my typical techniques. I remember being embarrassed at some point too. I didn't know why I allowed myself to get to this point. I thought I didn't need this. I demanded I was fine later on and tried storming off to which I met a security guard who said laws wouldn't allow that. I was fine. It had been 30 minutes since I last cried.

They suggested I stay for at least a week, but because of the outrageous prices of private mental health facilities and my father's protest, I found myself at his home that night. They had recommended strongly about though that I go to partial hospitalization, which is a step lower than the in patient treatment. Eight hours a day, seven days a week, you go through group, individual, group and maybe a seminar. My father, a big nonbeliever in psychiatric treatment, refused. I told him about my state earlier in the morning. How I couldn't move without crying and was about to ram his car into others, he said fine.

I was terrified, I ate lunch alone by myself, outside or in my car. I couldn't talk in group therapy, I thought nothing would come of this, but treatment is scary. It's supposed to be scary. It's not a vacation to get away from things. It's not a simple program that cures you, it's work. I heard others bravely tell their stories, fears and hopes while I contemplated even talking. Within only a few days, the opening up of others affects you. I was moved to talk and share, no matter how scared I was or how big or little my problems were. I realized that people can't undermine my feelings. I don't need to apologize.

One of the first day in group, we were asked what we liked about ourselves. The people who had been there longer said many things where new people like myself said nothing. This guy I befriended sitting next to me raised his hand and said, “Everyone who is here and new is brave. You guys had the courage to say you need help.” I carried that through the rest of the treatment, sitting on it, wondering if I was actually brave. Was not admitting I was fine, brave? Was sitting here, watching my parents' wallets burn because I was about to break, brave?

I've always dealt with the definition of brave because I never know what constitutes as brave. Saving people's lives is brave. Doing work in foreign areas to help people, even if it puts you at risk is brave. I didn't register the fact that staying alive when you want to shut off your mind and body is brave and I don't think a lot of people do either.

With one in four adults experience severe mental health issues, it's not taken as seriously as it needs to be. It's seen as weak, I used to have a hard time just admitting I went to therapy, let alone a mental facility. What if we were to treat a mental illness just as a physical one? That's not to trivialize an illness, but to take both seriously. To be healthy in every way you could possibly want? To make yourself happy and okay? Is that a brave thing?

I have to remind myself of how brave I am even when I'm sitting, in bed, crying and unable to move. I guess you could say I'm just saving my own life.