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The second step of recovery, on being involuntarily hospitalized

Tok! Tok! Tok!
TOK! TOK! TOK!
TOK! TOK! TOK!

The knocking only got louder, I could tell it was not the GRT, Andras. It was a monday evening, and I had spent 10 days without leaving my room, without eating or doing any hygienic activities. I barely drank water, usually in the dead of the night when everyone was asleep.
MIT is a school that never sleeps, so it was quite hard to find that time when everyone was asleep, but I had mastered that art.

I hadn’t checked my emails since the wednesday before because I knew the GRT, S^3, and my professors would reach out. I did not want to see that people were worried about me, this would make my situation real and more distressing.

I knew things were bad when my dad called and I did not take it. I watched the phone ring, and then closed my eyes wishing it to stop. The only person I usually talked to, my little sister, was so desperate she sent me an email- she doesn’t usually use email.

Tok! Tok! Tok!
TOK! TOK! TOK!
TOK! TOK! TOK!

BAM!!!
My door was propped open. I knew immediately it was MIT police. I had always wondered what they would have done if they found a lifeless body. My heart sank because they found a starved, sleep deprived and depressed hollow being I had turned into. However, I still tried to assure them I was fine.

They had called an ambulance, and we waited for it. Even though I had insisted I could walk myself to the ambulance, I had a lot of trouble going down the stairs. I was so tired and sad. In that moment, I just didn’t know what my life was turning into.

I thought I would be taken to MIT medical and then go back to MacGregor, and I would try to pick up the pieces of what remained of my existence.

Instead, I was taken to Mass General Hospital. They took my vitals, and everything was just terrible. My blood sugar was half the normal rate, I had lost 30 pounds, and my heart rate was extremely high.

I couldn’t meet with a psychiatrist until 2 a.m because they had to bring up my blood sugar and increase my fluids.

I broke down when I met the psychiatrist. I told him almost everything, of course I kept the most horrid details to myself. To this time, no one really knows what goes on inside my head. He was nice though, and I felt safe. He told me I had bipolar disorder.

My mind was a blur, it was finally confirmed that my mind was messed up. My mind is the second thing I love most about me, but this made me question everything I have ever done in my life.

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