I texted one of my closest friends, “Hey, have a minute?”

I never text her in the middle of the day, so she instantly called, knowing it was serious. I could only bear to tell her that I “needed to go somewhere”. She leapt into action and sent me options. She even offered to drive me, but I couldn’t take her up on that. I’d lie for her sake, to protect her.

It started storming just as I pulled up to the hospital. Not just storming, but a torrential downpour.

I walked into a place that looked like a cozy nursing home, with a fire roaring and a welcoming front desk.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here for a consultation.”

I could read the surprise on her face. I was alone. Well-put together, still dressed from work in a dress, leggings and cardigan. I was calm. But inside, I knew I had to check myself in, or I wouldn’t make it through the night.

She handed me a bag to put my belongings in. My phone, my Apple watch, my wallet, my keys. She led me back to a little room– three chairs, a canvas strongly bolted to the wall, a TV behind glass and a table with a box of tissues.

“Take off your shoes, please… take them in with you. Someone will be with you shortly.”

I picked up my boots and carried them over to a chair where I could see the little sliver of hallway outside. My anxiety makes me cold, despite it being July, so I wrapped my sweater tighter and curled up in the chair like this wasn’t a mental hospital, but my best friend’s living room.

My intake consultant was young, nice, seemingly normal. Too normal for this situation. First, there was the paperwork, then the questionnaires. Including suicide.

I let the internal monologue play, “be brave. you need help. come clean about it all.”

So, I told her. The notes I’d written my kids and friends. The method I’d chosen. The location I’d chosen. All of it. Every detail I’d never been able to share with anyone.

Once we finished the paperwork, she left me to consult the psychiatrist on call. She came back several minutes later.

“The psychiatrist thinks you should stay. And I agree with her. So, are you going to stay… voluntarily?”

I cautiously replied, “yes.”