My mental health journey has been difficult, to say the least. I have always struggled with the meaning of life since I was in high school, but university definitely left me feeling more lost and confused. One thing I learned from my recent therapist is that your childhood shapes who you are as a person, whether you’re conscious of it or not. I did not realize how much my environment has affected who I am today… which is someone who is always scared of abandonment and has a constant need for reassurance. Nevertheless, I want to share the details of how I ended up in the hospital and the emotions I experienced along the way.

I endured a traumatic experience in the summer of 2024, driven by significant challenges, which ultimately led to my hospitalization. During this trying time, I grappled with overwhelming emotions, feeling trapped within my own mind and yearning for relief from my pain. The conflict between my desire for support and my fears of vulnerability created a tumultuous internal battle, making it difficult to ask for the help I desperately needed.

I genuinely wanted to end my life on January 31st, 2025 —no particular reason, no significance behind the date. From the fall of 2024 up until then, I had been casually dropping hints to the people around me, joking that I wouldn’t make it past that day. Because I said it so lightly, almost offhandedly, most people didn’t know how to react. But when January arrived, I think the consistency of my words, combined with my worsening mental state, started to make people genuinely concerned.

My thought process was simple. I knew there were people in my life who cared about me. I understood that my death would bring them pain and grief. But I was so consumed by my own suffering that none of that mattered—I just wanted the pain to stop. On top of that, I couldn’t shake the constant feeling that I was a burden, that I didn’t deserve to be here. The experience I went through in the summer of 2024 only reinforced those thoughts, leaving me feeling unwanted and worthless.

On January 30th, 2025, the hospital’s crisis team showed up at my door for a wellness check. I wasn’t entirely surprised, yet seeing them there still caught me off guard. My coworker friends had mentioned that they voiced their concerns about my mental state to upper management, and management had even reached out to ask if there was anything they could do to help. I didn’t say much—just that I was dealing with personal stuff. After speaking with the crisis team, they decided to “form” me under the Mental Health Act, meaning a doctor could legally detain me for a psychiatric evaluation if I was deemed a risk to myself or others. They did give me the option to go admit myself in the hospital or they will have to call the police and have them escort me.

Long story short, my mom was confused and worried—she hadn’t fully realized the state of my mental health. That night, my cousin and friends went for dinner, then accompanied me to the hospital. A lot was happening all at once, but if there’s one thing I took away from that night, it’s how grateful I am for my best friends and cousins who stood by me throughout my time in the hospital. Somewhere along the way, something in my mind clicked—I finally understood that people in my life truly valued me in their lives, and that my pain wasn’t just my own. It hurt them too.

If I had to name the people I’m truly grateful for from this experience, it would be (in no particular order): Dominic, Olivia, Mandy, Amy, Angela, Jenny, Tanny, and Tommy. And of course, I’ll always be grateful for my parents—but they’re my parents, after all. Loving me unconditionally is kind of in the job description, haha.

I plan to share more of my reflections from my time in the hospital, but for now, this is what I’ll leave you with. I’m feeling better than I did before, although I still have moments when I struggle with feelings of hopelessness. I’m actively working through it, and I remain hopeful for my healing journey.