Waiting for Zoloft

After landing in the hospital with suicidal thoughts, a twenty-something provides a surprisingly comic look back at her turbulent week in the psych ward.

Illustration by Gretta Johnson

When I checked myself into a psychiatric emergency room for suicidal thoughts, I didn't expect to spend a week in a mental hospital. Twenty-three years old, I was initially placed in a geriatric mental ward because there was no space for me elsewhere. Later in the week, I got inextricably caught up in some fellow patients' scheme to smoke in a smoking-free hospital. This piece follows my hospitalization and eventual recovery from severe depression.