I went right back to work after getting discharged. It was hard. I was still so depressed all the time and I felt that the new medicine was actually making me more suicidal instead of helping. I waited a few days for things to calm down, and then started planning again.
Being out of work, I would need two more paychecks, one before I bought the ticket. In the meantime, I worked as much as I could, continuing to monitor flight prices.

I needed enough advance notice to take the day off at work. I got as ready as I could, sometimes unable to believe that I was about to go through with this. I watched the documentary “The Bridge”. For the second time. This time I was trying to picture myself there, on the bridge, to see if that was really what I wanted to do, I had a slight fear that I would get up there and then change my mind and be stuck in San Francisco.

I finished the list of what I needed to bring – I didn’t want to forget anything.
-Pair of shorts and a shirt (in case I needed to stay overnight)
-Debit card
-ID
-Phone
-Purse
-Pencil sharpener
-Screwdriver or equivalent (to get the blade out of the pencil sharpener)
-Band-Aids (in case I ended up cutting)
-Pocket tissues
-Pencil (to write my note)
-Paper
-iPod (for Wi-Fi, last entertainment, and music comfort as best as I could)
-Clip (binder clip to hold info in my pocket for when I jumped)
-Plastic bag (to hold identification and phone numbers so the authorities would know who I was and who to notify)
-jacket

I found a flight to leave on September 11, 2013, for $222.30. I was at work a couple day prior to the last day in August where I bought a large gift card across the parking lot at CVS pharmacy, immediately changing the password to my online bank account. I wanted to have extra incase the price jumped up. It didn’t.

September 1, 2013. I purchased the ticket for Wednesday, September 11th. The last day before the price would jump. I picked the best ticket I could find, with the plane departing from BTR at 3:02pm. The downside was the layover in Houston but it couldn’t really be helped. I was at home Sunday morning when I bought the ticket. My mom wouldn’t let me have internet unless I had my computer plugged in in the kitchen. I was smart. I plugged it in, loaded the page. Took it to my room, filled it out, plugged it back in, and completed the purchase.

I talked to the two Spanish people that worked there. I told her, figuring it was safe since they couldn’t speak English. The next day when I got into work I find out that he had bought a ticket in the SAME FLIGHT just to stop me. I was shocked. I had to do something about that too.

I asked to take off work. I went in the office to talk to John. I asked for three days off at the beginning. He looked at me,
“What, are you going to San Francisco?”
I ducked my head.
“Yeah,” I said, not wanting to lie to someone that had been so good to me.
“You seriously bought the ticket?”
I ducked my head again.
“You need to tell your mom before I tell her. You have until your next shift on Thursday.”
It was Tuesday.
My heart leaped into my throat. I panicked.
“Ok.” I said.
I worked my shift, thinking of nothing but how to get out of this one. I had to make that plane. I had to die, it was my only choice. I didn’t want another attempt, I just wanted to go.

I had a whole two days to think about this. I went with my friend the next night. I couldn’t tell her. I just told her that I wasn’t doing that well. By the next morning, I had my plan. It just had to work.

Thursday, September 5, 2013. I walk into work, my heart in my throat. John sees me. We go into the tiny office. He asks me the dreaded question.
“Did you talk to your mom?”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Yeah.”
“What’d he say?” he asks.
I paused, before telling him something like this:
“I told my therapist yesterday and she suggested I tell my parents. Then I went with my friend last night. I told her. She helped me tell my parents. Even though it was almost midnight she stayed with me while I told them. They were mad. My dad was yelling at me. But I bought travel insurance and we’re working on getting the money back for the ticket.”
“Ok.” “I still think I should ask your mom and be like, ‘Hey did Theresa talk to you?’”
My heart leaped into my throat again.
“No! don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because; it would be like poking a stick in a hornet’s nest. She’s already mad at me, and then if she finds out you knew before her, it’ll be even worse.” (at least that part was true)
“Promise you told her?”
I nodded.
“But I still need that Wednesday off because I have a therapy appointment and then I’m going with my friend that night.”
“Ok.” He said.
Then he wrote it on the calendar.
Yes! I am free! I thought. Later that shift, I told John,
“It feels like a huge weight has been taken off of me”.

And it did feel like that. I told the Spanish worker what I told Josh. They also bought my story, and the guy took back his ticket. One more obstacle down for my flight to San Francisco. One more to go.

People and friends at work started hearing about my plan. I lied to everyone, wondering how many more lies I’d have to tell to make it on that plane.

Sunday, September 8, 2013. I went with my friend for what I thought would be the last time. I told her that I was still very depressed and not doing well. She suggested that I talk to my parents. My mom came out and found us sitting in the car in the driveway. My friend told my mom what I told her. I went inside and my parents made me talk. I did what I could to make them seem like I was ok. My dad said something very hurtful, but looking back, I’m sure he didn’t actually mean it. He told me that I couldn’t go with her anymore. I’m guessing because he didn’t want me talking about what was going on with anyone. And he said in these exact words
“I kind of liked it when you did go because the house was more peaceful when you were away.” Emotional pain pierced through my heart.

It will be soon. Forever, I thought. Just give me three more days.

The next morning, Monday, September 9th, I had an appointment with my psychiatrist. That was the last thing. Then I had two more days and I would be gone. The doctor I had at the time wouldn’t see me without my mom in the room. That meant I never talked. My mom told him what she was observing, and how my friend said that I was still really depressed. I asked him point blank if he was going to put me in the hospital.
“Sweetie, I’m not going to put me in the hospital.”
Relief flooded through me. I had made it. Finally. I had only one more day to wait.

I went to work the next day, my usual shift from 11-4. My good friend was there. I asked her if she worked the next day. She said no. I asked if she would do me a big favor. She said it depended on what it was. I asked if she could take me to the school so I could try to see my Spanish teacher. She agreed. I arranged for her to pick me up at the CVS across the parking lot from my job.

That night, when I got home, my mom decided to check my bank account. My heart sped up and I felt weak. She tried to log in. It wouldn’t let her. She asked about it, and I made excuses that I got locked out but I didn’t change the password. The bank was already closed, thankfully, so she couldn’t do anything about it, but said that she would tomorrow. Tomorrow would be too late. I want to bed, breaking into silent tears, emotional pain stabbing my heat. I wanted to pray and ask him to help me go through with it, but I couldn’t. Instead, I said “if this isn’t something I should do, please stop me because I cannot stop myself.” then went on to say “But Only if it is your will, because I don’t want to go on, nor do I deserve to.” I cried myself to sleep that night.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013. The last day. I had made it. After counting down the days, and overcoming all the obstacles that came up, I still had the ticket. My mom dropped me off at work. She told me to have a good day at work. “ok.” I said, and then got out of the car. I walked into the gated enclosure by the back door and sat down on a crate. I waited awhile, grateful that John had the day off. Then I ventured out and crossed the parking lot to CVS.

I grabbed a basket. First, I had to find a back pack, or I figured I would get stopped on the bridge carrying what I needed another way. $20. It was the only one. I had no choice. I put it in the basket, then mentally went down the list. A couple things I had already managed to bring with me. I picked up a small pencil sharpener and a pair of scissors. I already had pocket tissues and a plastic bag with the clip, as well as a pen. I picked up a red notebook without rings. I went and got envelopes so I could mail the note. Then I picked up a TracFone and a 60-minute airtime card, each for $20. The airtime card had double minutes, as did the phone. I figured it would be enough. I added a couple snacks to the cart and went to check out. I thought I would be questioned. I was, but not by the clerk.

My friend from my job came up because I had asked her to meet me there so she could take me to the school. She asked,
“What’s all this?”
“Just stuff,” I said
She asked about the scissors and the sharpen. I cheerfully told her that it was to sharpen pencils and the scissors were to open the phone. She was skeptical, but let me be. My total came to be around $140. I figured it didn’t matter since I would be gone soon anyway.

I went with my friend. She actually had another guy there that worked in the building. I didn’t really want him along, but I couldn’t complain. She took me to the school. Her driving was a bit on the scary side, being 17, but it wasn’t like I wanted to live anyway.

She got to the school and finds a parking spot. I went in and they waved me into the office. I told them I wanted to see Ms. Olsen, but they said the school didn’t allow visitors. I fought tears, wanting to say that I was leaving in a couple hours for San Francisco where I would jump off the Golden Gate Bridge, and that I wanted to see her one more time. But I held my tongue. It was too late for any of that. I walked back to the car. The guy that was with us asked me if I got to see her. I said no, still on the verge of crying. He went into the school. I don’t know what he said, but he came back to the car and told me to get out. I was confused. He told me that they said I could see her until the bell rang. I looked at my watch, which had been timed to the second with the bell. I knew it wasn’t exact anymore, but it was close. I had about 30 seconds. I ran up to the door. When I stepped inside, there she was. But she fussed me for coming to the school, because she had told me through a student I had been friends with that the school didn’t allow visitors. She said she had to go. I was heartbroken, but at least I’d seen her one more time.

I got back in the car and we drove back to where I worked. My friend set up my phone for me, since it couldn’t be done without another phone. I sat in the lobby. She asked if I wanted any food. I shook my head. I was far too upset to even think about food. They went across the parking lot to subway and brought it back and they ate. I just kept silent at the table, gauging when I would have to leave for the airport and pulling up my boarding passes and conformation numbers.
I saw one of the workers holding the phone by the register and motioning for me to come over. I went, with my heart in my throat. I answered. It was my mom. She was mad. I started shaking.
“What were you doing at the school? You weren’t supposed to be there.”
I was shocked. The school had called my parents without me even knowing? I wasn’t even attending the school anymore.
“How did you get there?” She asked.
“Someone took me.”
She kept asking questions. I told her I had to work, I couldn’t be on the phone. She finally let me go. I went back to the table. My friend asked about the phone call and I told her. I was so grateful that I had came back to my job after going to the school. The two people I was with went out to smoke. I stayed. They apparently forgot about me and left.

September 11, 12:33 pm. I logged into yellowcab and booked the taxi after looking up the address of the airport. They set me a notification a few minutes later that I had been assigned a cab. Cab #19. I waited. I saw a yellow taxi pull up in front of the store by the window. Cab #19. I immediately picked up my backpack, walked out the door and climbed confidently into the back seat of the cab on the passenger side.

He was an older guy, possibly someone’s grandparent. He seemed to show concern for someone who looked to be about 15. He asked me if I was going to the airport, I confirmed.
“Where you going?” he asked.
“San Francisco,” I responded before I could think about what I was saying.
“I don’t see any luggage.”
He glanced behind him.
“I guess you do have a backpack there. You going on vacation?”
“Not exactly.” I said, still not thinking.
“You running away?”
“Kind of…” I answered.
He told me to be careful and watch out for people, but didn’t question me further, although I could see his concern. I stared out the window. “Am I really doing this?” I thought. This taxi is taking me to the airport where I’ll fly hundreds of miles away from home and from my family.”I pushed the thoughts out of my head. I didn’t have a choice. I was actually doing this. I was in a state of disbelief, but I knew it was what I had to do.

The cab driver obviously thought I was under 18 because he seemed skeptical they would let me through security. I assured him of my age. He gets most of the way to the airport, and then stops the meter at $28.
“Don’t want to take all of your traveling money.” He said. I thanked him and handed him my card. He let me out under the cover by the main entrance. I climbed out of the cab and he told me to be careful. I was touched.

I walked into the airport and found the ticket counter. I was so afraid of being questioned. Unlike all the other passengers checking in, I had no carry on bag or check baggage. I used my iPod to get the confirmation number, and I typed it into the kiosk. It printed the two boarding passes, and I made my way to the gate – A1. On the way, I stopped at the fountain with trees in the middle, lit by a huge skylight. I sat on the edge and texted my friend from work to let her know I was ok. She said that they had forgotten about me.
“Where are you?” She asked.
“I’m at the airport.” I replied, again not thinking.
“Where are you going?” She asked suspiciously.
Oops. I thought.
“Houston.”
I was true. Just that I then was going to take a connecting flight to San Francisco.
“What’s in Houston?”
“My Aunt.” I assured her I was in a safe place and told her not to worry.
She was still skeptical, but left me alone.

I went through security. Being a small airport, the line was fast. The TSA officer looked at my ID and boarding pass and then at me back and forth several times before finally circling the flight destination and letting me through. I put my stuff on the belt, worrying they were going to search it because of the pencil sharpener and scissors in there, but they didn’t, and I went through like everyone else.
I went to the gate and sat down. There were so many people. I still felt like someone would question me. I was so shut down. I pulled out my note book and started writing my note, surprised that I wasn’t in tears. I think I was too numb. Everything seemed unreal and unbelievable. I had so many mixed emotions. Was I really going through with this? Was I really doing this? I couldn’t think. I only wrote a couple lines before they called for boarding.

I boarded the small plane and went to the very back of the Embraer RJ135 to seat 12C, in the very back against the window. I wanted to disappear. I leaned up against the window trying to make myself as small as possible. It still felt unreal. I was so numb emotionally I couldn’t feel anything. I’m on this plane, and its going to take me hundreds of miles away from home. My dad is supposed to pick me up at work in an hour. I’ll be in Houston. But I have to do this.

The plane pulled away from the gate and taxied to the runway. I was still in a complete state of disbelief. We got to the runway and the pilot gassed the engine. Despite the state of mind I was in, I smiled as the plane accelerated and lifted into the air. I love the feeling the second the wheels come off the ground. “This is it, I thought.” I stared out the window of the tiny plane wondering what would happen next. I felt as if everyone was watching me. I wanted to work on my note, but was too afraid with the person sitting next to me. It was also a short flight, just one hour, and then I would be in Houston. I sat there with my face pressed against the window trying to make sense of everything going through my head. Finally, we started the decent into Houston. The plane landed and taxied toward the gate. I was the last to get off because I was in the very back.

I got off the plane and started to make my way to the next gate. I remembered what I had learned from previous traveling, and followed the signs to the escalator to the “skyway” – the monorail that went to the different terminals of the airport.

I was becoming increasingly distraught. I desperately wanted to talk to someone. That’s when I made the fatal mistake. While I was waiting for the next train, I picked up my phone and called my best friend. She asked where I was, and I was dumb enough to tell her. I had called to tell her goodbye, but it was too early. She told me that I should call my parents, and asked if I thought they would want to hear my voice one last time I was nearly crying. I was on the skyway train, and I was wondering what the people around me were thinking because I was expressing my feelings, about how I felt I had no choice. She told me she was calling my parents, and we began a three-way phone conversation. My mom kept telling me to change my ticket, and come home. They said they’d pick me up at the airport. They kept asking why; fussed me for leaving work and going to the school. They asked who took me. They continually asked me to go change my ticket. They asked me if I was going to do that. I told them I didn’t know, not wanting to say yes or no. They asked where I was. “Dallas Fort Worth – DFW” I told them. I was actually at Houston intercontinental, IAH. They weren’t pleased that I called my best friend first. I badly wanted to hang up on them but I wasn’t that kind of person. My phone died and that took care of that. I had warned my mom that it was about to. I remember walking up and down the long concourse B while talking on my phone, wondering what the other passengers thought that were everywhere. I tried to hide behind the ATM machine, but then realized that maybe someone would really think something then so I just kept walking.

I went in the bathroom and cut my leg, not knowing what else to do. I wanted to go so much deeper but I held back. I put a Kleenex on it so I could go back to my gate. I made it back to the gate and sat down. There were so many people. I desperately tried to charge my phone, but all the charging slots were in use. The gate attendant announced that they were beginning boarding for flight 1433 with service to San Francisco. That’s what we want, I said to myself.

Some people got up to board, I stayed seated, not feeling like waiting in a line. I kept feeling like everyone was watching me, everyone was judging me, and someone was going to question me. I managed plug in my phone for about one minute. I had texted a couple people basically telling them goodbye. I finally boarded and made my way to the back of the Boeing 737-800 to seat 35F. I had got just enough charge on my phone to receive a text. It said. “I’m going to miss you, lil’ sis” It just about made me cry. My parents tried to call. I declined it. The phone was basically dead anyway and we’d be taking off soon. I stared out the window wondering what was going to happen. Finally, the plane taxied to the runway and took off. I wasn’t even able to smile at the feeling of the takeoff. I was in SO much pain. More than I’d ever been in before. After awhile, I got out my notebook and opened it to the two lines I had written, knowing that I had to get it written during the flight. (The full version of the original note is under the post entitled “the note the day I was supposed to die”)

I turned on music on my iPod to try to comfort myself. The pain was unbearable. I stared at the page before me, trying to figure out how to put my feelings into words, trying to figure out how to make people see my pain and understand how I believed with my whole heart that I didn’t have a choice. I tried to think of what to say, to leave as few unanswered questions as possible. I was wondering if the lady sitting next to me would look over and read my paper, but she had her own thing she was studying and she was listening to something, so I figured I was safe.

I began by apologizing. I didn’t want anyone to think that this was in any way their fault. I clearly stated that. I went on to write how long I was fighting, and that I was tired. That I had lost all hope, and I couldn’t fight anymore. That things had just kept getting worse.

I put my pen down. Tears were running down my face. I couldn’t see the page anymore. I turned my head and pressed it against the window. The song “Tomorrow” from the movie Annie came on. A song that in the past comforted me. A song that helped me to go on, even if it was for the next few hours. I listened to it like I’d done so many times. But I suddenly realized that for me, the sun wouldn’t come out tomorrow. There would be no tomorrow. Tears were pouring down my face. I managed to get a bit more of my note written even if it was difficult. A few words at a time. The woman next to me hadn’t noticed anything was wrong.

I continued by saying how I felt, that I was a burden and all I did was cause my parents pain, that I would no longer cause anymore – remembering what my dad had said just three days prior. I said that I should have done it a long time ago, because I would have saved them a lot more pain.

I knew they probably didn’t really believe I had depression, that I could fix myself. I addressed that by saying that I hid the depression until I couldn’t anymore, that I wasn’t trying to simply get attention, I was really hurting and looking for someone that would understand and take me seriously.

I went on to talk about how I felt trapped in the pain, that nothing would make it better anymore, I could no longer get relief. Apologized for the second time, saying I was sorry for feeling that this was my only option, and for the pain and heartache this would (or had, as it was written in past tense since it was meant to be read after I was gone) caused. I tried to describe how worthless I felt, that I felt I didn’t have a place, didn’t belong.

I finished by stating what I wanted to be done after. I dedicated some of my artwork to my best friend, which ever ones she wanted. I said I never deserved to have such a good friend. Last, I stated my final wishes, that I didn’t want a funeral or anything because I didn’t deserve to be remembered. I apologized for the last time and signed the bottom.

I desperately wanted comfort. I was crying so hard, the emotional pain was so intense it felt as if it was stabbing my heart over and over. I could hardly breathe. But in my mind, the end was finally in sight. Not much longer and the torment would be over. That’s when the lady next to me looked over, I peeked to see if she was looking at me, and then I spun my head back around. I was still listening to music to try to ease the pain. One of the songs I listened to, to this day, can still can bring me back to this moment. She did see. She leaned forward, touched my shoulder and asked if I was ok. I shook my head as I pulled out my earbuds to be polite.
“I hope everything gets better.” She said.
“It wont.” I shook my head, tears still streaming down my face.

She asked me what was wrong. I ended up telling her. I figured I was safe, she didn’t know me or anyone that knew me. I asked her to promise me she wouldn’t tell anyone this; she did, and I told her that I was going to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge, that I felt like I didn’t have a choice. I admitted that what I was writing was my note. We talked for a bit. It helped take the pain away slightly. Eventually I ended up talking to her about horses and art.

Finally the plane landed. At least I had stopped crying, although I think I cried at least half the flight. The plane taxied to the gate. We sat there for a bit. The flight attendant got on the intercom. “We need everyone to stay in their seats because there’s a situation that we have to take care of.” That’s not me. That can’t be me. It must be the pilot, or airport or another plane. Not me,I thought. We kept sitting there. I became nervous. One of the flight attendants came all the way to the back and stopped at my row.
“Are you Theresa Fuller?” He asked.
“Yes”, I said hesitantly. How does he know my name??I remember thinking.
“Do you have anything in the overhead?”
I shook my head. “Just my backpack.”
“Come on, there’s someone outside that wants to speak to you.”
My heart jumped into my throat. “But I don’t know anyone. No one knows I’m here.” I turned to the lady next to me that I had talked to. She said it was going to be ok.
“Come on.”
The people next to me let me out. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life as the flight attendant led me up the aisle of the plane, past nearly every single passenger. I could see them all turning to look at me. I pushed my chin to my chest, too afraid to look at their expressions. They were all judging me. I knew they were. I was scared of what they were thinking. Did they think I was a terrorist? Did they think I had a bomb? I followed the flight attendant up the plane and he led me out the door and into the chute. Standing right outside the plane inside the chute were four officers. My heart sunk, my mind racing trying to think of a way out of this.

They walked me into the main room of the airport. I was puzzled at how all this came to be. We sat down in the chairs by the gate. I remember being in sort of a circle with them. They began to question me.

“Do you know why were here?”
“Not really.” I answered.
“Are you out here on vacation?”
“Not really.”
“Do you know anyone here?”
“No.”
“Where are you going to sleep tonight?”
I shrugged.
“When are you going back home?”
I shrugged again.
“ARE you going back home?”
I didn’t answer.
“Now you know why we’re here.”, one of the officers said.
What?? What happened?I thought.
“Do you mind if I search your backpack?” One of them asked.
“Ummm….ok….” I said hesitantly, Not realizing how incriminating that would be.

“There’s not anything in her that will poke me?” The officer asked. “I don’t think so I replied.”
He opened my backpack and started looking through it. He pulled out the pair of scissors.
“What I want to know is how you made it on a plane with these.”
I shrugged. “Baton Rouge airport?”
“Probably so.”
He pulled out my notebook. My heart skipped a beat. He opened it. I was petrified. He briefly glanced at it before handing it to one of the other officers. The officer took it and started reading it. I sat there in the chair, not knowing what to do. I was afraid to look at his expression, so I stared down at the floor, but then I was afraid of what they would think, and if they would judge me for looking down. I wanted to just disappear. I couldn’t believe he was siting there reading the whole thing. I was shaking, terrified of what was about to happen. He finished and hands the notebook to another officer, saying “it’s a suicide note.” He took his glasses off and looked at me with deep concern. He was an older guy, with grey hair, but he was kind. The other officer took the notebook and went somewhere with it. I assume they made a copy of it for the records.

The other passengers came off the plane in a line. There were so many. I know they all saw me sitting by the gate talking to the officers. I wanted to look at their expressions, but I was too afraid. I knew they were judging me too. I knew they wanted to know what happened. Maybe they hated me because they had to wait on the plane. Maybe they thought that I put them in danger or something. To this day I wish I knew what the other passengers on the plane were told. I was so angry, all I wanted was to get to the bridge. My worst nightmare was coming true.

It wasn’t long before EMS showed up. They had a gurney. They told me to get on it. I was confused.
“I can walk.” I said.
“Nope. You’re in California now.” He chuckled.
So I climbed on the thing and they strapped me down all over so I couldn’t move. They wheeled me through the airport. I was so self-conscious. I knew everyone was looking at me, everyone that saw me was judging me – I could feel it, everyone wanted to know what was going on. Maybe I should try to look sick. But I did not think I would do that very well. I was so scared to look at the people I was passing. I was afraid of everything. Afraid of what was going to happen. Afraid of what my parents would be told. Afraid of how they would react. Afraid of what they would say to me. So many unknowns. And they frightened me. All I wanted was to die, to escape the constant emotional torment. And people were stopping me – AGAIN!

They brought me through the back doors of the airport where no one is allowed to go, and into a waiting ambulance. The first words that came out of my mouth when they opened the door were “It’s cold.” The paramedic laughed. On the way to the hospital he asked me why I was here. I told him. I told him I flew 1800 miles one way to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. He asked me why. I told him, and we talked the rest of the way. He told me the hospital I was going to was a good one, a new facility. I hoped he was right.

I ended up in the ER. It was late, probably around 10:00pm. Maybe a bit later. They gave me a small room with a bed, an open door that faced the horses station. They then made me change into hospital gowns, one on the front of me and one on the back. I laid in the bed, unable to sleep, my mind in disbelief trying to process everything that had just taken place. I wanted to roll over but then the gowns would twist and ride up. I managed to get on my side. I started crying again. I put my head under the covers, emotional pain once again stabbing through my heart. I wanted out so bad. I was alone and frightened. Apparently the hospital talked to my mom. The nurse came in and handed me a note that said this. “We love you, glad you are safe! Call me when you’re able to” That was touching. The nurse had obviously wrote what my mom wanted to say on a piece of paper.

There was a patient in the next room that kept getting up. I heard one of the nurses saying something about having a lot of psych patients that night. Finally, about 4AM, The doctor finally came in. I thought about lying, pretending this was all a mistake, but once he told me that the police had put me on a three day hold, what the state of CA calls a 51-50, I knew it was no use, so I had to tell him. I figured that if I was going to be stuck there I might as well try to get help. He told me that he was going to admit me to the adolescent unit because he thought I would get more out of that program. I got back on a gurney and they took me to the psychiatric unit. It was now early morning and I was exhausted, and had some jet lag. They let me sleep, but it was still hard. So many unknowns. What about my parents? What would the doctor say? Here I was, in a psych ward, alone, 1800 miles from home, with no one I knew, and no way to return home. Now what?