Tears are forming behind my eyes. Welling and overflowing. I wipe them away quickly. I’m walking down the hall. My mother is beside me. I match her strides trying not to fall behind. I don’t want her to leave me. Why is she doing this to me? Did I do this to myself? I’m fine. I’m not fine. I know I need help but not this way. Not like this 

The woman guiding us is wearing heels. They click along the tile. She tucks the clipboard she’s been holding under her arm and uses her other hand to open the door with a key card. I feel trapped.  

        “We’re here now,” She informs us. 

We are led into the patient waiting area. The door closes behind us. Its locked. I cannot leave. In front of us are 6 round tables with blue plastic chairs. Four to a table. We sit down. Clipboard woman tells us what will happen next.  

I will be staying here. My mother is going home. She can come back to bring me clothes and books to read for the duration of my stay, but she cannot take me with her. I freeze. 

        I don’t want her to leave me.

        I know she’s going to leave me.

        We are given a moment to say goodbye.  

Goodbye mother. I cannot begin to explain the intense dread I felt in this moment. It was as if I had jumped of the world’s tallest building and into a free fall. The ground was nowhere in sight. It felt like I’d always be falling. 

 I’m crying now. Not slow steady tears, but a flood of pain-soaked misery that’s doomed to drown us both. She holds me close, a bid farewell and I breathe her in.  

We were destined to end up here, in these blue plastic chairs.  

        She leaves me. 
 
*** 
 
 
We’re all here now. In the musical therapy room Kelly, my roommate was on time, which is unusual for her. She sits opposite me with her sunshine orange hair tangled in a bun atop her head. To her left is Aniya. Her amber skin glows from the rays shining through a gap in the curtains. She offers me a tired smile. I think we’re friends.  

 My mom said I shouldn’t make friends here, that I should spend this time letting go of the things that plague me outside these walls. I’m trying, I really am, but I don’t know how. There is no magic release. There is no switch I can flip in my brain. There is no escaping.   

“How are we all feeling today?” Ms. Amanda asks the room 

She awaits our individual responses.

 
        Good. 

        Good.

 
        Fine. 

She does her lap of questioning around the room and we are ready for the group session.  

We discuss coping mechanisms and how they vary from person to person. We engage in productive conversation then she asks us meaningful questions that I’ve long forgotten now.  

Finally, she tells us to pick an instrument from the front of the room. We all rise and move toward the pile of strings brass and bass. With our selections in hand we return to our seats. I sit swiftly and place the long drum between my legs steadying it with my ankles. Its painted with intricate designs. The blue and white swirls dance effortlessly throughout. 

Ms. Amanda explains the activity. She will start by playing a basic rhythm.  

Pat tap pat.

  
She beings and then slowly we will go around the circle each adding a piece of ourselves to the impromptu song that was forming.  

She starts us off, for real this time and then the song moves around the circle. It was coming towards me. I was anxious I didn’t want to ruin what they were making. It was my turn now. I felt what to do and almost instinctively, adding a part of me to this collaborative sound. I look up from the drum, rhythm still dancing at my fingertips. A chilling stillness in the air and I saw the faces of the girls around me. 

        Joy

 
        Content

 
        Peace

 
        Serenity 

I felt them all simultaneously. We were making music. The raw emotion flooded my ears radiating through me and just as quickly as I felt it, it was over.

  
I’ve never felt that way again.  
  
*** 
 
 I get in the car. I’m afraid. I know I must tell her what I’ve done. She’ll notice the remnants of my careless decision. She will. I can’t explain that. I must tell her.  

        “I took them all.”

 
        Her hands tighten around the steering wheel.

  
        “I don’t have time for this,” her body stiffens.

 
Those words sting. I don’t think she meant that. Did she mean that? Oh, why did I tell her. I told her because I had to. I told her because I can’t stand up straight. I won’t make it through the day.

  
A tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away.

 
She does care.

  
She calls my stepfather to tell him he must take my brother to school. Did I think of my brother? Did I think of what this would do to anyone?

        No.

 
My depression told me I was alone. I only thought of myself and how I wanted the pain to end. It was selfish. Am I a bad person?

  
 I just needed everything to stop.   
 
*** 
 
I think of it now and again. How I felt that day sitting in that circle with girls I had gotten to know and would never see again.

  
 I’ve never felt that connection before and I haven’t since. But I quite like the idea of trying to find that sense of belonging again. It’s a goal that I often forget. It’s been a year and the feeling is far off and distant.