51/50 Hospitalization: Rock Bottom

It was February 17, 2020.

That morning, I went in for a job interview I didn't really want. I sat across from the interviewer, disinterested in what he was saying. But, the smile on my face did a good job at convincing him otherwise. To my surprise, I managed to get through the interview and land the job.

After the interview, I went to my sister's house to hangout for a bit. When I pulled up, I received an email alert from the director of the agency I had interviewed for. His email prompted me to respond if I wanted to accept the position and begin work the following week. I rolled my eyes and eventually hit the reply button to say:

"I am elated at the opportunity, and would like to accept the position."

That was a boldface lie. But, it was the first of many that day.

I knew I had no choice but to accept the position. My pockets were running low and bills were continuing to pile up. In that moment, I started to think about how beneficial parental support would be. I then looked at the picture of my parents on my lock screen, and the date in the upper right hand corner before letting out a sigh.

"I can't believe today marks 4 years without you, Ma," I thought.

I proceeded to go into my sister's house and interact with my niece and nephew. They usually help bring me back to center, but this day was unlike any other. I couldn't stop thinking about how disgusted I was with my life and all of its realities. For starters, I had just accepted a job that was paying me significantly less than my previous job. Was I that desperate?

What were my dreams? Had I lost sight of those? What was my purpose? Did I know? Would I ever know?

A few weeks prior, I booked a flight to Pennsylvania to attend my cousin's funeral. After leaving my sister's house that day, I went and told my Godparents that I'd be flying to Pennsylvania that week without a return date in mind. I relayed the same message to my ex-boyfriend who was surprised and asked to see me.

Hours later, we met at a Starbucks. The only thing that filled the silence between us was the barista who would call out a new name every few seconds. We sat there, awkwardly, before I eventually broke the ice. I admitted to missing him and wanting him back. His response was hurtful, but I can't say I was entirely surprised by it.

"I'm focusing on myself, Erika. I don't want to talk about us being together."

Was I that desperate?

Where was my dignity? Why didn't I know my value? What was I trying to accomplish by meeting him there that day? Did I know? Would I ever know?

The conversation didn't last much longer. He said he had plans and proceeded to get up from his chair. I followed after him with tears in my eyes and an enormous amount of anger in my heart.

Did he forget what today was? Did anyone care to acknowledge the pain I was silently carrying around? I mean, it had been written all over my face from the moment I woke up.

After sitting and crying in the Starbucks parking lot, I went back to my Godparents house. Together, we went to dinner and I sat quiet. By this time, my eyes were puffy and my nose was red from consistently blowing it. But still, no one asked me if I was okay. No one knew the day I was having.

We left dinner and departed from one another. When I got back to my car, I felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. I texted a friend who I hadn't spoken to that day, so my message came out of left field.

"I don't want to be here."

I can't recall what her response was, but she was concerned. When she asked what I meant, I kept reiterating myself.

"I don't want to be here."

I told her that I had no intentions of hurting myself, but if I was hurt involuntarily, I wouldn't care. I think my exact words were, "If a bus ran me over right now, the world would be better off. No one cares about me." I then found myself texting my entire friend group the same thing.

I drove another 45 minutes before reaching my next destination. I didn't want to go home, so I went to Applebee's instead. I communicated this to the friend I was texting. I told her that I would be at Applebee's having a few drinks before going home for the night.

Without getting through my first drink, two policemen approached me and asked if my name was Erika Hunter.

"Yes, I'm Erika."

They escorted me outside and told me that they had received a phone call from one of my friends who was worried that I'd hurt myself. One of the officers proceeded to ask me what was wrong.

There it was.

Someone finally asked me.

I completely broke down and told them that it was my mother's death anniversary. I mentioned how I just wanted to have a few drinks to alleviate the pain I was feeling. While the officers appeared empathetic, they explained to me that they had to put me down as a 51/50 and take me to the nearest mental health facility. They proceeded to put me in handcuffs and into the car.

It was then that I knew I had hit rock bottom. I was in the back of a police car seconds away from my alma mater.

I arrived at the mental health facility, furious at my friend. How could she do this to me? Why couldn't she just come and sit with me if she was worried? Did she even know it was my mother's death anniversary? Was everyone completely blinded to this reality?

I spent the next 72 hours in a mental health facility, having to tell the same story over and over again.

I felt like I was being punished for being human.

Moreover, I felt like I was being punished for grieving.

I felt like I was being punished for being a human who was grieving on a day that simply, wasn't easy.

I had lost my mom fours year ago to that day and no one asked me if I was okay.

If you're reading this and you know someone who is experiencing something hard, be sure to check in periodically and simply ask them if they are okay. It can change the trajectory of their day. I can't say for certain, but I'm willing to bet that it would have changed mine on that day.