"Honey, you can't take those shoes" mom said. She was helping me pack a bag for my inpatient treatment. I didn't want to go at first but mom insistent I should. She knew she couldn't stay with me forever and me living alone with these episodes would have me, at the very least, dying of dehydration. "You can't bring anything with shoelaces or strings. No razors."

"Yes mom. I know." you said, as you continued to pack your clothes. You picked comfortable items and decided to take a notebook. They allowed a pillow so you decided to take that too.

"You're not allowed to have your cell phone either" your mother reminded you.

"Yes, I know" You almost wished you hadn't said your 'hallucinations' were of a mobile game. Now your mother wouldn't even let you near your phone… which normally you'd be fine without but… you missed him. It'd been 5 days since you had last seen Zen, of which you had spent 3 at the hospital before they discharged you. The only symptoms you still had was a positive pregnancy test before you left the hospital. However, you had been assured over and over that you were not pregnant and showed you ultrasound pictures that proved it. Even then, when you closed your eyes you could recall the little heartbeat you'd seen with Zen. Was that a hallucination as well? It was so real. You felt it was real.

After you had your things, your mother drove you to the inpatient treatment hospital… which was the nicer way of saying psych ward. You had been assured before going that it was a low-tier ward, meaning people weren't violent. In fact, you were likely the one with the most severe diagnosis and you had only been allowed in because your grandfather was a prominent retired psychiatrist.

"Now, don't forget to take your medications while you're there" your mother reminded you. "They'll let you out sooner if you do."

"They can't keep me, I'm going in voluntarily" you said, but to be honest you weren't sure if that was the case.

"Honey, they'll let you out if they think you can treat your symptoms at home once they've figured out exactly what it is. I know you're okay when you're not having one of those episodes. I just…" your mother stopped and signaled she needed a second. "I just really want you to be okay." she said, with a shaky voice, doing her best to hold back tears.

"Mom… I'll be okay. I promise" Would you really be okay if you never saw Zen again? "I will follow all of their instructions."

"I know. I know you'll be a good patient. You're a smart girl." your mother said. "I just can't stop thinking about your father."

"I know. It's not the same though, I promise. I'm not doing any drugs" you say, trying to offer some comfort.

"It's just… he died so suddenly when you were little. I never even knew he was so troubled. Just like I didn't know you were sick" she continued. "When they called me and said you were not responsive, I… I panicked. I thought I'd lost you like I lost him"

"No, mom. I promise I am not doing any drugs. I promise I am not trying to kill myself" she finally nodded and dropped the subject. She let you out of the car and helped you carry the things into the lobby. Checking in was much simpler than expected. They did go over all your items to make sure you didn't have anything they didn't allow. The plan was to keep you for about two weeks if everything went well. Then she'd be back to pick you up and have you stay with her for a few weeks. If you didn't have any prolonged episodes, you'd go back to your home. That was the goal.

They showed you to your room and your mother helped you unpack your things. She hugged you for what it seemed like forever before finally leaving. The small room they gave you had a single bed, some drawers, and a window with some metal bars over it. All in an eerie shade of off-white that really, truly, expressed psych ward room. Or prison, based on the bars of the window. When your mother was finally gone, you found you had little to do without having access to the internet or technology in general. You asked around to the nurses and you were told there was an area you could check out some classic books or there was a common area were you could socialize with the other patients and play board games. You headed towards the books first. There was a girl about your age there, resting her elbows on the counter. Whoever was helping her was not at their station. The girl stood out because she had shoulder length blonde hair but the tips were shaded in a rose-gold color. When you approached, she turned towards you and gazed at you with bored grey eyes. You could see she was very thin despite her baggy clothes. She turned again towards the direction of the counter and ignored your presence there.

"Hey" you said. They had advised you to socialize but you weren't sure what to expect of the other patients there. She turned towards you again and looked at you from head to toe.

"You're new" she said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah… I'm MC. Just checked in today"

" 'Voluntarily' I'm guessing" she said, raising one of her eyebrow. Your questioning look prompted an answer out of her. "We're all here 'voluntarily' just like every prisoner in jail is innocent". She gave you a smirk that seemed to say You've no idea what you're doing here.

"I guess? " You weren't sure what to say to her but you didn't want to start your first interaction by being contrarian.

"All the books here are classics so if you were looking for something new you won't find it." She added right before the lady in charge of the books showed up. The lady walked behind the counter, still scanning the inner shelves with her eyes. It was a short, stocky woman with glasses and greyed out hair. The most classic looking librarian you had ever seen in your life. Her glasses even had a string around her neck.

"I thought I had two copies of The Picture of Dorian Grey" the lady said before looking in your direction. "I'll be with you in one minute dear"

"That's alright Mrs Hail, I'll just hang out with my new friend here for the next day or two" she said, looking in your direction. What? You didn't even know her name. She turned towards you. "Come on MC, lets go for a walk. I will show you around."

"Uhm… Sure, okay, why not" you said, hesitantly. You wish you knew why she was here before hanging out with her but you figured it wasn't polite to ask and most likely you'd have to wait for it to come up… if it even did.

"Don't worry, I don't bite" she said, putting on a smile on her face. "Come MC, I'll show you around. By the way, my name is Daria"

She walked with you around the most common areas of the ward. She showed you some of the bending machines and where to get food and your medications.

"Some things are just how you expect them to be but some others aren't. There's a windows behind some glass where the nurses give you your medication but they don't pop your mouth open to make sure you've taken it… Unless you're known for not taking it." she added, holding on to the tip of her hair with her left hand. "So… do you want to talk about our lives? That's kind of what most people do around here" she said. "I know it's your first day but… you'll have to do it at group therapy. You might as well practice with me now. It is easier saying it one-on-one than in front of a bunch of people. At least it helps to keep your story concise and you say what you want to say. After a while you kind of get soooo used to telling the story that its like regurgitating a script every time" Daria said, sitting on the corner seat of the room. There were large, beautiful windows in the community room and the light shone through the glass so beautifully… but the windows were still covered by metal bars and it really put a harsh reality on the situation. You thought about what to say - what would you say at group therapy? Hallucinations? That you still believed deep down you were engaged to a video game character? That you were pregnant despite doctors assuring you otherwise? Would you lie?

"If you want, I can share first" she said, the silence probably making her feel uncomfortable. She bent her knees and curled up on the chair. She was tiny and probably a lot skinnier than you had originally taken her for. You nodded, inviting her to talk first. "Well…" she said, taking a deep breath before starting her story. "Basically… I fell in love" She held her knees closer to her chest. "He… he was everything to me. I lived and breathed his name. My life revolved around him. Sometimes I still feel I can't breathe when he is not around." She looked at you with her big grey eyes. There was a sadness there that you had never seen before - it wasn't a desperate sadness, but it was a sadness that ran deep. "I know I'll never find anyone like him. No one will ever love me like he did." Her eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her sweater. "He died about two years ago. Cancer." she said, looking away towards the window and taking a deep breath. "Would you look at that. I said it gets easier and here I am getting emotional" she wiped her eyes again and swallowed hard. She tried to control her breathing to keep from crying. "I know he wouldn't want me to be like this. We would want me to find love again… But I just, I can't imagine anyone else touching me" She wrapped her hands around the back of her neck and stopped talking, looking at the floor. One of the sleeves of her oversized sweater rolled down a bit - not much, but enough to give you a peak of her inner left forearm. Long but thin pink scars covered them. Some looked more healed up than others. She noticed you staring at her left arm and pulled the sleeve back up.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Well, its the reason I am here." she said, and rolled up her right arm, showing you it was covered by bandages. "This one is still kind of fresh" she said, rolling down the sleeves again. "I miss him" she said, holding both her arms against her chest. "Some days I wake up thinking he is still here but then… I realize he is not and… I just want to join him."

"I'm sorry" you said. You didn't have much comfort to give her. The man you loved was not here and you wanted to join him. Your problem seemed petty in comparison.

"The worst part is I know how much he wanted me to be happy… He lived to make me happy… and I've failed him… I…" BAM. A loud noise came from the corridor outside of the common room. Everyone jumped at the noise and looked towards the area the sound came from. You could hear some people struggling and someone screaming - it sounded like a man. The words were unintelligible. "Well… that's not going to last long" Daria added, in reference to the loud noise after wiping her eyes again.

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"Violent or problematic people don't last very long here. This is supposed to be more of a… safe space, if you will. The majority of the people here have anxiety, depression, suicidal tendencies…" she seemed to hover over that last word a bit longer than usual "just... that kind of stuff. More violent or more complex patients get sent to other places. If they're here is probably just because there was a shortage of beds in the psych hospital or they're trying to figure out what's the best place to transfer… whoever that is"

"How long have you been here?" you asked, before realizing that question might have been inappropriate.

"Oh… uhnm…" Daria thought about the answer for a few seconds. "I've been in and out of this place almost every month since Teddy died" she said. Normally I don't stay longer than a week or two. It's just… No matter what I do everything reminds me of him when I'm out there".

"I'm really sorry, it must be incredibly tough" you said. How could you tell someone who'd had such a real tragic experience why you were really there?.

"Tough doesn't even begin to describe it. I can still close my eyes and feel his breath on my neck, his hands on my skin. I know what it felt like for him to touch me and I just can't… I can't open up to anyone. I can't move on. The wounds in my skin heal but the wounds on my heart still feel like they're raw…"

"Why don't you tell me about him?" you asked. It seemed to you that therapy made her talk about her experience but didn't ask her what she remembered about him.

"He was… the best man I've ever met" she began. She told you about how they met as children. He was her neighbor and best friend. He'd asked her out in high school and she'd never had another boyfriend in her life. They planned out their college career and got into the same schools - he was studying to go to med school and she was going for architecture. A few months before graduating he'd began showing symptoms - headaches. They'd thought it was the lack of sleep from studying or stress from the finals. It didn't help his dad had chronic migraines all his life and so he just assumed it was that. Until it wasn't. Until the pain began to blind him. Until she had to rush him to the ER in the middle of the night because he'd had a seizure… and from then, it'll all happened too fast and he slipped from her fingers.

She cried so much while telling you the story but in the end she thanked you. It seems everyone asked her about her life after him and she always had a hard time answering - she felt her life had stopped after him and how could she move on? How could she live a life without him in it? You understood. You understood all too well not having the person you loved… but you dared not tell her what was going on with you. When she asked you, you told her you'd had some hallucinations and they were trying you on a new medication. She didn't pry much more than that - it seemed she was exhausted from telling you her story. She walked with you to the medicine counter and you got a little pill in a little plastic cup. You wondered if taking this medication would keep you from Zen and if it would affect your baby. Deep down your heart told you everything was real but… what if it wasn't? What if you were really sick? What if… You looked at the pill and took it, swallowing hard. You had to try. What if you needed this treatment to go back to your real life?

The day passed without much going on for you. At night, you went to sleep and laid awake in that mattress for way too long. You thought about Zen and your baby, you thought about life without them, about being sick, about your mother and your father. Had your mother felt like Daria when your father died? She never remarried and her attention was always on you growing up. You wondered about your father's dad and his work as a psychiatrist. Eventually, you fell asleep, though your head was spinning. You dreamt about Daria crying over her love in a hospital bed and you cried with her. When you left her room, however, the nurses took you back in and you were in a hospital gown. They made you lie back on the bed despite your protests. "I'm not sick" you kept saying, but they pushed you down and injected something into your arm. You cried - why couldn't they see you weren't sick? You felt a hand caressing your arm and when you turned, Zen was there. He ran his hand through your hair and you pulled him closer, holding onto him.

"I'm not sick, I know I'm not sick" you kept saying, but you felt weak now. Was that the medicine?

"It's okay. I understand" he said. "I love you"

"I'm not sick. Help me get out of here" you begged him.

"Just promise me you'll be happy, no matter what" Zen said.

"I want to be happy with you" you said, but the words seemed heavy. You felt drowsy. Could you fall asleep in a dream? "... and the baby" you mumbled.

"You are not pregnant!" said a nurse on the other side of your bed.

"I love you" said Zen, kissing your forehead.

Your eyes shot wide open and you were dripping in sweat. What time was it? You looked around your room and turned the light on - you felt disoriented at first but you recognized the room in the psych hospital soon enough. You stood up and stumbled - you were weak and dizzier than you thought. You felt a pounding headache as well, as if your whole body wasn't right. Your arms were shaky and you had chills. Your pajamas felt soaked and stuck to your body. When you turned around, you noticed a red stain on the bed. Blood? Your heart sank. No. No, no no no. you said outloud, moving the sheets out of the way. The stain was small - smaller than your hand, but it was there. You touched between your legs and some of it covered your fingers. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cower in the corner of the room and cry when you felt a cramp. You walked towards the door and pried it open - where were the nurses? What time was it? Right before you were able to scream, a nurse ran over in your direction.

"Are you alright honey? Did you have a bad dream?" she said.

"I'm bleeding" you said, as you felt another cramp on your lower abdomen.

"Oh sweetie, do you need a pad? I'll change those sheets for you. You're sweating, do you want a shower?" you nodded yes. You wanted to cry but you didn't want to start telling the nurse you might be having a miscarriage. Everyone told you that you were not pregnant but your heart hurt more than the cramps you were having. The nurse led you to the shower and even turned the water on for you. You stepped in it and felt the hot water against your back. You couldn't held back the tears then and you felt your knees crumble beneath you. Did you have a miscarriage? Were you never pregnant and this was your period? It wasn't a copious amount of blood and you didn't know enough about the subject to know. Either way, it hurt. It hurt to know you may not be pregnant. The look on Zen's face when he had seen that small heartbeat was all you could think about. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have taken that medicine. You were on it for almost over a week now and this happened. You sobbed in that shower until the nurse came back to get you.

"Your eyes are really red, do you want some eye drops?" the nurse asked - you weren't sure if she was just trained to ignore your crying - every patient here likely had episodes of crying. She gave you a pad and a clean set of pajamas before returning you to your room. The bloodstain was gone and you climbed back into your bed. After the nurse left, you cried yourself to sleep again.

The next day, you barely found some spotting on your pad. You changed and headed to grab breakfast. You felt weak and defeated, but felt there wasn't much to do other than resign yourself to your current reality. Your heart ached, but you still didn't know what had really happened. Perhaps later you could convince a nurse to do some blood work on you to check your hormone levels. You had a few hours to kill before group therapy and part of you wanted to find Daria again. You found her talking to another patient by the same window you had sat the day before. You wondered if she'd mind if you approached her but decided against it. Perhaps they were having a more private conversation.

You walked to the book counter instead and grabbed a copy of Alice's Adventures In Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. At this point, anything to get out of your own head would suffice. You sat some distance away from Daria and the guy she was sitting across from. She was crying again, this time much more obvious than yesterday, when she was talking with you. The guy sitting across from her you hadn't noticed the previous day, but he looked familiar. Perhaps he worked in town and you had met him before. You turned your attention back to the book you had picked up but found you were not in the right headspace to pay attention. You still felt somewhat dizzy and the words seemed to blur together when you read. You stared outside the window instead and couldn't help but notice a lot of the patients seemed to do the same thing - stare outside through the window. A few (including Daria and the guy) were talking to other patients and a few others were playing board games.

Around lunch time, you were taken to group therapy and you heard tons of stories from different people with different diagnosis - Daria was right - most people where in here for depression, PSTD, and other similar illnesses. You explained you were there for catatonic episodes and schizophrenia and that they were trying you on some new medication. It felt like you had little to say other than your diagnosis but they would not pry Zen out of your lips again. If you were really sick, he didn't matter and if you weren't sick… you did not want to keep hearing people say his name like it was the wrong thing to say. You couldn't help but notice the guy Daria had been talking to wasn't in the group therapy. Once you were back in the common room, Daria sat next to you.

"Hey. How did you like group therapy?" she asked, pulling her legs onto the chair.

"It was alright. It does make you feel better knowing people are going through similar things" you said. "It's not as lonely of a struggle"

"Well.. but no one has what you have" she said, biting one of the nails in her hand.

"True, but a lot of the symptoms are similar" you say. "I don't know, maybe the struggle in general isn't as bad when you know other people are dealing with the same thing.

"True" she said. "Well, that guy I talked to yesterday is also an unique case here"

"Oh, how come?"

"He's got something like… split personality disorder? I don't think he's sure he has it. And of course the nurses here don't tell you anything.

"Is he new here?"

"I'd never seen him before." she said "but that kind of rare diagnostics are usually not in here. And with a split personality he's may get violent. He won't last until the end of the week."

"Huh" you say, "I was wondering about him. He really did look familiar."

"Really? You know, that's funny, he was looking for a girl named MC too.

"What?"

"Yeah but he gave me a description of you and that's not you at all. He said brown hair, bangs, amber/gold eyes... I've don't think I've seen that girl."

"What?" you felt a chill down your spine. What is going on? "Did he say anything else?"

"Not really. I'm only saying the personality thing because he was really sweet at first but towards the end of our talk he got quite rude.

"Did you catch his name?"

"That's another thing that was odd" she said, thinking back. "First, he asked me to call him Ray but then he wanted me to call him Saeran"