Check out my piece published in full over at Mad in America!

It was five days before my birthday and two weeks before my wedding. And there I sat, hugged up against the wall of a psych ward at the far end of the hall from the nurses’ station, arms wrapped around the teddy bear that my fiancée Rob had brought to visiting time. I sat there hugging Mr. Teds, as he’d been named by my fellow psych ward residents, and crying. Everyone was off in the rec room coloring or looking out the one big, locked window that made us feel more confined than anything else about this place, even the fact that the only thing to do was walk up and down the short hallway over and over again. One of the mental health technicians approached me. They were my favorite people because they were the ones who were always there. Not just taking notes about us, writing prescriptions for us, or calling us out every two to three days to talk. No, they were there for a full glorious twelve hours of our presence.

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