Shocking treatment

After my grandpa died, I was so depressed. My drinking got worse, and I stopped eating. My mom tried to help me, like she always would, trying to find places for me to go and doctors for me to see. One day, she came across the free clinic. She gave me their phone number and made me an appointment. 

I started going for counseling and got medication. It didn’t do much. I remember talking to a psychologist one day, saying “I don’t even care. I don’t even know. I’m not going to jump in front of a bus, but if one hit me, that’d be awesome.”


After I made that comment, my counselor called the police, and they admitted me to the hospital. I was there for two weeks.

I didn’t mind being in the hospital. Being there made me realize what I needed to work on.  I actually enjoyed going to group and loved my art therapy sessions. And the people there around my age were cool.


I received electroshock therapy (ECT) six times while I was at the hospital, and six times for two weeks following my discharge. It felt good at first. After a treatment, I couldn’t remember what bothered me. In fact, I couldn’t remember a lot of things (the most common side effect of ECT). But not being able to remember things made me depressed. It was a vicious cycle.