Admission

A poem and the story behind it

Jul 21, 2026

The poem below was originally published in Fathom Mag back in 2020. I wrote it as a reflection on my first time in a psychiatric hospital in 2018, but by the time I wrote it, I had been hospitalized two more times and also spent a month at a residential facility. I didn’t want to admit myself to the hospital, but I also didn’t know another way to escape the hold that suicidal thoughts had on me. All the things I’d been trying—therapy, medication, prayer—were not bringing relief, and I became obsessed with plotting my own end to the suffering. My husband drove me to the hospital an hour from where we live, and we waited in the lobby to speak to an intake counselor for hours. I will never forget the dreadful show, River Monsters, that aired on the TV there, episode after episode of a man searching for horrible, creepy fish and other creatures known to be a danger to humans. If I hadn’t been so sad I would have laughed at the complete mismatch this show was for people who were in crisis. Saying goodbye to my husband that night and watching his back as he departed is forever etched into my mind.

With this poem, I wanted to capture some of the fear and hopelessness I felt entering a new, scary place, but I didn’t want to leave it hopeless. Even though I was in that hospital because I had planned to take my life, I was desperately clinging to hope that God could heal my mind. That first night in the hospital, I barely knew what to pray beyond “Help me,” but I trusted the Holy Spirit to say what I could not. I wanted Him to break me down, to take away all that threatened to swallow me up, and to give me more of Himself in its place. Healing didn’t happen overnight, or even in the span of a couple of years, but the Lord has been faithful to preserve my life.

I’m sharing this because it’s a small glimpse into a relatively uncommon experience, but depression itself is not uncommon. It comes for all kinds of people, in all kinds of ways. I pray that if you’re reading this and feeling despair, you will take comfort in knowing that you’re not alone and that it will not always be so dark. Light will return.

*Sunlight and Shadow: The Newbury Marshes* by Martin Johnson Heade

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Admission 

The first thing I notice is the smell:
antiseptic and bleach and sweat.
It stays in my mind long after we move 
down a different hallway, 
single file like a class of kindergarteners.

My finger runs in rhythmic circles over my thumb,
hunting for hangnails and reassurance,
as we sit in the lobby in plastic “safe” chairs--
too heavy to be thrown, 
too hard to be comfortable, too ugly to be wanted. 

I watch my husband leave me, his presence
no longer allowed. I am taken to a room and 
searched for contraband. I am too hollow
to be embarrassed, and the women finish 
their task with cold, clinical efficiency. 

I wait alone in the unit’s lobby, peering at other patients,
wondering if you can make friends in a psych ward.
Blood has dried along the edges of my thumbnail,
and I resist the urge to make it worse.
I am too scared to be here, but I am too scared to leave.

Later I try to look the doctor in the eyes, to tell him
how my own thoughts frighten me, how they have taken
me captive, how I cannot see a way out except to 
check out completely.
He gives me nothing but a new prescription.

That night I curl up tightly in my lumpy bed,
wipe away tears, and try to find words for a prayer.
I come up empty except for this: 
Batter my heart, God--but not too hard--
I do not think I can take it.

If you’re newer to my site and want to read more about my struggle with depression, check out these posts.