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We are in a psych hospital. I had just arrived and already the boy was trying to sell me his handmade jewelry. I thought nothing of it. I had been to a place like this many times before. I didn’t want to be rude so I told him I would like one of his necklaces. I had nothing. No money, pockets, or shoelaces. Just a shirt and uncomfortable hospital bottoms.

I saw this kid throughout my stay. He seemed so out of place and much younger. I felt bad for him. But I tried my best to be nice to him. I knew the look on his face. I’ve seen it in the mirror. Lost and angry, hurt, and frustrated. The hospital offered expressive therapy or art therapy. I chose art therapy and decided to make this kid a necklace. It was simple because I had never made one before. I ended up seeing him later that evening. I handed him the necklace I had made. He smiled and said “thanks”. He then handed me over one of his intricate pieces. I was touched by the gesture. Staying in a mental hospital is a revolving door of patients staying, 1, 3, 5, 10 days on average. I never had the opportunity to say goodbye to him. I didn’t even know his name, yet I think about him often, hoping that he is alright. Such is the life of a patient in a psych facility.