I just got out of a two week mental hospital stay. For me, it was a jungle

I'm not mentally ill or anything (a wee bit depressed), but a combo of me being a dumbass teenager, rough couple of years, and some mentally ill roommates mixed together for a very toxic cocktail. <br><br>I was staying on campus in the dorms before I had a complete psychotic break and had to be rushed to the hospital by ambulance. I just completed a 2 week stay at a mental hospital. It's been about a week and a half since I got out, and mentally I'm getting better. Emotionally, I've sunk deeper into depression than ever before. <br><br>I miss the nurses. The other patients. The routine. The safety. I felt like I was coming home for the first time in my life.<br><br>The hospital was my first experience of what love should be like. The staff were paid to care for me, and they still went out of their way to show me love. The nurse talked me through every panic attack, every nightmare, every manic episode. She helped me through every medication, even when she was ready to go home. We talked about my favorite topics as a way to calm me down. She held my hand. Tucked me into bed. Made me laugh. Made me feel safe. I've never been treated like that before. I was spoiled by the staff, and I know it. <br><br>I even started to trust two of the other patients. I've never trusted anyone in my life, and I trusted these two women. In less than 2 weeks, I let myself trust these two women. In less than 2 weeks, I had two new best friends. <br><br>Looking back, I should have known it was too good to be true. I shouldn't have been so trusting, so open. But I was so happy, so manic, I didn't care. <br><br>The day before I was released, one of the other patients lost privileges and was sent to the safety room (aka Nordstrom's)- a small, padded room with no windows. We heard her screaming, crying, and pounding against the door for hours. The next morning, we couldn't find her. She was in her room, and she didn't come out for hours. When she finally did, she was... different. She had always been manic, but now she was completely manic. The night before, she had been begging the nurses for a hug. When she saw me, she was so happy. She sat across from me while we did group therapy, and she took my hand in hers. I didn't know this person. <br><br>The other patient was more mentally ill than the rest of us. Hearing voices, hallucinations, and delusions. She had been there for months before I came, but it was her first time in a mental hospital. She was so sweet, but I started to notice she was paranoid. She always thought someone was behind her, and she would always look around when I talked to her. She was a lot easier to talk to, and we always stuck together. She started opening up about her past and insecurities. She was even trusting me enough to tell me she was scared being alone in her room at night. <br><br>I didn't see her the morning I left, but I saw her the night I was admitted. She was pacing back and forth in the dining room, and I assumed she was just on a walk. We greeted each other, and she started talking to me. I realized a couple of minutes into the conversation she was completely manic. She had even cut her hair off, and her sentence structure was completely different. When I realized what had happened to my friends, I started to get cold. I tried to pull myself out of the conversation, but she kept talking and pulling me back. It was even harder to escape her words because she sounded nothing like herself. In place of her soft voice was a loud, shrill voice. <br><br>I finally had to physically leave to get out of the conversation. I walked out of the dining room, and as I was leaving, I heard her say "goodbye, best friend". I walked back to my mom's car, got in, and burst into tears as soon as I sat down. <br><br>As we drove away, I couldn't celebrate leaving. <br><br>I was too busy mourning the loss of my friends.