It’s time to stop calling people “crazy.”
Wearing a hospital gown, my hands trembling, I approach the front desk for the fifth time in half an hour. The woman sitting behind it is already frustrated with me, but I am desperate. I need to talk to my family. I need to get out of here.
I am 18 and scared. I’ve spent part of the morning lurking near the doors of the day room, eyeing the…