I just don’t want to end up like her, you know? I’m scared of hurting myself, my kid, you, anyone. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life locked up in an institution or prison or god knows what else because I have a natural inclination towards violence.

I’ve been here for hours. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I want to use the bathroom. I want to scream more than anything, but nothing comes out.

So I stay still, in this chair that has a rivet missing and wobbles to the left. I look everywhere: the security camera in the corner, the dust collecting on the concrete floor, the door that’s banged up enough to make my imagination jump. I even glance at the dark, endless mirror to my right, but just for a second.