Months back I attempted suicide. I knew I didn't want to die and knew I could never be that selfish, but I thought if I held a knife to my neck (after I fell victim to my emotions in a fit of angry sobbing and smashing a vase), my partner would realize the severity of my depression (which he thinks is a huge myth) and that I needed help. I didn't have a job, no social skills whatsoever, and had lost all of my friends aside from him. I've been feeling severely depressed off and on for over a year now, maybe two, and have never sought professional help for lack of finances. My partner called the police, and I had taken off in the pouring rain to walk down a path in the woods to calm myself. I came home to 3 squad cars. They asked if I wanted to be taken to the hospital, and at first I said no. I have no insurance and only 2,000 in savings that needs to last me until I find a job, which is when only god knows. But he insisted that I'd be fine financially and could request help and not have to pay a thing. So, of course I jump right in, the thought of finally getting treated shoving my skepticism to the back of my mental priorities.
At the hospital:
They put me in a small smelly empty room. Once in a while someone came in to fill out paperwork. Eventually the psych's sidekick came in to get the story. I tell her what I think is everything, only I'm sure it's wasn't, because I suffer from a sick combination of faulty memory and communication skills, especially when I'm emotional. I ask her a few times about how much all this care will cost, and she says not to worry right now. She takes my info and goes to the professional with it. Comes back and tells me they don't see it a necessity to get further treatment, but to get anti-depressants and see a doctor at Matthew 25 (medical care for the poor kids in town). If I feel I need to go to the behavioral clinic for a week's stay, I can, and they gave me a referral just in case.