The night I was admitted to the psychiatric hospital was the scariest night of my life. I came in at 2 in the morning after spending three hours in the peds ER, saying goodbye to my mom, and going through the traumatizing process of getting admitted to the psych hospital. I wasn’t wearing my own clothes, I felt like I wasn’t even in my body, and most of all, I felt alone. Then I met Sam. He was the one who did my intake that night. He had the difficult job of asking me the most difficult questions you can ask a kid. He sat with me while I told him about my pain. He was the first one to ever validate my trauma. I remember at one point he asked me if I knew what medications I was taking. I told him no and apologized because I felt guilty for being so unhelpful. He immediately reassured me and told me that I didn’t have to be sorry and it wasn’t my job to know everything. As someone who’s always been so hard on myself, this reassurance alone was enough to make me feel the safest I had been in days. At one point he asked me about my college plans since I was a senior in high school at the time. I told him I had just been accepted into my dream school and he got so excited for me. It made me feel human again. It showed me that he cared about me, not only because it was his job but because he actually cared. I only saw him twice during my stay at the hospital but I remember thinking about him while I was there all the time, knowing that even when things got hard, I at least had him. I still think about him all the time and am confident he is part of the reason I am alive today.