Author’s note: This story is 100% true. To protect the identity of my friend, her name has been changed to Pamela. This could be any trans woman who seeks assistance from a mental health facility, however. This article discusses institutionalized transmisogyny, gaslighting, misgendering, and transphobia. Appropriate trigger warnings apply.
I came home from running errands to three voice mails on my phone which I left charging on the night stand. Her tone went steadily from slightly annoyed to panicked and tearful. Just before arriving I received a text reading: “They are about to declare me 5150 because I’m asking to be released and they won’t let me go.”
I sat on a plastic bench which just was too uncomfortable to have not been designed to be that way, and about fifteen minutes later, my friend Pamela came out of the Restricted Area. Tears were still streaming day-old eyeliner down her cheeks, and she was clumsily carrying her stuffed bunny and a duffelbag. “Get me the fuck out of here…” she stated, striding half in fear, half in something I can’t to this day identify, out the door before I could even stand up. Continue Reading at GroobyPost.com