A Story from Our Community
When you are young, the world you inhabit is constantly being broken down and rebuilt. A year of adjustment leads to another inevitable change, culminating in a decade of renewal, rebirth and restructuring. It is, at many times, the greatest gift in the world. But there are, for everyone, moments within the deepest crevices of those years that foster profound disorientation and existential fear. It’s part of the path we chart as human beings, a beautifully inescapable problem only we can begin to solve. I know it because I myself have lived it, and likely you have too.
On New Year’s Day of 2024, two of my best friends and I roamed Central Park and inhaled egg and cheese bagels as we watched hoards of other hungover young adults undulate the city streets. New York, despite its historic unforgivingness, seemed to radiate with respite from impending uncertainty. We discussed, with all the egocentricity and pervasive optimism of our youth, the previous night’s hilarity and all the upcoming milestones we would be reaching in our final semester of college. But beneath the freedom of my nonchalant chatter lurked an internal shadow, inundating me with reminders of all I had seemingly failed to accomplish or experience by this arbitrary yet crucial life stage. Nothing in particular “happened”; microcosms of fear, isolation and depression compiled into an irreprehensible, all-encompassing dread. Just three weeks later, I found myself lying on the floor of my apartment on the phone with a friendly social worker, who encouraged me to come to the psychiatric emergency room as soon as I could.
I traveled there alone, with no idea what kind of strange multiverse I was about to enter. An empathetic nurse welcomed me into the waiting area as she told me about her own daughter, also a college student, who was struggling with depression as she adjusted to a new environment. I slowly revealed to my friends and family where I was, though I had little idea of where I would be going. After a full day and night of observation, discussion and hospital-provided apple juice boxes, I decided to begin inpatient treatment at a hospital in a small Michigan city—a city I had never been to until I was taken there in a wildly unnecessary but institutionally required ambulance.
I wish I could tell you those five days were transformative. I wish I could tell you I left that hospital armed with the tools I needed to empower and provide for myself. But what I really, more than anything, wish I could tell you is that that was the last time I ever stepped foot in a psychiatric hospital.
In 2024, I spent a cumulative total of one month in inpatient treatment across three hospitals in three different cities; two in Michigan, one where my family is based. I met dozens of patients and therapists and behavioral technicians from all across the country, a patterned quilt of who’s-who in the world of mental health facilities. Most psychological treatment revolved around worn down crayons, bullet-pointed lists of coping mechanisms inappropriate for this particular crowd (take a deep breath!, etc) and long walks up and down short, insulated hallways.
One nurse in particular recommended we take a walk around the psychiatric floor 15 times to make it a full one mile “wellness walk.” There were, sometimes, people around my age who faced similar circumstances, challenges and hopes. But more often than not, I was the youngest person in the room by decades. I was constantly being told how unbelievably young I was—and how that youth would be the very thing to lift me out of my diagnoses and back into the world as I once knew it.
I don’t blame the inpatient psychiatric hospital system for its inapplicability to many young adults’ circumstances; they are just simply not designed for certain patient populations. As our definition of adulthood continues to evolve, so too should our physical and mental healthcare.
In the United States, we are taught not to expect much from the medical systems that are available to us. But meaningful, personalized care should be within reach for anyone brave enough to pick up the phone and ask what to do next.
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2024 was a year filled with contradictions: one day I was sitting with a psychiatrist I had just met begging for an exit route, the next I was taking graduation photos with friends who only vaguely knew where I had been and what I had seen. Almost a year since I just barely eked out a diploma on time, I am empowered each and every day by last year’s chaos and heartbreak. And, in its own random yet fateful way, I have Garrett’s Space to thank for much of my renewed passion for this beautiful, messy world.
I first found out about Garrett’s Space in between my first and second hospitalization. I spent much of my waking hours scouring the internet for an answer: an explanation, a guide, a remedy, or even a small clue as to why I felt incapable of conquering myself. Press coverage from Michigan Public—where I had interned just a year prior—led me to one of the only places in the country that seemed interested in offering what I ached for: an accessible, holistic and open-minded approach to psychiatric and psychological care tailored to young adults. Garrett’s Space community-oriented group experiences and research-informed wellness programming spoke directly to the needs of a generation hoping to repair an acutely damaged world.
While ground had not yet broken on the Garrett’s Space property, I immediately knew I needed to get involved in any way I could. I submitted a brief message through the organization’s website, having no clue that the person on the other end was the very professor granting me graceful, empathetic extensions on upcoming projects. Frequent office hours chats turned into monthly meetings on outreach and strategy for the annual Garrett’s Space auction, transcending my role as a student and transforming into a critical piece of my own post-graduate project. I felt incredibly inspired by the resilience and determination of my professor, Julie Halpert, to create the world she wished for her son Garrett and every young adult like him for decades to come.
Garrett’s Space offers respite from an otherwise incomprehensibly challenging mental health maze. Rather than a space focused predominantly on medication prescription and management, their vision for a residential program aims for a distinctly “non-medical” feel, allowing for humanity and well-being to bloom in tandem with psychiatric care. Garrett’s Space aims to be more than a brief yet severe pit-stop on one’s lifelong mental health journey. It hopes to be, in real time, a home for genuine healing.
Of all the extracurriculars I chased after as a college student, the very greatest happened to appear just weeks before I graduated, when I needed it the very most. I am thrilled and empowered by the unbelievable progress and breadth of this organization every day—a reminder that impactful, positive change often originates from the innermost workings of human tragedy and grief. A reminder that, despite the challenges we will all feel buckled down by, there is at the very least an inkling of purpose and meaning in our everyday lives. A reminder that we are all puzzles of triumph, failure and willingness to give it just one more chance. A reminder that there is hope for every person I spent those isolated weeks with, picking at powdered eggs and fiending for reasons to live. A reminder to every young adult, everywhere, that there is hope for them, too.
Thank you to my family, my friends, my treatment team(s) and everyone at Garrett’s Space for helping me find myself again. I live every day for the love, support and belief you have given me. For wellness and mental health resources, please visit https://www.garrettsspace.org/ to get started.