Mercy Survivor Chelsea bravely shares her chilling account on the impact of Mercy Ministries’ mistreatment. This story of gross medical negligence, pattern of cruelty, gaining of dependency and the ultimate aftermath suffered by her as their client is unfortunately all too familiar across the board. Chelsea also shares about her time at Mercy Ministries on her personal blog.
I had to think of a way in which to explain to people what it felt like after I was released from Mercy Ministries.
I was very unstable, having been removed from my medication, and I thought my life depended on what happened at Mercy Ministries.
I didn’t have a lot of memory of my days following my being kicked out, so I went back through old journals, emails, etc. I found an email that I wrote to an anonymous suicide hotline. It describes accurately what it was like for me.
I was released from Mercy on October 28th, 2008. I had called back into Mercy’s program trying to get back in, because I was completely convinced, under their direction, that I would die without them. I made promises to be a good girl this time.
The email to the anonymous suicide hotline was as follows:
November 11, 2008
“Today is another day without any phone calls, I think they’re ignoring me. I get closer and closer to depression every day they don’t call with an answer. I don’t like to think or talk about the subject of suicide anymore. I find myself avoiding it all together. I don’t have any plans as of now. I don’t like to entertain the thought.
I just feel so crappy. I hate myself for ruining everything. I hate to think that I don’t deserve anything but death. I feel like such a failure. I can’t do anything right.”
and a response a few hours later…
“It’s over. I’m through. I can’t take it anymore. I just want to get it over with. I just have to do it. I have to. It’s over. I hate this place, I am killing myself. I am doing it. Okay I just overdosed. I just took klonopin. It’s their fault. It’s all their fault. Hopefully I wont be alive in the morning.”
The next day…
“I slept 20 hours and could barely pull myself out of bed. But I’m still here. I’m not even good enough to kill myself.”
You can probably hear the desperation in my voice. The inability to cope.
Imagine being told that you have one chance to live, and then you lose that chance. You’re standing on the edge of a burning building, you have to hit the trampoline. Half way down you realize you’re too far to the left. You panic. You completely panic.
I wasn’t given a good enough reason to be ripped away from the girls, who I wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye to, who I made good friends with. I wasn’t given a good enough reason as to why I was sent home suicidal with no aftercare. I wasn’t given a good enough reason as to why I was given two or three hours to pack my stuff and get out, after spending months getting attached. I wasn’t given a good enough reason as to why they chose me to constantly tear down. I wasn’t given a good enough reason as to why I was blamed for everything. Why I was the problem entirely and they did nothing wrong. I wasn’t given a good enough reason as to why they didn’t even care enough to not stick all the medications I never got to take right in the front of my suitcase, knowing my suicidal history, even after I blurted out “BUT I’LL DIE OUT THERE!”
I turned into trash to them in three seconds flat, and if those staff members did care, not a single one showed it. I had grown to trust monsters. I was heart broken. This wasn’t just any heart break. This wasn’t boy crushes girl’s heart, this was sick and twisted.