Underfunded and overcrowded, the inpatient system finds itself in a relentless loop of short-term fixes rather than lasting solutions–just enough to keep the machine running. Instead of healing, it becomes a revolving door that treats symptoms, not people. How is it that the very institutions meant to help those in crisis seem to drag them further down? These wards trap patients in a relentless cycle, offering little more than survival, leaving them stranded in a desert with a well that has long run dry–yet, it’s still where the parched are sent to quench their thirst. In my time wandering that desert, desperately searching for water, I only discovered fear: fear that I would never leave, fear that I would be sent back, and fear that every time I opened my eyes I would find myself trapped there once again. Each day was a struggle, not just to endure the system, but to fend off the terror that it may be a permanent reality. The more I sought help in a barren system, the more I found it wasn’t capable of offering what I–we–needed. Eventually I realized that we can no longer search for water in empty wells. No longer should we put our hope in a system that offers no real answers; a system that sustains itself on crisis after crisis. We must refuse to remain in a place where the only certainty is uncertainty, where healing is dangled in front of us as bait, and surviving comes at the cost of success. We can no longer allow ourselves to be taunted by dry wells, expecting water where there is none. We need to become our own rain.

11/10/2024