There is a calmness in the air, and peace consumes me. I can finally take a breath and not feel the weight of the world pressing on my chest.

I might be fastened to a stretcher and riding in an ambulance, but for the first time in months, my body is free from the shackles of my messed-up mind.

The muscles in my cheek are sore because I haven't smiled this much in months. Just a few hours ago, I was a balloon, filled to its maximum capacity and ready to pop. Now, all the air has been released. I might even go as far and say that I'm happy. It seems like an odd thing to say after having the day I had, but once I agreed to treatment at an inpatient facility, I was relieved.

I was fighting a losing battle this morning and thought I could do it alone. I can't even come up with the words to express how euphoric I felt when I realized I didn't have to.

I can't help but chuckle as I think about how quickly my life changed. With one simple decision, everything just clicked into its rightful place.

This feeling won't last forever, I know that. I have a long road ahead of me, but damn, it feels good to be me right now.

A familiar song comes on the radio, and my head bobs along with the words. Aaron would often play it when he was in high school and living at home. I remember one time he saw me dancing along with the rhythm, and he joined in. Mom thought we were ridiculous, but even her unpleasantries couldn't ruin the fun memory.

Speaking of my parents, I told Aaron I did not want them to find out anything about what was happening. Actually, I don't want anyone to know. I'm not proud of how my life has been going, and I know that I'm doing the best I can, but I want to share my story when I'm ready. He was more than understanding.

Not that I was expecting anything different from him. After all, I do have the best big brother in the world.

I hum along to the beat, and Jason, the paramedic sitting with me, smiles. He has the bluest eyes I have ever seen and a chiseled jaw to match.

When I first saw him, I must have been the color of a tomato. Of course, someone handsome would strap me to a bed and haul me off to the looney bin.

Jason starts singing along with the song, and he's not half bad. He gets to a specific part where the notes go insanely high, and he goes for it. My hand flies to my mouth to muffle my laughter.

"Nailed it," Jason says proudly.

"Oh, yeah. For sure. Grammy worthy." The sarcasm rolls off my tongue easily, and I can't help but pat myself on the back.

Sarcasm used to be my second language. I haven't had much use for it lately, but it is comforting to know it's still there.

Jason winks, and if I wasn't strapped to the stretcher, I'd fall off. "You seem to be in good spirits."

"I am," I admit proudly. "I know where I'm going isn't something to be proud of, but just knowing I'm getting help makes me feel better. I don't know how to explain it."

When Jason looks at me and our gazes connect, I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. "You don't have to. I get it. Don't be ashamed."

My eyes go wide, and Jason shrugs his shoulders. "I've been in your shoes before."

Unsure how to react, I begin to play with my fingers. "Re...really?"

"Yeah. It was the best decision I ever made."

"Are you okay now?" I ask.

Jason stares off into the distance like he is reliving a memory, unsure if he wants to share that part of his life.

As I'm about to apologize for asking something so personal, he clears his throat. "Depends on what you consider okay. I'm still in therapy, still taking my medications, and I will never be cured. However, I'm stable and living my best life."

"So it gets better?"

A breathtaking smile pulls at Jason's lips, and I can't help but notice the small dimples on his cheeks. "You know that saying, 'The grass isn't always greener on the other side'? Well, in this case, the grass is definitely greener. I'm not saying it's easy—it's definitely hard at times—but it pays off."

I let Jason's words sink in. I made the right decision, but hearing from someone who has lived it is incredibly comforting. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."

Dave, the driver, yells to the back of the ambulance, "Our ETA is about ten minutes."

A comfortable silence takes over the small space; the only sound is the hum of the ambulance's motor. Looking out the back window, I notice we are making our way over a bridge. I take in the scenic view of the water below and the purple and orange hues in the sky.

The tiniest flutters make their way across my skin, knowing I'm only a few minutes from the hospital. The unknown can be scary, but this is a fear I'm ready to face.