Over the past few months, your anxiety ramped up, leading you to increasingly isolate yourself and avoid any situation which you found uncomfortable. At the same time, your depression worsened. You became listless, cranky, unmotivated, and positively plagued by guilt. In short, you were in real bad shape.

Your parents, much as they hated it, eventually came to the conclusion that they couldn't give you the help and care that you needed. Their best option was to take you to St. Jude's Mental Hospital.

The first day was rough. You had absolutely no desire to leave the room or do anything. You didn't even want to watch TV with the rest of the residents. You just stayed in your room all day and pretended to be asleep whenever someone came in.

The second day, the nurses were having none of that. They pulled you out of your bedroom and guided you to the common area, reassuring you that as long as you were quiet and didn't interrupt the program, no one would pay you any mind.

It seemed like an okay enough idea to you, if no one was going to look at or interact with you. It could be a good baby step toward being less nervous around people. Exposure therapy.

But it didn't quite go the way you planned.

As you approached the common area, a boy with floppy, blondie-brown hair and the energy of a golden retriever puppy came bounding up to you with a grin that threatened to split his face.

"Hello! I'm Campbell. You must be new. How are you finding everything?"