Last Fall, I Walked Into a Psych Ward and Asked to Be Locked In. It Was Nothing Like I Expected.

“I need your shoes,” the nurse said.

I looked at my blue Converse sneakers, and back at him. “What?”

“Your shoes,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “You can’t have them here.”

I almost protested: I know what you’re thinking, but the laces are just decorative.

I don’t even know how to remove them. Instead, I took off my shoes and handed them to the nurse, who put them in a clear plastic bag. 

I started to wonder when I’d get them back, but then realized that I couldn’t think too deeply about that, because I felt so fr­agile that any stray thought could crack me like an egg. 

South Korea elects new leader vowing to teach Kim Jong Un some manners