Decided to do another 2nd person POV fic. Maybe give you insight to what happens in my head, yes? I have none of the exact disorders portrayed in this fic tho, so I apologize for mistakes. I've done my research and can relate to many symptoms due to my own disorder, but I don't promise perfection. Hopefully I can once again write a dark subject tastefully. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own House or any of the characters.

Beta'd by the lovely Vanamo.

In case you haven't heard, Wilde For World is doing a video project for Olivia. You should all message wfwproject at gmail to get more info and get involved!

Allison's POV:

You haven't showered in over twenty-four hours. It's not the first time you've gone over a day without showering, but in the ninety degree weather with your t-shirt sticking to your damp skin, you feel positively disgusting. You looked fine when you dragged yourself out of bed this morning, but beads of sweat are forming on your forehead and you're sure your hair is stringy and greasy even though there still manages to be several flyaway strands. It's almost embarrassing to be standing in the middle of a park in broad daylight.

"Are you listening?" Kendall taps your arm with the corner of the manila folder he's holding. He's a tall, dark-skinned man, roughly 6'5", with a muscular build that fills out the police uniform he's sporting.

"I really don't know any of this law stuff," you admit, rubbing your arm across your eyes. You allowed yourself two hours of sleep, enough so that you could at least function enough to leave the house. A mixture of stress and needing to look like you've been having a rough time were the cause of that. "I get it, I just…" Your voice trails off. You're a doctor, not a lawyer. Despite that your lawyer and the police involved have repeated the same things for the last four weeks, none of it has really sunk in.

"You're tired," he finishes it for you, letting you off with an excuse. He's not okay that you landed this job. That much is obvious. He respects you though. He's proven that over the past few weeks just by allowing you to do this.

"I put on a good act." You brush your hair away from your face and turn to face him, not bothering to look at the ground in attempt to hide the dark circles under your eyes.

How you got here, you're not entirely sure. It was Cuddy that recommended you. Law enforcement had contacted the hospital in need of a doctor that would be willing, and that just so happened to be you. The last four weeks have been a blur of meetings, planning, and learning exactly what it was like to be diagnosed with severe depression. Working for House didn't make that last one very hard. You smirk internally but remain indifferent on the outside. Teaching yourself to quell your emotions had been harder than you thought it would be.

"That you do," Kendall agrees. He places his hand flat on the back of the red park bench beside the two of you and stares at the people wandering around. The risk of being questioned if you're recognized provides a problem, but he thought you deserved an hour or two outside before being committed to an institution for a week or two. A week if you were lucky, two if judgment was still up in the air. "Ready to go?"

You give a brief nod then suck the rest of your Coca-Cola out of the paper cup you're holding through a straw. You're nervous, but that's a good thing. It's showing your anxiety that may prove to be a challenge. As a doctor, you taught yourself to remain calm and collected. As a crazy person, you now have to teach yourself to be hysterical and open with every feeling welling up inside of you.

Pleasant-view is a long-term inpatient unit. You find the name ironic due to the stories that have been leaking out from behind their closed walls. The reason it seemed to be long-term was due to the fact patients were being withheld proper treatment. It was no wonder when one ran an asylum that contained twenty-five supposedly 'insane' and 'unfit for society' people with rich families who were paying thousands of dollars a year so they wouldn't have to be the ones to deal with what they considered lunatics.

You toss your cup in a nearby trashcan as you follow Kendall back to his police car. He opens the back door for you and ushers you inside, then goes around to get in as you buckle your seatbelt.

After being inspected by the law and social services without them being able to find enough proof to deem the hospital unfit, finding someone to willingly go in as a patient was their next best option. Your heart immediately went out to those patients in need, just as Cuddy seemed to think it would. Closing your eyes, you tilt your head back against the seat. As a doctor, feeling this exhausted is nothing new, but it's unfathomable to think there were people who dealt with this on a daily basis. For some people, rest never came. You repeat such thoughts in your head to bring yourself down. The worse you feel, the better you'll fit in. As long as you were aware enough to be functional for the job, you need to look like you belong in such a place.

Kendall has a folder with fake records, mixed up with a few real ones. He puts it on the passenger side seat before he starts the car. Your entire life had been planned out, most of it being realistic until the part where your husband died. You had spent the last few years in a sinking sadness that left you unable to function as a normal person. Showering, eating, and socializing had all become impossible according to the file. You lost your job as head of an ER in Rhode Island then moved to New Jersey to live with your brother, who no longer could care for you after you got arrested for drugs.

The car hits a bump and it snaps you out of the dreamy daze you had managed to drift into. A professional actress probably could have done this job while feeling just fine. You, on the other hand, had to bring yourself down to the level of all the people you would soon be surrounded by. Your stomach is tied in knots.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Kendall asks, almost as if he's reading your thoughts.

"Yes," you let slip out without a second thought. Impulsiveness; you've already got that down now. If you think about it, you might change your mind. Being locked away from society for any extended about of time is no easy choice to make. It almost makes it easier when you realize you're supposed to be being involuntarily committed. No one in the ward was voluntarily committed, as far as you know. Maybe this was almost how it felt for them.

He parks the car outside the long, one story brick building.

You open your eyes. The sign out front hasn't been touched in years. It's dirty and reads as 'P easant iew'. It must be legal for the sign to not be kept up with, because Kendall doesn't comment on it. He gets out of the car and opens the door then pulls you out by your arm. He's not rough, but you know it needs to look like he's forcing you. He gives your arm a light squeeze for some last minute reassurance then leads you toward the front door.

You glance once around the empty parking lot and take in the last minute freedom, that last minute feeling that you can turn back. Once the door opens, you silently kiss freedom and reality goodbye.