Having had time to reflect, I realize that being committed was a cruel necessity. I was out of my mind. And I believe now that being hospitalized was probably best for me. But the staff of that hospital took for granted that I was out of control and delusional, and they didn't realize that I was aware.
I reacted badly to group therapy because subconsciously I knew it wasn't my ideal form of communication, not because I was misbehaving on purpose. Nobody really tried alternative ways to reach me. I was fucking manic, you ass- holes, not stupid, not deliberately attempting to cause trouble. I was terrified and angry, which manifested in absurd ways.
Psychotic people don't want to kumbaya, you incredible dumbfucks. You terrified my mother by telling her I'd never come out of it. You injected me and gave me pills, but you didn't help me. You told me I was "going up the river." (Because having a mental illness was my fault?) And guess what? I was treated with kindness and patience by people paid far less than you, and I snapped out of it. Now I have a bill so large it could be a down payment on a house, all to pay your inflated salaries, you incompetent excuses for mental-health-care professionals. Go fuck yourselves.