Solitary Confinement

The next seven days are the slowest you've endured. After everything you've been through, you felt like you should be grateful for the rest, but in the small dark space you live with nothing but your guilt. Guilt for the crimes you've committed. Guilt for leaving your loved ones behind. Guilt for not being able to see your children grow up. And now, guilt for not even being able to send money home. You had told yourself that you had sacrificed being with them for their own future, and now it seemed like you couldn't even provide them with that. You let yourself grow skinny and sorrowful, the bland meals delivered to you are collected untouched.

Seven days later, a CBP officer comes to get you. You feel so weak, tired, depressed, and angry that when you get to your bed, you just lay down. Nobody can talk to you. Nobody can rouse you. You remember one of the pamphlets they gave you was about mental health, and that you were supposed to be able to see a doctor if you needed to, but you don't have the energy to find out.

What do you do?