It’s just hard to deal with right now.
Fuck this fucking suck site
Got back yesterday. Spent about six days in a mental health facility in Houston. The morning of my psych appointment I finally had the balls to ask for help. Something had to change, or I had to leave this planet. I checked in after my appointment; nervous and fatigued. I stripped off my swag to be given a paper shirt and pants. The process took long and eccentricity kicked in before being wheeled into my psycho hallway of emotional victims. I strolled down the path of aggravated fluorescent lights. I thought I smelt sweat, but noticed it was my fear persisting through shaky hands. 1:30-2am? Most patients were asleep, so I didn’t know what kind of assholes I’d be staying with. I sat at a small desk by the night window; no notebook allowed, all my books in my backpack locked in some fucking floor. When I noticed there was nothing to write on or with, I panicked. Though there was a small basket of crayons. I looked through the magazine’s which were all for women and noticed a single page from an adult coloring book stuck in ‘Woman’s World’ or some shit. It was half finished with crayons. It was an ocean scene with a sailboat bouncing into heavy waves, but the sunset and clouds were untouched. So confused, pissed, nervous, whatever, I got a blood red crayon and colored the serine scene into thick murder. I must have went over the sunset with the red so much that the hard pressing of my crayon snapped and scraped off most of the red. Crayon flakes showered my lap and desk. I smashed the flakes using the flat part of a pencil I found. Soon the paper felt heavy and began to tear. I went to my room and stared out the open door for hours on end until it was time for our mandatory wake. After vitals, I went back to the desk and didn’t look at any of my new neighbors. I went back to the woman’s magazine and started to carefully pencil in mustaches and beards on the face of beautiful woman. In fact I did this everyday, but no one stopped me. Eventually I was encouraged to do more, but without a notebook I felt like an Alzheimer patient. My urge to collect my mind in words and musical notes exploded in towards obsessive illness. The third day I was given a new notebook, and a book from my backpack. I thanked the universe and it may have smiled back for a nano second.
Lockdown of rooms: hallucinating patient submitted to our crazy family. An elderly gentleman crawled through the doors – the staff described his as confused. I looked around my corner, but didn’t see any new faces. Was I the confused patient they were speaking of? I used most of the pencils til the ends became dull flat wood. I took them to get sharpened at the end hall office. There was the confused man; behind me complaining about how our floor was being infested by millions of maggots. The non-slip socks didn’t help. After all the little rubber parts on the bottom looked like I had yellow crawlers crushed at the bottom of my feet. “You can’t help but step all over them!”, he shouted. I agreed so he would shut the fuck up. Once the pencils were sharpened he stopped me in my way back to the hall and grabbed my finger loosly; fondling it putting it closer to his mouth. I looked at the pencils and thought about stabbing his wrist. Instead I yanked my hand back and smiled. I quickly replied, “Sorry friend, I just used this hand to fist my ass.” Then sadness filled his cataract eyes. Ten minutes later he was gone; removed from our group. In the span of five minutes he grabbed two females patients privates. One for slapping a girls ass, and the other has her tits grabbed. Never saw the dirty man for the rest of my stay.
That second day I would meet some of the most remarkable people I had ever met, including my brilliant roommate David. One of best friends I would ever have On a short time basis. We were much alike, including every interest in fine detail. He was my twin; just taller, younger, and black.
Day two to be continued.