6 feet under

as i walked into the consult room, i saw Dr T looking at the computer screen. he must’ve been reading my psychotherapy notes from the day before. i sat down and i passed him an envelope. “would you please certify me fit and sign it???” i said, in much desperation. it was an Advance Medical Directive, for in case you are unconscious and incapable of making any decisions, such as life-prolonging decisions… my lawyer friend was dead sure my psychiatrist would never sign it because of my chronic suicidality. but he was wrong. Dr T talked to me as he signed it. he wanted to be sure that i knew what it was.

we talked for awhile, and even though i am not actively suicidal, he says that i am. i showed him the cuts. the cuts i never had before, but have now because this is not living. so he gave me 2 choices at the table. 1) admission. 2) ECT. i conceded to ECT. but later decided that maybe i’m better off inpatient. did some paperwork, found out my ward had no beds available, so i backed out. took my meds, smoked, and went home. might as well. i have too many obligations with school. i really cannot afford to take that time off. not it again.

i don’t like my family and friends to know that i’m in a crisis so bad that i’m 6 feet under. so i try, you know. i really try to seem better (without feeling better). yay.

and oh yes, i’m so fucking hungry. sigh.

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