Humble Pie Slice #8
I’m a hypocritical piece of shit (and more.) First, the hypocritical. When people come to my blog and say certain words like, I don’t know. Say: “suicide,” “overdose,” “just can’t go on anymore so I’m gonna…” What are my three words in response? Well, there is a variation: “Go get help!” or more specifically: “Go to hospital!”
Well, guess where I am, folks? And that #8? It’s not some crazy, new, Twitter hashtag. It’s the number that this hospitalization is for me.
Piece of shit. Well, lots of things we could say there! Oh, hell yeah! At the time of composing this, I’ve only been admitted (like to a floor, gotten a bed, admitted) just barely over 12 hours. They still haven’t gotten all of my meds straightened out (I finally got my Concerta at 1430hrs, they have no Clobazam, I never got my tummy med today.) Not that I care. If you want a Twitter hashtag for me right now, how about #epicepicepicepicepicfail
I should not be here. But I should. I don’t want to be here. But maybe I do. Still, I am so seething, with hatred about being here.
However, thankfully the Psych Intern who saw me in the ER was a very good one. Thorough, and even covered off what I need for post-“ick”tal© garbage. As a matter of fact, at Nursing Shift Change before our charming dinner, I asked for my order of standard post-“ick”tal© therapy: Gravol, Valium and something for my bloody, aching head! Not to mention the Gravol helps the food go down a bit better. I am also walking without Wonder Cane (again.) I needed him last night, I’ll tell you!
Last night. What the fuck happened last night? Why the hell am I here? Well, I wanted to kill myself. Which sounds odd if you’ve been reading my blog for a while, as I’ve been suicidal on and off for quite a while. What the fuck was any different last night?!
For now, all I can say is that it’s probably been (no shit, Sherlock?) a build up of things, several specific things? One very specific? I don’t know. I never thought I’d end up going back into hospital for chrissakes! And killing myself? Oh, god.
I refuse to say it was a “Cry for Help.” A “Display of Desperation?” All I do know is that I was rather quickly going out of my mind due to the events of the day. I was doing some writing and in looking back at it today, wow. Just wow. Indicative of my triggers, crazy life, crazy head…
Also, as far as writing and going out of minds and desperation…I’m so much more a piece of shit there. Terribly. Hugely. The worst way to ask for help is transference–even if I AM out of my mind right now. And I am. Unfortunately. So, to said person, a million MORE apologies!
I don’t know if/when I’ll get a chance to post this. I can’t get access to the Internet with baby MacBook alone, so this is being crafted in Word. Well, I could just run out there, yank the LAN cable when no one is using either of the two machines, but maybe that’s not so nice. Or maybe who cares? I am on a goddamn Psych Ward!
I can’t even get to an Internet Café! Despite coming in voluntary, I’m still on some form of observation. No off-ward privileges!
Ah, screw it. I’ll post this. I’m totally bonkers, totally sleep deprived, totally a piece of shit, so go ahead and rip out that LAN! They might be moving me to another floor tomorrow, anyway.