Like falling

It feels a lot like falling, going down a ski slope or a roller coaster, ah, I miss those days.

I’m only on the functional side of madness. Monitored, if I slip I’ll be looked after. I’m not quite mad enough. I only have intrusive thoughts of self harm. That’s manageable. I’m only daydreaming about death, perfectly acceptable. Poe esque, I seem to be in a second teenage goth rebellion. Except with really realistic suicidal ideation. I don’t think goths are supposed to have that.

The rug’s just pulled out, the strings cut as it were. I’ve been here before. How I love being a historian.” Patient is a poor historian” my ass I’ve been documenting my previous encounters for months! MONTHS DOCTOR! Sorry, that was at the top of my file when I was admitted, the one time. You can imagine the shame, for a history nerd like me to have such a label.

Clearly they met someone who wasn’t me.

Anyway, really realistic self harm and suicide fantasies. That’s what’s going on with ME. How about that? They are fricken cinematic and beautiful, I can’t pull them off they are that good, so it’s like deterance in the other direction from normal. But give me a few years and an art budget……

I’m the only person I’m allowed to harm with impugnity, nearly. And if I’m determined about it, total impugnity. It’s the only total freedom there is. The freedom to not be. Is it such wonder that so many imprisoned or confined take that route?

It was the one thing, the one thing I wanted out of was this irksome confinement, what do I get more of? confinement!

Then I lose my fricken badge at work, meaning I’m trapped in the building most of the day, this is an issue as I need fresh air, it’s a mental health issue for me. Meanwhile the office is VERY stressed with construction and one of the other offices throwing us under the bus and sending their clients to us, which they aren’t allowed to do but they did anyway.

I do not like this place, I was six months from getting out, now a year and six?! ANOTHER SUMMER?! Triple the time is a long time, reproductively speaking. On my back, and on my heart liver and kidneys it’s a long time.

They only see the risks. None of them know how to rough it, or see my vision. I’m at the point that like, then don’t come to Michigan…. I saved the money to buy this house. I worked whatever jobs, snagged and cleaned up after whatever roommates, did whatever repairs over the years keeping it going. That was mostly me. Maybe my parents, they get input but until my wife said something they agreed I had earned this.

Now the goalposts are moving, or maybe it’s just me. There goes everything, through my hands like grains of sand.

I hear they’ve gotten into some really exotic street drugs, take a ton of years off your life. What say we tank the statistics of this stank pile town? No one ever gets out, not really.