When I went to the nuthouse, I brought two books with me: Orhan Pamuk’s Snow and Gyorgy Konrad’s Stonedial. The latter is the closest I will ever have to a bible; every time I’ve gone somewhere new, that book has come with me. After all, Dragoman wouldn’t have walked through the double doors of the psychiatric hospital with shoulders rounded, arms clenched, flinching at every touch and trying to make himself as small as possible so as not to be hurt; Dragoman would have walked in like he owned the place, grinned, cracked a joke… he would have treated their confiscating of his clothing as amusing and, if I’m […]
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nuthouse
I’m not entirely sure what I’m thinking by posting this. I’ve kept to myself for all this time, no one is going to read this, and no one on here cares anymore than anyone around here. I mean, people say the words, but they don’t really mean them. You can hear, “I DO care about you!” but as soon as they say that, they’re off doing something else. But I guess if I’ve come this far, if I typed the words on the search engine that led me to this website, if this really is some low blow at getting suicidal people reported, whatever the reason […]