Back to ER on Wednesday Night

[Written last night 02/19]

I’ve had a lot of stress to deal with and I’ve dealt with it badly.

I sat in my sheets counting sheep so sadly.

I fear being in a relationship. People say we’re in it for self interest but my biggest interest is not hurting someone else. Or maybe it is motivated by me—the guilt I don’t want to feel which is like living in hells.

I feel like I don’t deserve love and I don’t deserve to be cared about, despite how much I craved it? That I am made to be alone and that is how I will survive this. So often I’ll sit and I’ll dare myself to quit. But then I think of you and how we kiss, and then I think of him and how we’d kiss, and I know he’s not him but I’m in love with the past. I’m never letting go, that’s what this is about. Nonetheless, I still feel like I care so much more. Do you think of me, I asked? Does he think of me as his whore? Is he in it for the sex—and does that even really matter? Are our motivations the same, and if so, where is my shame?

Speaking of the past, academically, we’ve been asked to explore it. But I look at my hometown and I know I abhor it. I came home today, and as we drove around, I felt annoyed. This place is filled with failure, with people who don’t care. I feel frustrated at their fakeness. I feel destroyed by my weakness. I hate this place—this is a grief hole to me. Why take me down this path? I guess I just wanna get an A.

Often we’ll look at our global problems and feel small. Our emotions and our feelings are minuscule in comparison to the earthquake in Haiti, so maybe, it doesn’t really matter. I see so much hate and it hurts me inside. Why celebrate the death of those you disagreed with but never knew? Scalia was different, but he had a family too. The elections give me a headache, a heartache, in fact, it’s another earthquake, or are we taking it too seriously? Obviously, the truth is we don’t know what to do. But I don’t want to listen anymore to the bullshit that’s going on, at least I think I don’t. Yet my dad is so fascinating by what’s going wrong. At dinner tonight, I tried so hard to change the topic. But those are his interests so who am I to stop it?

I’ve had a lot of stress to deal with and I’ve dealt with it badly.

I sat in my sheets counting sheep so sadly. And that was what I was doing when I texted my friend. 

They gave me that white bracelet and I became a bar code, an item on the grocery list. They say I’m safe now but why did I feel so much more afraid? I didn’t know if I should have gone and that made me feel pissed. 

The first nurse’s name was Grace and she was nice to me. The tech’s name was Keeli and I can bitch about her. I knew her type and her type thought she was superior, the best nurse on the floor, the one who knew much more, who related much better, and was noble to the core. I only asked to make one call and nothing else? Was I in jail? I felt so trapped. I looked at Grace and she just said “well, honey, I think Keeli is probably right…” because she’s just a small woman who was influenced by her shit. “Keeli, you’re so nice, you’re so good,” I heard her say. “You know, I’m just trying, because if I were here, I would be terrified!” Great, because you are half the reason I’m petrified. Grace came to check on me in the beginning but eventually she left me alone, because that was what Keeli would do. All night I suffered and I cried and I was wrapped in a little ball in some purple night gown I’d been forced to wear. “I would never be mean to anyone,” I heard Keeli say with a bit of vocal fry. It made me so angry and all night I’d wanted to die. I didn’t want to give a urine test and she said “well, they have to check if you’re pregnant.” And she said that over and over again but it must have been a troll. Because if Keeli were so smart, she’d have seen I’m on birth control.  All night Keeli talked about the patients that were there. I heard her talk about me and she was judging me and I was scared.

I cried all night and I was shaken to the core. They thought I was asleep but really I was in shock—I couldn’t move anymore. Everyone else was so nice, the CNPs and the psych team. They tried to help me out but in the end, I was living a war. There was Scott, he was a resident, and so kind to me. But in the end I didn’t take it, I was mean. The last thing Scott said to me was “come back when you want to stop feeling this way.” Scott broke my heart.

I’ve come home now and I still feel so terrible. There’s so much shit I can’t handle. A relationship I don’t know if I want. Schoolwork I don’t want to be taught. I don’t eat well or sleep well, but the last thing I want is even more therapy. Thank you, for staying with me, Reader. I’ve written this all so oddly and maybe that’s because I wish this was a story and not real.

I have a lot of stress to deal with and I deal with it badly.

I sit in my sheets counting sheep so sadly.

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