(no subject)
Well, the cat's been pretty well de-bagged, so I may as well post about it here. Now, what passes for a normal mental state with me is being 100% convinced that my death would be a good thing, at least for me (I've gotten off to a start, if a shaky one, on believing that some people wouldn't consider it such a good thing for themselves), but being too lazy to actually bring it about. Over the weekend, I found myself feeling, shall we say, a bit less lazy. Distressingly un-lazy, even. I figured I'd wait until Monday morning and call my psychiatrist's office so they could make arrangements to have me hauled away to the hospital, but between my mother insisting that I go to the emergency room right away and my father insisting just as hard that I go to ex-Booth Memorial rather than Jamaica Hospital, well, the plan got changed a bit. Long story short, I spent 27 hours in the ER-did you know ex-Booth Memorial has no psych ward?-occasionally answering questions from a doctor regarding my condition, but mostly lying on a hospital bed that made my rear hurt if I sat up too long, sleeping two hours here and four hours there, listening to the screams and complaints of the other occupants. Then it all blew over and they sent me home. "You should be in the hospital" hell, I could've accomplished the same thing at home and been more comfortable.