I did notice you there in the shadows – it was awfully kind of you not to jump right in with the others and give me a little bit of time to prepare for your appearance. But you weren’t promoted to Major over all the other depressive categories for nothing.
Am I being too friendly? Really I’m devastated and terrified that you’re back. The last time you came you wouldn’t leave for three years, with a break for ‘geographic therapy’ whenever it struck me to relocate. It would take you some time to catch up, typically, but you always did. Lost you in Southern Mass last year, though. I guess it was keeping that Dallas cell number…
Yesterday I thought I had a cocktail, purely accidental, that worked, that would keep you away. I didn’t repeat it precisely today, but close enough, and I want to get away so badly I’m going through the options.
Often the psych wards don’t know what to do with you. And anyway, the just want to get you in and out, not that I mind, extended exposure to your less fortunate victims tends to make me feel worse, more detached. And God forbid I section myself and McLean and Beth Israel have no vacancies. The other wards – MGH, Brooklyn College and Arbor – I think I would deliberately assault someone just to be shot up with Thorazine. In the better units, it’s all meds-based, and I am resistant. Doctors don’t like to believe you are resistant. They want to retry every failed combination and then some, new classes of pharmas, new combinations, alternative therapies. And then the shit they want you to do when you get out. It’s too risky.
There’s running. I haven’t thought of that one too much, I have no one to run to, or with, Perhaps that’s a positive, but Borderline requires companionship. We don’t do so well just inside my head. Of course.
And there’s death. So many avenues. The simplest are the ones come with the higher risk for failure, the harder, well, I’m not apathetic enough for that kind of hurt. Never been the cutting sort. Mental agony is fine without adding the physical to the mix. Or blood. Unless its full on exsanguination, of course. But I’d have no way of bleeding myself out. That’s for slaughter houses and horror movies.
You bring gifts when you come, gifts nobody would want. This visit you gift worthlessness with a side of apathetic hopelessness. I typically bring candles or handcrafted vases when I visit someone. To your credit, you give me more words than I have without you, but the apathy renders them mute and useless. That would be frustrating if I cared to live and make use of the language.
I know it won’t make a difference, but I’ll say it: you are suffocating me, and that is killing me. You and your greater and smaller co-morbidities are making a Clive Barker film out of my mind. “Hellraiser” specifically, tearing it in so many directions. Really tearing it, as if it may fracture and be permanently unwhole this time. Last time was bad enough – 3 full years – but somehow your resurgence, recent as it is, is worse because I saw you coming. I saw you coming and the terror rose and expanded until I’m choking on it and I can’t stop it. And I do not want you here to the point I’ll do nearly anything to escape from you.