[Cyanide Cola]

The first time they roll you in you think, this place doesn't seem so bad. And I suppose it wasn’t. It was only my first day. I had gotten here late last night and I couldn’t sleep much. It was better than the hospital. I was bored in the hospital and when I finally got to sleep someone came around to take my blood pressure and whatever. I wasn’t allowed any books, or electronics until my last too days. My parents had brought me a few magazines and I got quite a few visitors, family, friends, girlfriend. There was a TV in there but it didn’t have many channels. And not too many shows I liked. Basically it was boring. And I had to wear that stupid hospital gown that doesn't cover your ass, and I wasn’t allowed any underwear, or even a ****ing bra. The bra pissed me off the most. See, I’m very large chested, and I can’t really go without a bra. I was so happy when they finally let me wear one. So I suppose this place is much better than that. I was allowed to wear my own clothes. They even have books here, or at least that’s what I was told. My psychiatrist had pulled me out of my group, and now group was over, it seemed like everyone was just wondering. Making phone calls, watching TV, talking. Ugh. **** this. I didn’t want to deal with anything anymore. So I went back to my room and laid down. What was I doing here? Did I want help? I just couldn’t imagine anything getting better, so what the **** was the point? I’ve tried this thing before, and it helps for a little while, but it all comes back. It’s always there, this darkness, this hole. It’s always there. It just gets bigger and darker as time goes on. So just do what you have to, cut, purge, starve, binge, to live with it. I was basically just buying my time until I found a way out. And when I finally found a way out it was ripped away from me. I closed my eyes, hoping that I could escape, just for a moment.

I was woken up by one of the staff, telling me that it was lunch time. **** that. You could keep me from cutting, but you can’t make me ****ing eat. And she left. That’s the great thing about being twenty-one, you don’t really ‘have’ to do anything here. They can’t force you to take meds, go to groups, or all that bullshit. But during group you had to stay in your room or go to group. Whatever. It’s not like there’s anything out there I want. So I lied there, staring at the celling. I can’t believe I agreed to this. I didn’t want to go home, how could I go back to that house, how could I ever live with my parents. I was so humiliated, I wanted more than anything to disappear. Just go away so I didn’t have to bother anyone anymore. And so they couldn’t bother me. I don’t know if I fell asleep again or not. I closed my eyes for what felt like a moment when I hear a soft voice call my name and ask “Are you okay?” It was my roommate. She was a small girl. She had long dark hair and olive skin. She had been very nice to me so far. I told her I just wasn’t hungry. That’s when a staff member came in. She started asking my roommate question about how she was feeling. Standard questions at first. Then it got into heavier stuff, thoughts of suicide, thoughts of harming yourself. When she was finished with her, it was my turn. I was so accustomed to lieing about these things that’s what I did.
“Any thoughts of suicide?”
“No.”
“Any thoughts of harming yourself?”
“No.”
She paused for a moment, looking at her notepad. She turned her head slightly and looked to me. “So,” she tapped her notepad “if you’re no experiencing these things why are you here?”
Why the **** am I here? What am I doing? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t even know where to start. I could feel my chest start to tighten, every though I had seemed to be drowned out static. What am I even supposed to do?