#suicicidal thoughts mention

[charles195]

April 28th, 2017

Approximate date of when I lost my virginity. I was a senior in high school. I felt so consumed, like the Edible Woman. My mom yelled at me and said she wouldn’t pay for my college. Why the fuck did she say that? She didn’t even mean it and it was the start of the multiple panic attacks I had every day.

I asked for help. My therapist told me it was good I didn’t actually want to commit. I had a loose plan. I went to the doctor for antidepressants. Mistake. I said I had thoughts. Why would I ever think it was okay to tell someone my thoughts? I was locked away. It was “voluntary” until I wanted to leave and they put a 72 hour hold on me.

We had to do group therapy sessions and recreational activities for “points”. Of course I thought it was stupid. One of them was the thing where you put little colored hexagonal beads together to make a picture. “It’s a metaphor for taking small steps and creating something big and meaningful!” You wanna talk about metaphors? Let’s talk about this stupid mandatory activity is a metaphor for the system assigning arbitrary value to stupid shit to measure our compliance. Fuck it. I just made a dick. I love the ugly little distinct shape of a dick. I loved how inherently offensive it was.

I just wanted to draw or some shit. I had a headache. They wouldn’t give me painkillers. I was stuck in a mental hospital and they couldn’t give me painkillers, but they were okay with putting me on Zoloft and me asking for sleeping pills. They seemed to put everyone on Zoloft.

They actually did listen that time and gave us all pencils and paper to draw. How hard was that? Of course the other patients loved drawing. We couldn’t draw for shit of course.

I actually loved the Zoloft. The first time I took it, I was sitting on the floor outside of a door while we were waiting for some other activity and totally euphoric. Everything felt so good. Why did I have to be locked up just for some pills? My other friend mentioned afterwards that she was able to get medication for her bipolar disorder without getting locked up. It was definitely just because I had thoughts. Don’t trust dumbasses with your thoughts.

Masturbation got me through those three days. My first roommate asked me if I was okay when she noticed I was in the bathroom for a while. We were the same age, 17, and the oldest ones. She seemed so innocent. Her eyeliner was bad but I appreciated the effort she put in. We were all dressed in pajamas with the drawstrings taken out and uglyass blue socks with rubber anti-slip spots on the soles. I hate socks. I just want my feet to be free, man.

I fingered myself as much as I could when we had time to ourselves in our rooms. On the third day I couldn’t orgasm anymore. That’s when I hated Zoloft.

My first roommate was a stressed out top 10 student just like me. She was taking a shitton of IB classes. She applied for Cal Poly Pomona because she messed up on the UC application. She got in there. This year she announced she was transferring to UCLA. I loved her, she was so nice and kind hearted and she was the only one who I felt actually understood me. She was on Zoloft, too, and something else. She told me that Johnny Depp stayed in the same ward as us, too, back when it was a drug rehab center. Later I found a note int notebook from her written in secret code. We weren’t allowed to tell our names and addresses to each other in case one of us was too whack and was a murderer and liability issues. She left me her social media accounts in code. I still have her on Snapchat.

I was sad when she left but kinda excited to have the room to myself. Except we never exactly had privacy. A nurse would walk up and down the hallway periodically at night for checks. It was annoying as hell with their flashlight. I didn’t have the room to myself. My second roommate came during my huge mental breakdown.

She was a lot younger than me, but mature for her age. In a bad way. She was like 14 and said she had sex with her boyfriend. Like damn. Okay. She said she could see dead people but I wasn’t sure if she meant it or if she was just referencing The Sixth Sense. She told me she was taken forcefully and arrested by a police officer. She was a tiny 14 year old blonde girl and she was taken with force. What the hell.

She told me I wouldn’t get out if I was crying like that. She’s been in the mental hospital multiple times. She told me I had to fake progress. I told her she’s right. My first roommate mentioned the same thing.

One morning we sat together on the little seat thing at the window, and just stared out at the sky together. We weren’t allowed to go outside. Their excuse was that it was a temporary facility. That was why everything was so shitty.

When we were allowed to the actual hospital cafeteria “as a treat” instead of eating powdered eggs and other shit in the day room, she swore one of the boys from the other table was flirting with her. I couldn’t tell my eyesight wasn’t good enough. And didn’t she already have a boyfriend? What the hell?

We had “school”. We were watching a hockey movie while some lady paused occasionally and explained the significance of some scenes. Boring as hell. I don’t give a shit about sports. I had real school to return to, which I wouldn’t be able to return to for an entire month. I had AP exams to study for but I missed the AP government exam during those three days. I didn’t make it up. Studying was impossible with just textbooks. I needed my teachers to tell me what the hell the class was actually about. The month before the AP exam was the most important month in the entire school year. My learning was fucked but because I was a senior with panic attacks every single day, I was able given a passing grade. Reparation for the anxiety and depression that high school gave me. I had already been accepted into UCI.

On the third day I asked for the sleeping pills and knocked the fuck out. That was the start of my sleeping pill addiction. You can’t have panic attacks if you’re knocked the fuck out.

I was in the middle of fingering myself when I was told I could finally leave.

Some time later I finally stopped taking sleeping pills. Zzzquil was my shit. I had built up too much immunity. I was taking four at a time when two was supposed to be the max dosage.

As soon I turned 18, I had sex every day. Thanks Tinder. I couldn’t actually orgasm because of the Zoloft. But it just felt good to be penetrated really deep.

Timeline is bad, sorry. After I got out of the LLBMC, I fucked Andrew Mane. Actually that wasn’t his real name and I didn’t even realize that until much later when I looked in the yearbook. Oh my god I loved his big dick. I couldn’t cum so I faked it. It felt good. I thought I loved him. Silly me, I just loved dick. We only got to fuck a couple more time before he moved. What a guy. He was pretty whacky.

On the second day of LLBMC, I asked for my friend to visit. I chose him specifically because we marched together. We hummed the corps song together. It gave me hope. We were the last ones in the visitation room before hours ended and he had to go. He said he didn’t judge me. I believed him. I wasn’t a good friend to him. I regret that.

And then later I got into some sugar daddy stuff.

[ask-the-warrior-dancer]

“It.... it’s been years Al.... you... you died.... Noemi brought you back...”

“.... you mean with necromancy? I didn’t know that was possible.... wait... as in the Miss Noemi we met when we were little...?”

“N-noemi...? Are you here? I... I’d like to speak to you, if you’re willing...”

That voice... Could it be? Noemi opens the door to the room she was currently staying in.

"Melody..."