all i need are some crayons

[fictional]

i feel like i'm in kindergarten. they've got me tracing maps of new york state. i have drafting tape, sharpened pencils, enormous sheets of tracing paper. it's kind of nice of them to have me doing arts and crafts to fill up the empty spaces of time at work, rather than, say, dusting. (!!!)

and i hear that they give lunatics in mental health places arts and crafts to do, to calm them. i think they call it occupational therapy.

so perhaps it is not merely coincidence that this is what i am doing at work today.

i just called psychological services for an appointment.
i hate that i feel i have to do this.
it seems weak, and silly. especially when there are so many other people, with far huger problems. and not to mention, i've tried this before, and it hasn't worked any magic for me.
but i guess it seems weaker to simply continue destroying myself, and those who i love more than i could ever hope to explain. without even putting up a fight.

so i'm going.
and i'll even do everything i can to be totally honest, and not be afraid that they'll show me some truths that i've spent my sentient life trying very hard not to see

hey, maybe they'll just give me the good drugs, and send me away.
one can always hope, right?

Comments

[maatling.livejournal.com]

(huge psychic hugs that lift you off the ground and almost crush the breath out of your lungs.... oh wait... that's not a good idea, is it?)

(gentle, enfolding, supportive-type hugs on a psychic wavelength that is totally healing)

I love you.

[prosicated.livejournal.com]

drugs, eh?