Not Sick
I’m not living, nor am i dead;
I call it ”Surviving”.
I don’t like surviving,
It makes it hard to be alive.
“You’re not sick” my mother says, “You don’t need those pills” she repeats to the psychiatrist, less than five hours after trying to kill myself.
I don’t know where to go from here.
Do I just carry on with life under these conditions?
Is that possible?
“She needs all the love she can get right now” What about before? When i told you I needed help? and when I told you something bad was going to happen.
Why didn’t you listen?
Why doesnt anyone listen?
Still I’m sitting in the hospital “not sick” with a nurse watching my every move through the night and day, stuck in a 10x10 square foot room with bars covering the windows blocking all means of fresh air.
How I miss being outside.
I want to run around in the streets at 12am with my friends again.
Just one last time before I get locked away.
“She just needs time to rest”
But i’m not sick, so why would it matter?