Psychiatrist @ MindSay

I was in a large empty room talking to a psychiatrist who eventually turned into Chelsea Grammar. He was reading my own self-analysis that I had written and then started talking about baseball which he seemed to think had some indirect relevance to something I had written; he started re-enacting exciting baseball moments and games he had been to and even got baseball players to come into the room to talk to me. He was very passionate about it. I wasn't listening because I had no interest in baseball and sensed that he had completely gotten off point he was trying to make and wasn't helping me, but just expressing his obsession with baseball. I looked out the window and the clouds scared me. They were in the shapes of things; not the "suggestions" of shapes that clouds usually were, but perfect imitations of those things with perfect details and proportions; and not just one or two clouds, but all the clouds. I found the clouds exciting but also terrifying. I considered mentioning this to Chelsea Grammar but wasn't sure if he would see them, too, or if it meant I was insane. I think I eventually did but he didn't see anything wrong, but I didn't know if it was because I was the only one who could see the shapes (because I was insane) or if he thought that clouds were supposed to look that way.

Then that room ended and I was running away from the clouds. I started outside on a stadium where I could see the clouds that were in the shapes of things, and I ran down these stairs and kept running further and further down, I wanted to go as underground as possible with no windows at all so I wouldn't have to look at the terrifying clouds. As I was running down, I was passing people who were going up and I kept trying to warn them, to convince them to go down, to keep away from the horrible clouds, but they wouldn't listen to me, they didn't see anything wrong with the clouds.

I'm slipping away into madness. I can feel it. I always knew this day would come. I knew it way back then and I know it today.

I didn't wake up until 13:30 and basically only ate one meal. I haven't been hungry lately, but that's probably because I don't do anything during the day. The only thing I do manage to do everyday is find a new way to keep myself from killing myself. I drank five beers and passed out around 15:00. That killed a few hours out of my day. I smoked a blunt then watched a spiral thing to see if I could hypnotize myself, that lasted a while. Then I got depressed as usual and thought. I thought about everything that's happened and everything that will happen. I always manage to think about the future in "what ifs." As in, what if this happened and then I fantasize about a possibility for hours, creating an entire delusion about what will happen. I started to think about what is going to happen when I tell my family that I want to get therapy. Of course I played the little scenario in my head and this is how it went:

"So I want therapy". My mom will certainly cry and ask me why. Then I will have to fluff the truth and say I've been under some stress this past year and I just want to get things organized in my life before I graduate from college. It's nothing really, I just want to work some things out. Which she will of course realize this is a bullshit answer and then she'll just cry some more. She'll tell my dad and then he'll either get angry or upset as well. Then they're both going to bible bounce me until I cry and then in a fit or rage try to cut my wrists in the kitchen. Which will of course lead to an ambulance and me being hospitalized. Then of course the rest of the family will find out, meaning my Aunt and her family and my grandfather. So as I'm lying in a hospital bed commiserating on how much I hate myself, my parents will walk in and talk to me. Where I will finally after 21 years spill everything that's been pitted in my stomach. There will be many many tears. They will walk out for a couple of hours and leave me alone. Then I'm sure somewhere along the lines I'll have to be visited by my Aunt and my cousins, then my grandfather and have to endure an earbeating. Probably more jesus jibber-jabber, and then I'll hate myself even more.

I started to think that after this point, the hospital would want me to stay for observations and to allow them time to get me a proper shrink. Which of course means I will miss my first semester of my senior year. So naturally my friends will want to know why I'm not moved into the apartment with my roommates and where I'm at. So then I can either lie or admit that I'm stuck in a hospital because I tried to kill myself. Which I know is going to be such a total shock and awe it's just going to bring me more grief and sadness. Not only will they be upset, or possibly hate me for giving up, but I won't be able to look them in the eye ever again. Then my close friends will probably find out through the grapevine and either hate me or come to visit me and then hate me.

So after everyone has had their chance to see me in utter life failure, I will end up in a mental ward, because I'm fucking crazy. I know I'm mentally disturbed. I've known this for a while. I'm not talking like "I see pink elephants crazy" I'm talking like "wow this kid's got some pretty dark issues." I've got enough things to talk to a shrink about, they could write a doctoral thesis the size of a stephen king novel. From diagnosis to disorder, from each and every traumatizing memory to every dark thought I've ever had. So now that I'm seeing a shrink, my family has either disowned me and taken me out of the will because they now know my secret life, or they are still bible berating me. I then envisioned myself living the rest of my days in a mental ward taking anti-psychotic meds from a dixie cup and wearing a stark white pajamas. I figure this will all happen over a time span of the next three or four years.

Well that depends on whether or not I spill the beans before my senior year of college, or wait until I graduate. I'm pretty sure I can hold things in just a little longer, but you never know what my life will throw at me, because it certainly throws a lot.