  i wrote something absolutely profoundly stupid the other night.  i thought i'd share that with you.  it went along the lines of a cherry and toe nails.  " cherry,  cherry,
 line my toenails,  (  i suppose pretty good signs that the sanity was going.  it's an interesting thing to be in the 'crisis stabilization unit'.  even funkier to be woken up at six every morning for vitals and bloodwork.  .
the last couple of days have been rough,  good though;  i'm supposed ( trying)  to view this positively.  getting off my meds wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do,
 even more underlined when you're locked in,  baker acted,  and have an increasing medical bill to boot.  i have bruises from where they've continually drawn blood from,  tired wankingly weak legs,  a broken body,
 a faltering though system,  and the extremes one mind takes you to.  i am not good,  or great. but i'm okay.  the psych techs on this unit is excellent.
i am comforted and somewhat secure.  a little bit more sane and rested than the couple of weeks leading into this.  it's still a sad place though.  heartbreaking really,  i spend almost every waking moment caged in with the other patients ( or as pc america likes to call them,
 " clients"  that have lost their mind,  on the way to losing their mind,  or are just about to.  and i wonder what the hell i am doing here.
 or which category i fit into.  why so many people sick?  why so much hurting?  . emergency rooms are scary places to be.  the early crack of dawn,
 being asked seventeen thousand things and not being there at the same time.  smiling faces,  crying hearts,  delusional dying depressed fucking up you.  the boyfriend holds the puke bucket where black vomit continuosly comes out.  he gets water,
 another blanket,  the nurses.  he holds your hand and assures you it's okay,  he spends twenty hours holding you,  wiping you,  stroking your hair,
 talking to the doctors,  assuring the parents.  he takes the role of someone that you know for a fact now genuinely loves you.  cares.  he sings this to you as you fall in and out,  "
Let's Stay Together Al Green ( Al Green -  Willie Mitchell -  Al Jackson)  I,  Im so in love with you Whatever you want to do Is all right with me Cause you make me feel so brand new And I want to spend my life with you Since,
 since weve been together Loving you forever Is what I need Let me be the one you come running to Ill never be untrue Lets,  lets stay together Lovin you whether,  whether Times are good or bad,  happy or sad Whether times are good or bad,  happy or sad Why,  why some people break up Then turn around and make up I just cant see Youd never do that to me (
would you,  baby)  Staying around you is all I see ( Heres what I want us to do)  ( repeat to fade)
 Lets,  we oughta stay together Loving you whether,  whether Times are good or bad,  happy or sad"  and you wonder how you ever got so lucky,  and you wonder why he stays,
 and you wonder why he still tells you you're beautiful in a horrendous green gown,  an ashen face,  and tubes stuck everywhere.  a diastolic heartbeat,  falling blood pressure,  sticky tapemarks on your chest,
 your tummy,  your arms from the monitors.  yet you know nothing and everything that's going on around you.  you want to block out the last few days.  and every night,  as highs and lows tie in together and closure to another day comes;
 you crash.  so pill happy c. s. u.  feeds you another tranquilizer and anti- anxiety medicine,
 and they threaten to give you a shot if you don't at least attempt to digest this little green pill.  you cry,  you cry so hard you hyperventilate,  you cry so hard you are in your own world,  you cry so hard you never stop.  and every hour,
 they let you out of the locked rooms,  in the still caged facility,  to the tiny garden to get some sunshine.  or breathe in some fresh air.  or freeze your butts off.  they take the strings off your pants and hoods,
 they take away anything that might possibly harm you,  even your pen,  even your sanity.  they say they're just trying to keep you safe.  just trying to keep you alive.  they have groups around the hour,
 but you just sit in the corner and weep.  or cry.  or just stay silent,  watch the others. everyone in here feels the need to talk about how they feel,  struggle for attention,
 yet you are still alone in that you're the only one that feels safe yet wants to get the fuck out of here at the same time.  up by six,  bed by ten thirty.  restricted,  regimented,  everything is planned.
 noted.  at 4: 45,  racheal sat on the bench.  at 4: 50,
 she watched tv.  at 5: 00,  she had mash potatoes for dinner.  yes,  even what you eat.
 what you hear.  what you say.  and someday,  maybe when you're bettern,  you'd like to look at those charts,  yet some day,
 you hope you never ever see them.  read them.  know how absolutely fucked up you are.  i am afraid,  and scared.  i am pressured,
 and piss fucking frustrated.  i am getting better,  and doing fine.  i am in a fucking damn crisis unit.  i don't want to live.  but i want so badly to see my rainbow.
 in.  between.  death is a s l o w,  s l o w,  agonizing process.  "
just try,  try,  then try again,
