psych ➳ muke

0.2

Doctors must think that your legs stop functioning when you've knocked on death's door. They like to wheel you around, everywhere they take you. Whether it be in your bed or in a wheelchair, you don't walk.

And here I was, being wheeled into yet another elevator. Heading upstairs to the metal health unit of the hospital.

It was two days after I had passed out in the ambulance. They patched me up, made me better again. Although, I still wish they hadn't.

I hadn't been to this unit before, but once we pass through the door, it all looks the same. White walls, tile floors. There are a few other kids lingering about, watching as they wheel me by. I hate the way they look at me. As if I am some sort of freak. But odds are, I'm in here for the same reason as them.

We're all crazy.

I sit through an orientation in which they discuss the rules and asked me a series of questions. All questions in which I render pointless.

How are your eating habits?

What is your sleep schedule?

Are you still suicidal?

I eat when I'm hungry. I'm shit at sleeping. And yes, I wish I were dead.

The nurse just nods and offers a fake smile, typing away at her computer.

"Okay, Luke, your mom dropped off some clothing for you so we'll let you get changed. You will be staying in room 7 and you'll have a roommate."

A roommate? I am already suicidal as it is and they want to put me with someone I don't know? Great.

In that moment, I feel like crying.