"He's just trying to keep his shit together."

--Rosa about Morpheus

My 30th Birthday

Before I was even a teenager, I have been planning to kill myself on my thirtieth birthday, thinking in part that 5/28/13 would never come.

I have a plan. I want to OD on morphine or heroin.

I don't have access to either at the moment, although I do know one drug dealer well enough to ask.

The people at county mental health know about my plan, and they have been helping me with options besides suicide. The Psych Tech has asked me if I want to spend my birthday in the hospital.

This is a "no."

By Sight

I'm sitting in a cafe, across the intersection from where I watch you drive into town. It's the closest I ever get to you.

In the ER

I went into the ER on Thursday looking for answers which, perhaps, was the wrong reason.

No answers came.

He was a bald man, skin spotted by the sun on his head and arms, and he sat down on the chair next to me, saying the ER doctor was convinced I was not safe, and needed hospitalization.

I said, "That's his opinion."

The psych-tech from county said, "What do you think?"

"If I wanted to be hospitalized, I would have went to STanford or Cottage."

He didn't say it, but he asked himself, "What is she doing here?" "You can talk to Mobile Crisis over the phone, and someone will come out to where ever you are. You don't have to come to the Emergence Room unless you feel like you just have to be somewhere safe right then."

I already knew that, but in the ER the pressure in my brain decreases. I can't explain it. IT has a calming effect.

"I don't know what you expected. I can't help you with your problems, just evaluate you for hospitalization, " the psych-tech continued.

I wanted something. Encouragement. Some words of wisdom. Some window to be opened. A light shined in the dark. A hand stretched out to hold onto.

There was nothing for a girl who dreams of driving her car into a tree or telephone pole.

Why Marriage?

"You should marry him," my mother says while we are driving to the prison, where she works. She is referring to Joseph.

"Why?" I respond.

"Financial security," she answers back.

I can't imagine it. Settling down and just settling.

"He's crazy about you," she says.

Living an upper middle class lifestyle, plastering a smile on my face 24/7. Becoming a stereotypical bored housewife eating prescription opiates or benzos and finishing off bottles of wine by myself because life just doesn't thrill me, life just doesn't fuck me hard enough anymore.

I  see it as a giant trap while others see marriage as a life accomplishment, a part of growing up--bills paid, house bought, student loans cleared, becoming an adult from a kid.

No Words

"I wanted to fuck her, the way she sat there offering herself up, was like candy on the counter..." --Hades, entry: No Words Come to Mind

Lost Loves

I am testament to the durability of the [American] institution called marriage.