took me out of the padded cell today. They brought me to that lady who talks to
me as if I’m a troubled kid. She tried to make me tell her about what my life
was like before. She should know by now that I don’t tell people like her my
life story. I hate the way she speaks to me as if I was a ten-year-old with a
behavioral problem, instead of a twenty-four-year-old woman with ‘suicidal
tendencies.’ They have some kind of clinical, medical label for everything
here. I could be twenty-five now, for all I know. The days blur together and
there is no window in whichever cell they incarcerate me into. My parents used
to come and visit me, but they don’t anymore. They weren’t much help when they
did come anyway, they just told me it was for the best, that I’d only be in
here until I got ‘better.’ I didn’t cry, because I know that’s what everyone
wants me to do, the counselors want me to show some emotion, so that they can
brand me as depressed. People like to categorize other people, and if there’s
no category for you then they invent one, and try to force you to fit that

The End

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