Manchild wanted to take me back to the ER this evening, but I told him I can’t go anywhere until I shower, and I don’t intend to shower, so there’s his answer.
He asked me whhhhhhy, and I said becaaaaaause.
They’ll try to admit me again, and I’m afraid of that happening. Why? Because I’d rather die. Being that way is likely to get me shipped up to the 7th floor where they don’t let you have shoelaces. If I admit to refusing treatment or medical recommendations, then they automatically have a problem with me.
I don’t know if my head is in the right place to be making decisions, but I also don’t feel sad or depressed. So why do I want my life to end? Why am I facilitating the death? Short answer: exhaustion. Long answer is too complicated for my gabapentin riddled brain, and middle finger to put into words.
More on this later. Maybe.