Current location:	yolo fucking county
Current mood:	numb
Current music:	mazzy star

nyeh
so i forget what day they admitted me, but i went to the hospital. they discharged me after three days.

"for your age, you have the most damaged liver i have ever seen."

they gave me librium - a detox drug. they sent me back to the place id been secretly drinking alone for maybe a month, maybe a little bit less. a sober living house. ive mentioned it before.

i told them i didnt feel safe going back there. that if i went back there i knew id drink. sure as shit or a zig-zagged stitch in a quilt or a piece of fabric that could become one. why does there need to be a reason?

when someone knows something, crazy or sad or unreliable might they be, they know it. it doesnt mean you should trust or believe them. but give them the credit of not trusting or believing themselves, and look them in the eyes. you will probably be able to tell if they are full of shit or if they arent.

most people transported from hospitals to psych wards arent choosing to do so. sometimes when a person distrusts their own ability to keep themselves safe, sometimes when their insurance wont comply with what they sortof think they might they need, AGAIN, then they are left to their own devices.

these devices are pills and a quart of what makes her liver, despite her age, close to failing.

call it what you want. chart it as you must. it was me wanting to die and it was me failing. what angel and i would call a TOTAL CFH (cry for help).

didnt work. does anything?