Well... I...
I...
why does this always happen to me right before the summer? Why do my friends leave? Am I unlikeable? Do they see how broken I am, how no amount of patience could fix?
Mom wants me hospitilized. The reasoning is, I'm a danger to myself and to others. She says I need to be in an institution until I get better, until I get control. She told me I just had to say the word, and we'd be off. She said if I was ever that violent again, we'd be going, regardless.
The thing is, I want to go. I want every day to be structured, to know just where and when I'll be. To have a horde of kind people fixing me, taking the pieces and carefully gluing them back unto the whole. Until I'm better. Until I'm fixed. Day one of summer: I'm going. Goodbye.
John Breaux
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2 comments:
I'm not going to tell you not to go.
Sweet, if that's what you need, I'll support you.
If you decide not to go, I'll support you.
Whatever you decide, I'll support you.
Sound good?
Thank you, love.
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