Why am I still here? My seventy-two hours were up days ago. I’ve been told that I am to wait for something, though what that means exactly I do not know. Treatment, I suppose, someone to come and “counsel” me, to teach me some life techniques I can use to try and be happier. Perhaps the staff is waiting for me to look non-suicidal. Perhaps they are waiting for me to gain weight. Perhaps they are actually waiting for me to start acting crazy, because surely I couldn’t recover until I could admit that I was nuts in the first place, which, incidentally, I do—I just don’t act it out as the staff
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