I didn’t know what would happen to me. When Muddy visited the next day, I told him how frightened I was, about how real it would feel if I were moved to a psych ward and if I were forced into therapy, that it would no longer be something I could keep to myself; that I would no longer be able to judge the severity of things for myself, that everything would be dissected by a professional; how things would no longer be what I said they were; how I wouldn’t be able to control the narrative anymore, it was going to be written down on paper and solidified; they were going to prescribe things.
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