"There's only decaf darlin'," she said as I was looking through the cabinets, "That's all they give you in here." It was probably just as well, as I was having trouble with anxiety. I was showing my parents around my new home. The fourth floor of the psych ward in a suburb of Chicago.
This was the third time I was hospitalized with anxiety slash depression. "Major depressive episode" it said on one of the forms in the packet that they gave me, my brochure for my vacation. I had always brought myself in. Unable to break myself from the constant nagging of a demon that will undoubtedly haunt me for the rest of my life, I had someone drive me to the emergency room. I didn't want to hurt anyone, including myself. The anxiety tricked me into thinking that I could, though- that any dark thing was possible. The demons, the dogs, the black clouds. The unraveling thread would break and any dark thing was possible.
She knew it too. We all knew it as we walked around our crazy hotel.
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