G is for Go

Let me start this post with a serious disclaimer: I am not suicidal. Don't worry about me. That being said, I really want to go to the hospital. I want to lie on the metal bed in a glass room in the ER while they stare at me. I want to lie huddled under a sheet and bawl. I want to soak the sheets. I want the social worker to come in and ask me stupid questions to see if I merit a stay in the psychiatric ward. I know how to answer those questions to gain admittance.
                           
I want to be taken upstairs in a wheelchair as if I have suddenly lost use of my legs and sit there while they go through my little bag of things. Shoes with elastic so I can wear them instead of slippers. I know I can't have shoelaces. A book. A few changes of clothes. I want to be pointed to a bed in the middle of the night; it's late, because the intake process takes forever. I want to lie in a bed in a room full of strangers and cry myself to sleep.

I want a nurse to wake me up and give me medication and take my blood and then let me go back to sleep. I want to be called to the cafeteria for a breakfast brought in a huge silver cart. I want to be able to go back to bed and lie there and cry. I want someone to tell me what to do. Eat. Sleep. Take this pill. Come to this group. Watch this show. Take a shower. Rest.
                              
I can't go. I can't afford to board my dogs, and I'm going to visit my family in a few weeks, so I can't miss work. I need the money badly. I don't really need to go. I'm not going to kill myself. I just want to rest for a little bit. I think I will take a tranquilizer and go to bed, set my own alarm, get up later than planned in the morning, tell myself to take my medication, find my own breakfast, drive myself to work, get through the day somehow. It is all so hard.