ow

i just got back from having an 8 year old tattoo on my back touched up and fuck me sideways with an anvil if that shit didn't hurt 3,000 times worse than the first time! fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. that is what i said over and over again in my head. trying to breathe, my nerves on fire, the pain deep deep down so intense shooting down my spine into my legs until i felt my insides shaking, praying for him to stop.

i was so tough tho. hahahahha no. no more back tattoos for me.. for now.

my 7 week stint in the psych ward is over, and i miss it. seriously. i knew the minute it started that this is what i should be doing. let's share a few moments of what it was like.

week 1
i walk over to the wide-eyed tall elderly man with the walker who is waving at me. he is pale and has red circles under his eyes.

me: hello,
him: I'VE GOT ARTHRITIS! -he has buck teeth and a voice almost identical to that of goofy, no lie-
me: oh..
him: I'VE GOT IT HERE, AND HERE, AND HERE, AND HERE! -he points to his knees and hips and various other body parts-
me: oh.. i'm sorry. are you seeing a doctor for that?
him: YEAH. the doctor gives me pills to take. he said to take one SO I TAKE 100 IS THAT BAD?! -he grabs my arm and stoops down, smiling at me-
me: you mean you take 100 milligrams?
him: NO.... he says take one SO I TAKE 100! IS THAT BAD?
me: well, i would think that if he said to take one then you should probably just take one pill, don't you think?
him: TODAY I TOOK 500! AND THEN I TOOK 1,000!
me: wow, that's an awful lot of medicine.
him: YUP!! -nodding and laughing-


week 2
i decide to go talk to the dude with the mustache sitting at the round table, staring into space.

me: hello, i'm [murl], ok if i sit down?
him: I CAN'T URINATE PROPERLY!
me: oh..
him: -slams his head down on the table-
me: ok, well, see you later.


AUGH FUCK i wrote like a fucking amazing novel here and it is gone gone gone it didn't save and computer died and FUCK BLARG.
oh well maybe i will try again another day- until then you will have to live in suspense.