Chapter Eight

We have lock downs every day.

No big deal, really. A patient tries to escape from this prison. They hit a button that locks every door to the rooms and the outside. Then they send every employee they have searching through hallways.

They search for half an hour maximum. At the end, they always find who they're looking for in the fetal position, sobbing. Locked in. And locked out, too.

If you have a mental breakdown in your room during that time, sucks for you. Which is ironic. Because the most mental breakdowns happen during that time.

See, it doesn't take long for people like me to feel claustrophobic. Trapped. It really doesn't matter how big of a space you give them. Hell, I feel trapped on earth. And with all the thinking I've been able to do lately without interruption, I've come to the conclusion that I'll always be stuck here. Because earth is just purgatory – a place for the rejects of heaven and hell.

There's been instances where the second the lock down ends and the doors open, another one starts. Because of someone else feeling trapped and deciding to run for it.

They don't really have to lock anything, I don't think. It's a big hospital. No one could ever get out on their own.

I haven't been outside since I got here.

Sure, I have the option. They have marches. Like the ones in the holocaust only without the guns and with less death. They parade the mental patients around LA, two guards for every one person. Sure, people look at them, confused for two seconds, but then they go on with their lives.

Needless to say, I will never participate.

From lack of sun, my tan lines are completely gone. Not to say I had a ridiculously good tan before I came here – quite the opposite, really. But at least you could see a slight difference between the skin under my clothes and the rest of me.

And that's important to me. It gives a sense of intimacy, to anyone who sees you like that. Seeing skin nobody else normally sees and knowing it.

Not to say I'm planning on getting laid anytime soon, but still. It's one of my things.

Now, instead of letting me sit on a lawn chair on the roof what with the possibility of me jumping, they give me pills for it.

Vitamin D. Or, that's what it said on the bottle. Mr. Therapist just said, 'Take this.'

Apparently, people don't get enough of it. Nobody does, according to Mr. Therapist. Everyone should be taking it. We'll start you off on this. If it doesn't help, we'll have to get you on antidepressants.

I told Vega to look it up, tell me what it was for.

Things like Osteoporosis. Or hypertension. Parathyroid hormones. Cancer. Diabetes. Heart disease. Obesity. Multiple Sclerosis. I don't know what half of that is.

It's also used for Seasonal Affective Disorder. A form of depression that occurs during winter months due to lack of sunlight. The abbreviation for which is 'SAD' which I think is ironic.

I think Mr. Therapist has his forms of depression mixed up.

Side effects may include: excessive thirst, metal taste in mouth, poor appetite, weight loss, bone pain, tiredness, sore eyes, itchy skin, vomiting, diarrhea, constipation, a frequent need to urinate and/or muscle problems.

All of which Mr. Therapist neglected to mention.

People with the following conditions should be careful when considering taking vitamin D supplements: high blood calcium or phosphorus levels, heart problems or kidney disease.

So no, Mr. Therapist, not everyone should be taking it. Just mental patients with misleading therapists.

But I wasn't too upset. It's not like that would have helped anyway, even if it had been prescribed correctly. It's some over-the-counter, self-medication method anyway.

Maybe he should have just prescribed me sleeping pills. It's no secret I haven't slept for over an hour in days. Maybe he could find something that would make it impossible for me to have nightmares.

Through my thinking, I found that you always dream. Some people just don't remember it. Those who do are partially awake. Their conscious and subconscious merged together.

It makes sense. I've never really slept. That's why I'm tired all the time – 'cause I've never actually been asleep. Just dreaming while awake.

If Mr. Therapist could give me something that made sure I wouldn't dream, I would be asleep a long time, catching up on all the sleep I've lost in the past.

I would never wake up again.

A/N - There you are. A rant on medication and lock downs. Oh, and tan lines.

I have no idea where half of it came from. But my Dad gave me Vitamin D to take everyday a long time ago.

I mean, I'm not, like, pissed at him for doing that or something - he was just trying to help. I'm just pissed at my therapist, is all.

Well, my old therapist. My new therapist is nice. He likes to play Go Fish. My old therapist liked to make me cry.

My new therapist also likes to talk about things that don't make too much sense to me. But, that's okay. I'd rather talk about things that don't make sense than things that do.

Well, anyway, gotta mow the lawn now.

Later!