I do not remember the name of the hospital, only that there was no 13th room.
When I asked one of the nurses why, she told me it was because 13 is unlucky.
The two other psychiatric wards I’ve stayed in also skipped that number, so it must be true.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t know where I want to go, but this ward is making my eye twitch.
There are locks on all the bathrooms, and no toilet seats.
The food isn’t terrible, but the calories next to each menu item make me feel fat.
How long have I been here?
Everything blends together, and my count of the days feels inaccurate.
My skin feels too tight.
I ask the handsome nurse, who hands me my little paper cup of pills, why he has braces.
He tells me he was in the Navy, and had to take them off for that.
He has a nice smile.
He asks to see if I swallowed my pills, and I stick out my tongue.
I don’t want to be here.