not to be bi on main but i had a positive interaction or two with The Guy today and this tweet reminded me of that and ahh. auuggghh. wah!!!!

Slowly coming to, I let out a low, weak groan, my body exhausted. I wasn’t sure if it had only minutes that passed, or if it had been hours, or even days. But somehow, someway, I was still hanging on, and only God knew why, or how. All I knew was that my plan was to die, obviously so, yet my heart was still pumping blood throughout my body, oxygen still filled my lungs, and the pain I attempted to run scared from was more all-consuming now than ever before, a truly wicked thought. Was this some sick, twisted joke? I’m supposed to be dead, yet… My honey hues /finally/ play peek-a-boo, as my eyes flicker open, immediately scanning my surroundings, this… This environment was unfamiliar… Wait… No… What… I’m in a fucking hospital bed. How??? Nobody was supposed to find me, and now my plan is ruined. I was supposed to be reunited with Levi, and maybe even my mother, too, but no. I was in a fucking hospital bed. Restrained, and alone. Even death rejected me. This is unfair. This is a nightmare. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I don’t want to be here. Fuck. How did I even get here? I assume it was my new neighbor, Karen or whatever. She’s proving to be a nosy broad thus far. Didn’t she know you’re not meant to put your nose where it doesn’t belong? Nosy bitch, she’s lucky I don’t run over her damn garden when I get out of, well, wherever I am. I know I’m in a hospital, which one I wasn’t sure. But… Didn’t she know I’m not supposed to be here anymore? I was already a prisoner to myself, and now I’m a prisoner to this fucking hospital. They have me restrained like I’m a murderer, when the only life I’m trying to end is mine. Speaking of, where’s the call button? Surely it’s been hours since my slumber ceased, my eyes are now fully accustomed to the excessively bright fluorescent lights at this point, and my bladder felt as if it would erupt. Relieving myself, however, would prove to be a difficult task, considering I was tied to a bed and all. And not in a cute, kinky way either. Thereafter, I attempted to maneuver myself, and failed miserably, my quest to locate the call button ultimately unsuccessful. Although I hadn’t spoken in what felt like forever, and the fact my mouth was more dry than the Sahara desert itself, I found myself in a position which deemed language necessary, as I needed a nurse. I needed a nurse now. Fuck. “Excu—se m—e,” my voice cracked, it was frail. My effort to draw attention to myself likely falling on deaf ears, convinced my desperate plea didn’t even make it to the door. Fuck. “Hellooo!” My second attempt. My voice seemed stronger, but still weak, and it appeared nobody heard me cry out, if that’s what you could even call it. Fuck. Inhaling deeply, I counted down from ten… 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… Searching for a solution from the depths of my mind, which was filled with complete and utter chaos… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… This is it. Oh. Maybe not… My thought process now interrupted, the door which was slightly ajar pushed open further, allowing, what I assumed to be, a nurse to enter. FINALLY. It was a woman, likely my age, maybe even younger. She was petite, probably the same size as me, and she had golden hair, which was secure in a perfectly imperfect messy bun. Overall, she looked put together. Good for her. Couldn’t say the same for myself. Obviously. But at least she was here now. Maybe I could find some relief. Fuck. She was taking forever to approach, or maybe my brain was just processing things slowly. Either way, my patience was nearly nonexistent. “Hi, I’m Charlotte, and I’m your nurse on duty. Do you know what day it is?” Are you serious??? How the fuck would I know that? I didn’t even know how I got here, let alone know how much time had passed. “I don’t know, but I do know I need to, you know,” my tone was flat and cold, as my head tilted in the direction of the toilet. “Before you can do that, I need you to answer a few more questions. Can you tell me your na—,” her speech was interrupted, as figurative steam emitted from my ears. Are you serious??? I didn’t realize my need to relieve myself required a ‘ticket out the door’ if you will. I was already irritated by my existence, and now she was pissing me off. “My bladder is going to combust. I don’t want that, and I’m sure you don’t either.” I interjected, my protest valid. I wasn’t trying to make her job more difficult, but she knew who I was. Fuck. My damn name and DOB was written on the white board across from this shitty bed. “I can’t work with you, if you don’t work with me,” she stated, her tone was warm, but there was a hint of irritation evident. My previously inquisitive, now dull optics simply rolled. If anyone should be annoyed, it was me. I didn’t even want to be alive, and I certainly didn’t want to be here. Now, this ‘perfect little princess’ was demanding I answer redundant questions before I could empty my bladder. How ridiculous is that? I didn’t realize it was a privilege that could be stripped away like that. Fuck. “LET ME… GO… RIGHT NOW!!!” Wow, that was, unexpected. My voice was clearly getting stronger. Truthfully, I was surprised, but also satisfied. Failing others as well as myself was my specialty, but at least I didn’t fail myself just now. I was impressed, but it was apparent that blondie wasn’t. “Name and date of birth,” she demanded, the warmth in her voice now gone. Fuck. Whatever. I was tired of fighting with her. With myself. With everyone, really. White flag raised, I reluctantly surrendered. “Noah Layne Díaz. August 5, 1996.” Yikes. My voice sounded defeated. Whoever saved me should have let me die, it was so unfair. I never get what I want. “Do you want a blood sample and my first born in order to pee, too, or?” It was an unnecessary jab, but I didn’t care. I was consumed with a plethora of emotions. Guilt, disappointment, anger, regret, despair. The list was endless, and I found herself particularly troubled by the fact my plan didn’t unfold how I envisioned it. I’m supposed to be dead. “I’m going to unfasten the straps now, and need you to remain calm,” Miss. Perfect began to explain, stern at first, as she maintained her professional demeanor, opting to ignore my juvenile remark from before. “And the door must be cracked,” she added, her softness resurfacing thereafter. A part of me wondered if she actually cared. I assumed probably not. Nobody did. If people cared, I wouldn’t be here right now. But I am, and it’s obvious they don’t. Truthfully, I’m tired of getting my hopes up for things I know won’t happen. Being cared for, one of them. No one ever seems terrified of losing me. I’m not entirely surprised either. The only person who seemed to give a damn about my existence was Levi, but even he wouldn’t stay. He promised he wouldn’t leave me. But, I guess, promises are meant to be broken. Shaking my head, I was finally freed. Well, mostly. I was attached to countless machines, which included a bag of fluids, wires everywhere, only complicating my ability to comfortably transition to the bathroom further. Britney… She looked like a Britney, right? Fuck. I felt like Britney. Britney Spears, that is. Circa 2007. Whatever… Watched me along the way, her gaze transfixed. I wasn’t a fucking child, but it is what it is. Soon after, my bare foot stepped onto the tile floor. It was cold, and caused me to shiver, my body draped in a thin hospital gown. There wasn’t enough warmth in the world to melt what was now my icy heart, and it was because of that, that fueled my desire to complete my mission. With the door slightly ajar, I situated the machine prior to plummeting onto the porcelain throne, and dramatically grunted. Plan B now in action. “Is everything okay in there?” ‘Sunshine on a cloudy day’ inquired. “Actually, no. It’s not my birthday, but Mrs. Monthly gave me a gift.” Charlotte wasn’t supposed to leave me unattended if I wasn’t secure, they probably assumed I would do something stupid, but I was hoping that my “needs” would cause her to falter. A brief moment of silence ensued. Does that mean she was considering it? “Okay, well, don’t move, alright?” Fuck. She did, her lapse in judgment providing me with a window of opportunity that I desperately needed. I was, in fact, ready to do something stupid, and once I heard her exit the room, I knew my time was limited. Proceeding swiftly, I yanked the needle plunged in my arm out, the 18 gauge tip now revealed. There was no time allotted for hesitation, this was it. I positioned my arm accordingly, and gripped my newfound best friend, at which point, I immediately forced it into my arm and dragged it downward, the pain causing me to wince, as my enamels embedded in my plump lower tier, my attempt to stifle any noises that could potentially manifest. During my initial quest, my method was more meticulous, whereas, now, I was racing against time, my actions spontaneous. I had no idea I punctured an artery, all I knew was that a wave of crimson flowed and I was started to see stars, the entire bathroom a bloodbath as I collapsed to the floor, my head bouncing off the tile, knocking me out completely.  Drifting in and out of consciousness, my body felt exhausted, the copious amount of blood lost the obvious culprit, at least that’s what would make the most sense. But wait… Did it work? Did I do it? Did I die? Squinting my eyes, they opened soon after, exposing my wondrous honey hues, which immediately captured my environment. Where am I? The room was small, the lighting was dim, and the walls were decorated with square sections of padding. Was this some weird, warped version of purgatory? I’m so confused, and I start to hyperventilate. My heart is dancing to an abnormal rhythm within the confines of my rib cage, body temperature elevating as I battle a ruthless panic attack. What’s going on??? I’m desperate at this point. I knew that I was a disappointment and deserved to be punish, but this is cruel. I continued to squirm, finding myself paralyzed, unable to move, as the walls narrowed, closing in on me. Fuck. Fading into another deep slumber, my body aroused an unknown length of time later. At this point, time was a concept that held little relevance. Knock. Knock. My eyes darted to the door. Absolutely not. I’m not playing that game, not unless you are delivering pizza or here to liberate me. Fuck. The door creaked open and two unfamiliar individuals stepped inside, shutting the door behind them. “Hi Noah. I’m Dr. Hawkins, the on call resident, and this is Dr. Jameson, our psychiatrist.” The middle-aged man announced, gesturing to his counterpart. “We’re here to make sure you’re not a risk to others, and especially yourself.” I’m so confused. I didn’t know where I was, how I got here, or why these people were looking at me with such perplexed features, but, fuck, it doesn’t matter. All that matters, and all I know, is that I need Donovan. If you’re thinking about suicide, are worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline network is available 24/7 across the United States. 1-800-273-8255 You are NOT alone, we will end the war within TOGETHER. Visit https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ for more information.