Nor did my team of psychiatrists bother to try to explain it to me.
But we did make a lot of references to it. We did talk about how I feel.
They didn't want to give me a diagnosis.
Because no one knows what happened except for me.
Riddle me this Batman:
What happens if you're not suicidal but someone tells everybody that you are?
I just spent five days wondering why the nurses in the emergency room listened to a white man over me.
I just spent five days trying to convince my doctors that I had no intention of harming myself or others.
I just spent five days wondering why the person who walked me into the E.R. thought it was a good idea to tell authority figures I intended to hurt myself.
I just spent five days trying to scrub my body clean after a police officer assaulted me.
I'm not mad, just confused.
Wondering why the place that I found the most solace in suddenly wants nothing to do with me.
Wondering what I did wrong.
When all I was doing
was
picking up trash.
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