“Jung alone among the great psychologists refused to classify people into groups according to their sufferings. He has been charged with failing to provide a detailed and systematic theory of neurosis along with etiology and treatment. Is this really a failing? Perhaps it is his virtue to have alone recognized the gross inadequacy of only outside descriptions.” -James Hillman
Dr. Altar inquired, “Is there a history of bipolar disorder in your family?” I calmly but not too calmly replied, “No.” All of my responses were carefully calculated, as were each and every one of my moves. I looked drained but not ill. I looked tired but not addicted. I was social but not too social. I was released immediately after my video consultation with Dr. Altar.
Privacy laws were broken and I was bruised and cold as I exited into the outside air. It was raining. After having just been schooled on the ins and outs of voluntary versus involuntary commitment I was happy to be shivering and sleepless in the rain. The very basic freedom to move around was again mine and I went straight home. I spoke to Abba and Ammi. Before that I went to pick up two packs of Camel Blues with an individual whom I refer to casually as an old friend of mine that you’ve never met.
I was blue for seven days following but the knives didn’t scar me this time. The girl may die; I will not attend her funeral. The recurring image is of a knife the size of Manson’s microphone in my right hand. I proceed to stab the underside of my left wrist full force, dragging immediately all the way up to my elbow. I slice all the way through and bleed to death. There is blood everywhere. This image consumes me yet I do not act. My death will either be accidental or natural—synonymous terms these days.
