today is day one.

The key stuck a bit in the weather worn door. As usual it squeaked a bit as the hinges extended granting me access to my house. Today had been a long one. Some ass hole at work decided that retail employees serve one purpose and today that purpose just happened to be him. And then there was that lady who shit all over the floor and in doing so took a big ol’ shit on my day. I mean, really, there isn’t anything more humbling than sticking your hand into someone else’s shit in order to unclog a public toilet. But, that aside, I was home now. Rest, or something similar was bound to await me after this hellish day. My room, which is nestled between the two other bedrooms, is always the coolest in the house. I love this. So I drag myself into my bear cave room and sling my over stuffed bag onto my bed, I notice the mail has come. There is a stark white envelope lying ever so neatly on my bed. Just as everyone who has ever received a letter, my eyes immediately darted to the upper left hand corner in hopes that this was something good. 

“Medical Center of _______.”

Fuck. This was it. The involuntary trip to the hospital last month wasn’t just some horrible dream. It wasn’t this imaginary event that I had concocted in my head. This shit was real. It really happened. The promises were made. The threats ensued. The police were called. My words were twisted. The night was sleepless. The morning came all too quickly. More threats. The car ride. The call to my therapist. The 8 hours – the 8 hours in the cold emergency room that stripped me of any dignity I thought remained in my personhood. The most humiliating night and day of my life were tallied up in a series of line items and totaled out into a bill that I would never be able to foot. But then…then I remember their promises. “Don’t worry about the money. Your mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health is more important than money. Don’t worry about the money. Let us take you somewhere; we will take care of the money part. Just accept this help.”

Except now, their offers of helping “take care of the money part” are no where to be found. Only silence.

Then the help was forced.
I was manipulated.
And now the price is here, and I still can’t pay.


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