Personal Narrative-Back Of A Cop Car
1st
I felt like I was in the back of a cop car. There was a divider between the driver and I, I couldn’t roll down my window, I couldn’t open my door. This car was probably cleaner than a cop car, though. I’ve never been in the back of a cop car, but I would expect it to be less sanitary than this all too clean car.
I know I didn’t commit a crime, but this car is making me feel like I did. I read somewhere that legally, suicide is a crime. This is so the police have a reason to come inside your home and try and save if you if you’re bleeding out in your bathtub. So, in a way, maybe I attempted to commit a crime.
As the hospital’s car drove me down the highway, I began to wonder what was left of my house. In retrospect, I could’ve avoided this whole situation. I could’ve acted …show more content…
I arrived at the psychiatric hospital only to have more blood drawn, talk with more doctors, have my wounds checked, have my body examined for more wounds that need medical attention.
The doctors poked me with questions like I was some kind of 20 questions game and if they guessed the underlying reason why I’m depressed, they’d win the game and I’d be cured.
But they wouldn’t find out with questions. I’m not just randomly sad. I’m not clinically depressed. I have a demon inside me. If I look closely in the mirrors, I can see it in my eyes. I can see the demon leering back out at me.
He’s always there. I can feel him, coursing through my veins like acid. Sometimes he takes over. I claw at my own skin until my neck is dripping with blood and my breath is shaky as I look at my bloody fingers. Sometimes I rip out my hair. And sometimes, I pour nail polish remover all over my legs and light a match.
I try to fight it. But it’s hard sometimes, to know your biggest enemy is inside you and it’s all in your head and if you tell anyone about it, then you’ll be committed for sure. But now I’ve gone and gotten myself committed
I felt like I was in the back of a cop car. There was a divider between the driver and I, I couldn’t roll down my window, I couldn’t open my door. This car was probably cleaner than a cop car, though. I’ve never been in the back of a cop car, but I would expect it to be less sanitary than this all too clean car.
I know I didn’t commit a crime, but this car is making me feel like I did. I read somewhere that legally, suicide is a crime. This is so the police have a reason to come inside your home and try and save if you if you’re bleeding out in your bathtub. So, in a way, maybe I attempted to commit a crime.
As the hospital’s car drove me down the highway, I began to wonder what was left of my house. In retrospect, I could’ve avoided this whole situation. I could’ve acted …show more content…
I arrived at the psychiatric hospital only to have more blood drawn, talk with more doctors, have my wounds checked, have my body examined for more wounds that need medical attention.
The doctors poked me with questions like I was some kind of 20 questions game and if they guessed the underlying reason why I’m depressed, they’d win the game and I’d be cured.
But they wouldn’t find out with questions. I’m not just randomly sad. I’m not clinically depressed. I have a demon inside me. If I look closely in the mirrors, I can see it in my eyes. I can see the demon leering back out at me.
He’s always there. I can feel him, coursing through my veins like acid. Sometimes he takes over. I claw at my own skin until my neck is dripping with blood and my breath is shaky as I look at my bloody fingers. Sometimes I rip out my hair. And sometimes, I pour nail polish remover all over my legs and light a match.
I try to fight it. But it’s hard sometimes, to know your biggest enemy is inside you and it’s all in your head and if you tell anyone about it, then you’ll be committed for sure. But now I’ve gone and gotten myself committed