please clock the following tea.

this very well may be the last month that i need to be in the hospital.

someone just started laughing, and for some reason i just..... oh god........

'i wanted to kill my mom' ... 'it was an autistic child' ... 7 year old wants to melt her mom.....??? someone is laughing....... they’re laughing... 'it’s hilarious.' 'pretty creative.'

they want to melt their mom, i think, is what i heard. but i’m still listening to ryoji so i can’t fully tell... turning that shit up now in response......

forced to sit for most of the day, too. not very easy on the eyes nor the butt. it’s easier, and a life hack, to close one’s eyes and look off into the distance of one's inner eyelids. is that part of rem? is part of rem having the illusion of looking far away? close your eyes and look off into the distance. imagine there is a mountain range and you are looking out at it. it goes on forever and ever or something nice like that.

about meditation: you can stop whenever you want, and all it takes to stop it is to collapse the experience into one particle. you collapse it into a single particle, and in that particle is the universe, as in the single atom, but also it could be much bigger if you were to let yourself go for a longer duration.

there is a psych fellow sitting next to me who is wearing..... an outfit....... that i deem............. not something... i would particularly wear.... i’m going to leave it at that because i’m really going for right speech these days. i don’t want to be caught talking mad shit, and it’s something that starts in the writing and someday can eventually bleed into my own unwritten consciousness. there’s really nothing to be gained from overanalyzing this outfit she’s wearing, except for the fact that errrmmmmmmhmm how do i put this... seeing where the money goes and what the people who receive the money do with the money is inevitably a little funny and disappointing and makes you think.... she’s been making adult money for a little bit now and this is what she’s doing with it. green leather pants with a black fluffy sweater. it’s questionable at best, exclamatory at worst. as in: this is bad, exclamation point.

it’s two twenty-two pm right now. unlucky. it keeps coming back. twos in sequence. i suppose it’s a good antidote to the bad luck to listen to what the numbers are trying to say. tune into their frequencies rather than ignoring them and letting them run amok.

just like that, like magic, the time changed to two twenty-three. and now we’re safe. for the rest of the day, there will no longer be any more numbers with so many twos in them.....

the class group chat is active now. let's see what the girls are saying. i can almost guarantee it’s some dumb shit that i would’ve preferred never having read.

i want better for these people.

when you see a notification, you default to opening it and checking what all the fuss is about. why is that the default? it makes me sad for all of us, how our attentions are so fragmented. there is an al jazeera one that i’ll actually check, and that will lead me to then check the group chat......

but i could choose not to check the al jazeera one, either. i could not check that one, because i know it’s saying something about this supposed ceasefire deal which i’m not confident in at all. to trust israel is to trust your abusive partner who says he’s never going to do it again and even pinky swears to you he’ll never do it, and then you live the rest of your life under his thumb worried that he’s going to snap like he did that one time that turned into several times.

the fellow with the leather pants asked me if i had seen all my patients, as if it’s any of her business. yes, i’ve done what i need to do, mamacita. don’t worry about what i’m doing. you worry about you and you go make you some money. like that gary meme. that’s what i’m quoting there. i’m quoting a meme of gary the snail. it’s an ironic meme, of course, because we know gary would never say that.....

rambling on and on about nothing that means anything to anyone but me in this moment, and whatever eternal version of me who is able to look back into the archive and see what the past me has written. it’s like a cake with many layers. some of them are frosting and some are the cake itself, and it’s nice to make it and nice to eat it as well. the creation and the consumption, you sort of need both. having your cake, eating it...

these psych doctors love to fucking yap endlessly and seemingly meaninglessly. i’m not interested. i’m not buying what they’re selling, and that’s why i have taken to wearing my over-the-ear, noise-cancelling headphones. i’m happy to have reached a point in my life where i feel comfortable doing something like this. doing my own thing, not worrying about what anyone else is doing. it’s good and well and great and simple and plain if you let it be.

i checked the group chat, and, indeed, it was some bullshit.

it’s ultimately sad. the anger and disdain i feel toward these people is, i suppose, grief in disgsuise. it’s grief over the fact that these people are so deluded. these people are lost in the sauce, unable to be taken out of it....

hypnosis is the theme of these twenty-four hours, ever since my drowzee evolved yesterday. hypno is the pokemon of the moment right now. hypno is how i’m getting through the rest of med school.

i’m hypnotizing myself right now. closing my eyes and letting ryoji come into my ears and hypno to come into my consciousness. i am hypnotizing myself......

listening to these people talk about a patient. i’m so sick of it. it’s just gossip. it’s institutionalized gossip. i’m over it. i hate psychiatry and i hate medicine, and i feel the flare of stress hormones in my body as i say that, as if my body is getting some kind of twisted pleasure in allowing these thoughts to come out. these hateful thoughts about institutions. it feels gratifying to allow myself to state that i hate this shit. it feels like relief.

if everyone starts to think i’m crazy now that i sit here and engage in hypergraphia, i think that’s helpful and beneficial to me. if someone flags me for mental illness, that’s a good thing. but they can’t, because i’m so fucking functional. i’m demonstrating how to be mentally ill and still functional. how to be functionally psychotic. how to hold false beliefs in the eyes of the institution but still participate in the institutional bullshit of it all. i’m so tired of it, but it’s fun to let myself rub up against this shit and see what comes out of my cosncsiousness as a result of the strain.

i’m at a point now where i’m so clearly close to the end that dropping out doesn’t cross my mind anymore, but shit, maybe it’ll come back at some point. can you imagine? it’s like i’m going for a record or something. how far can i get into med school and still seriously consider dropping out? i wonder if i can make it to the very end... dropping out the day before graduation, when i’ve finished all my requirements. the final act of refusal. then i can finally be considered fucking crazy.

please, let me break this illusion for people. please please please let me break this shit for everyone around me.