I’m currently high. Not on weed, alcohol. I might have a problem. The doctors had me take a urine toxicity test the day my mother brought me into Yaba neuropsychiatric hospital. Thank God I had been flat broke for a month. The test came back negative on everything except alcohol. I couldn’t afford my Swifnol, and SK and Tramadol had started making me throw up, so I was clean on them. But alcohol is cheap. I just buy paraga and it does the job.
The doctor said I had to quit alcohol. I rolled my eyes and said sure.
Why was I admitted in the place famously known as Yaba left? You ask. I tried to take my life. That’s the answer. I was not sad. I don’t think I was depressed either. I was just done with life. I thought everything was pointless. I tried walking in front of a truck, but I feared it might not succeed in ending my existence. So I cut myself while listening to ‘I think I’m okay’ by Machine Gun Kelly. Being the typical African parents, I was rushed to a pastor first. But I did it again. This time I placed my hand over the fire on the gas burner.
I took the MMPI 2 test. And they said I either had a borderline personality disorder or I had dysthymia; a form of depression. But I’ve been reading. I’m not sad, I’m not hard on myself, I don’t feel hopeless. I think I’m a sociopath who believes life is pointless. Well, so began the tests, the therapy, the cognitive behavioural therapy, the diary-keeping, the AA classes, and the fluoxetine doses.
They think the therapy is working and that I’ll give up on the only liquid that makes me feel human. But here I am drunk and ready to lie, that I’ve quit drinking in my next session.
But to be fair to my doctors, I no longer feel like ending my life. And did I mention I have a boyfriend?
Diary of a Borderline Sociopath 4
+paraga is a form of alcohol+ Let’s know what you think about this privacy you just invaded, and vote and share it.