Never Better

I was looking for a job - and then I found a job! And heaven knows, I'm miserable now...

2010-03-14T22:44:00.003-05:00

Haven't posted in over a month, because the Internet went down at my house a month ago and because I've been incredibly busy with my new job. I feel like a rat in a cage. I miss having free time. I miss it so much. I didn't fully appreciate it when I had it.

Also, Blogger is eliminating their FTP publishing option, which means if I do decide to keep posting, I'm going to be changing locations. For some reason, I find this incredibly depressing. I guess I find a lot of things incredibly depressing. I guess I'm just emo that way.

What is it like to be a bat?

2010-01-31T15:02:00.002-06:00

I've been working and I've been very social lately. Saw Brandon this morning, which was great. Found a car I want to move forward on, a little white Kia. Hopefully, by the end of the week, I'll be fully mobile. Feeling emo today, like I want to listen to the Magnetic Fields and smoke some cloves and maybe read some Thomas Nagel.

Video Violence

2010-01-27T13:27:00.003-06:00

The weekend excursion was pretty successful. Chelsea forgot that she had invited me to stay with her, so I ended up being kind of an inconvenience. But I definitely enjoyed seeing her. In accordance with tradition, we ate chips and dip and watched horror films. I finally got to experience karaoke at the famed Planet Rose. Nick surprised me by inspiring patrons to dance the Time Warp (again). All in all, the fun outweighed the hassle, and really, what more can you ask?

The job is going well. There's a lot of information to learn, and an overwhelming number of keys to be responsible for. I'm still hunting for a used car and a new bank (or preferably, credit union). Oh, and Chelsea introduced me to a brilliant play - Schoolgirl Figure by Wendy MacLeod - and now I have a new dream in life, which is to direct her and Amanda in it. It's a pretty obscure play - I can't even find an ISBN - but it's published by Playscripts, Inc. and you can read 80% of the play for free on their website. I definitely recommend it, especially if you like sick, dark humor.

Into the Wilderness

2010-01-18T21:40:00.005-06:00

I wrote a 22 page play in one evening (called "Thanksgiving in the Wilderness"). I think it's a personal record. I don't know if it's any good, but Amanda liked it, and wants to send it to Love Creek for me. So, that's cool. Next, she wants me to write a play that makes fun of paranormal investigators (ghost hunters). I've never seen any of those ghost hunting shows, but Amanda does not see this as an obstacle. I'm going to the city this weekend to hang out with my city-and-suburb friends. A trip to Planet Rose for karaoke will probably be involved. It has been too long since I got to sing my broken heart out. Plus, bonus, I'll finally get to see Chelsea's exciting new apartment. Unfortunately, there will be dogs in her apartment. Which means that the bizarre dream I had three weeks ago was actually sort of prophetic.

The Puppet Show

2010-01-16T09:54:00.003-06:00

Yesterday, I got a job. It is a full-time, but temporary, box office manager position for a local arts venue. I will be filling in while the existing box office manager takes some family leave to have a baby, February to April. I think it will be a good position for me.

Of course, now that I know I'll be working 40 hours a week, instead of just relaxing with no agenda whatsoever, a million and a half projects are flooding to mind. There's like a law of nature that I can never have Inspiration and Free Time at the same time, only one or the other.

I finally finished my MSW application and collected all my letters of recommendation, so that will be handed in on Monday. I could kick myself for putting it off this long.

What is the psych ward really like?

2010-01-09T21:36:00.003-06:00

"Don't get me wrong, if given the choice between prison and the psych ward (for the same amount of time), I'll take the psych ward any time. But prison does have one, single advantage in my opinion. The people who put you in prison and keep you there don't expect you to be grateful for it." -- Joanna Barker at Your Money's Worth

My first experience in the short-term psych ward was not what I expected. I expected intensive therapy - instead, I was lucky if I spoke with a doctor for five minutes a day. I expected group therapy - instead, there were a few "classes" every day, where an underpaid grad student would watch as thirteen doped-up people worked on word searches.

On the other hand, I also feared dangerous, violent people who might want to harm me. In reality, the patients were mostly just incredibly bored.

People go into psych wards expecting treatment. But all the psych ward can really offer you is a break from free will. They'll keep you away from weapons and you might get to make some sand art. Some of the staff will be well-meaning but powerless, and the rest will be assholes. And even if your admission is "voluntary" that doesn't mean you can walk out when you feel better. Odds are, you'll be there between seven and fourteen days, regardless.

I just think there has to be a better way.

2009 in Review

2009-12-31T13:05:00.002-06:00

JANUARY

I directed Amanda, Lindsay, Nick, and others in a little production of Dogface at Spire Studios. Mostly I freaked out about the possibility that we might not have enough chairs.

FEBRUARY

Went to Non-Con in Poughkeepsie, saw Scott McCloud and Alisha Kwitney speak, played Munchkin, sang karaoke with anime fans.

MAY

Moved from Beacon back to Binghamton. Love Creek Productions staged Rage Is Loud. Took a summer psych course at BU.

JUNE

Volunteered to be a Stage Manager for the Mental Health Players musical - which I ended up acting in, after another actor quit. Got cast in a Shakespeare play. The KNOW Theatre decided to stage Like Dreaming, Backwards in their Playwrights Festival. And, I conquered my driving phobia.

JULY

Brother Will moves to Binghamton from Illinois. Shows, shows.

AUGUST

Art International Radio decides to produce a radio version of Bargaining. I go to see Amanda and Nick in Like We Wasn't People.

SEPTEMBER

I agree to direct Noises Off for DC Players. I agree to be Charles Berman's apprentice at WHRW, and I get involved with a staged reading of a new play at EPAC.

OCTOBER

The Theatre Audition Book is published, with a monologue from Dogface inside. I throw a rockin' Halloween party.

NOVEMBER

Reserved is published by JAC Publishing & Promotions. I go increasingly mad as performances for Noises Off draw closer. I briefly consider moving in with my brother, but ultimately decide against it.

DECEMBER

I get a job working for the post office. I fail the logs portion of the WHRW clearance exam. I have minor surgery during tech week for Noises Off. I get into a car crash, and get fired. Noises Off performs. I take a deep breath of relief and collapse in exhaustion.

OVERALL

A good year for my resume, and I managed to avoid being hospitalized. So... yay?

Farce + Satire-of-Farce

2009-12-11T01:27:00.004-06:00

The show I've been working on all semester opens tomorrow night. It's not nearly as smooth as I'd like it to be, but it is damn funny. At least, I think so. So, come see Noises Off as produced by DC Players and co-directed by me. All the information is also on the facebook.

Just Your Luck

2009-11-18T14:45:00.003-06:00

Today in the mailbox I found two copies of Reserved waiting for me. I had seen the proof, and the final version isn't much different, but they did add, as I requested, a "Production History" section to the inside cover. It has a sentence or two about the first production of Reserved and it has the original cast list.

NICOLE McNEIL: Alyssa Huff
MAGGIE SHERMAN: Mandy Finfrock
BARTLETT / JOEL: Dan Oltman
SHADY DOCTOR: Jason Vales

And I started to wonder if any of those actors ever thought that play would get published. If anyone who saw that original production thought it would. Maybe some of them did, but I bet a lot of them didn't, or never even considered the idea. Now, JAC is probably not the most exclusive or prestigious publisher. It's not Sam French or Dramatist. But, still. The point is, a play of mine is published. And a bunch of my other plays are purchased straight from me every month, by strangers, and there are a lot of playwrights who can't necessarily say that.

And so I started to think about what makes artists successful. Is it talent? Is it networking? Is it just sheer determination? Is it the classes you take or the genres you work in or the place you live or the group you belong to? All of these are certainly factors. But more than anything, I feel like it's mostly pure dumb luck.

Don't get me wrong, the successes that I've experienced took work on my part. I slaved away on the Monologue Database for years before Josh suggested that I could make money by selling the plays I had always given away for free. I had to attend more than one painful workshop before Le Wilhelm decided to produce Rage Is Loud. But the point is, I could just as easily have put in twice as much work and never gotten any productions, any publication credits, or made any money at all. There are playwrights who never get as far as I have - and I haven't gotten all that far - and have been doing this for ten years longer. And at the end of the day, it's not because I'm a better writer. It's because of fortunate coincidences - sending the right play to the right company or happening to know someone in a position to help.

Writing, like all art, is subjective. You write a play. You could have ten friends read it, and probably two would think it was brilliant, two would think it was terrible, and everyone else would fall somewhere in the middle. And if those ten friends were also playwrights, six would tell you all the ways that they would change it to make it "better". If all of these friends have their own production companies, the two who liked it might try to get it produced, but they probably have their own ten board members or investors to try to convince. All you can do is cast the widest net possible and hope that eventually, the right play crosses paths with the right group of people at the right time.

And this is what makes the rewriting process so uncomfortable: because you might be able to make your play more "accessible", more logical (or more surreal), more emotional or more subtle - but with the exception of fixing the spelling, you are almost never making the play "better". Someone is going to like it more, and someone else is going to like it less.

When I first wrote Bargaining, Seth thought it was perfect. But Josh suggested changes. When I changed it, I made it better in Josh's eyes, but not in Seth's. When I further changed it because of input from Amanda and Rob, they liked it more, but it moved further away from Seth's vision - and Josh still wasn't happy with it. I think Collaboration is more accessible to more people now than it was in its original draft. But I know there's someone out there who loved it more before I took out the Silmarillion references.

And you cannot please everyone - but everyone who reads it will act like they're the one you should try to please. I'm as guilty of this as anyone. I read a script and I think, "This is terrible. I could write this better..." But in reality, all I could do is write it differently. I'd like it more my way, but plenty of people would feel differently. I should probably say, "This play wasn't for me," and leave it at that. Because there's somebody out there who loves it just the way it is.

In the end, what I've concluded is this: Writing the play is the real accomplishment. And if you love it, that's all that really matters. If it gets performed, if it gets published, if other people tell you that they think it's great, you'll feel warm and fuzzy, and you should feel that way. But if it doesn't, you can't beat yourself up about it. A play finding a producer or a publisher is probably a lot like two people meeting and falling in love. It's mostly random, highly subjective, and not within anyone's control.

2009-10-30T23:04:00.001-05:00

"We can be sad. We're good at that."
--Nick (to Kellie)

Diseased

2009-10-26T14:52:00.002-05:00

My brother is sick. Anna is sick. It's probably only a matter of time before I catch their fever/sore throat/nausea bug - but I really can't get sick right now! My birthday is less than a week away! I have big celebration plans. People I care about and haven't seen in a long time are coming in from out of town to drink with me! I can already feel my glands swelling. What can I do to not get sick? Wear a surgical mask around my house? Chew down enough vitamin C to choke a camel? I usually don't get too worked up about getting sick, but this is the worst timing ever. Give me advice.

Assuming that I manage to avoid becoming ill, maybe I'll see some of you at the Rocky Horror Picture Show, Halloween at midnight. Technically, it will no longer be Halloween or my birthday at the stroke of twelve, but I'm choosing not to care about that. Everyone knows it's not really tomorrow until you've taken off your bra and gone to sleep.

The Calendar Filled Itself

2009-10-13T16:11:00.003-05:00

Things are getting busy. This is a good thing. I have a podcast of short plays and long monologues that you can listen to if you're into that kind of thing. I'm having fun being a WHRW apprentice. Reserved and The Theatre Audition Book should be coming out any day now. The performance of Erosion is coming up fast - October 24. Rehearsals are starting for Noises Off. My sleep schedule has gone completely off the rails, and I need to correct that. The stack of books I need to read just keeps growing and growing, out of control.

Falling Short

2009-09-23T21:32:00.004-05:00

Today I've been thinking about goals and accomplishments. I'm familiar with the concept, the idea, that when you accomplish something, you're supposed to feel good about it, and feel better about yourself. You're supposed to say, "Yay me" and mean it. I guess my question is: How? How does that work? How can I take pride in the things I do? How can I be satisfied, and congratulate myself? I'm often proud of other people, and happy when they accomplish things. But when I do something, there's something in me that rationalizes away all the joy. I just feel like, no matter what I do, it doesn't matter. It's not enough.

In some ways, that could be a good thing - it should motivate me to work even harder, to do more things, to get more done. I don't think I'd be happy if I felt like I had accomplished everything I wanted, and there was nothing left for me to do. I still have my metaphorical mountains to climb. But, I don't really feel motivated, either. I just feel disappointed in myself, overwhelmed with everything I'm not doing, or doing wrong.

I can make a laundry list of the things I've done, the things I'm good at, the "Reasons Why I Rock." But it doesn't mean anything to me. It doesn't count, somehow. Nothing I do will ever be enough. Why? Why is pride something other people deserve to feel, but I don't?

Preparation

2009-09-21T19:31:00.002-05:00

Have I mentioned lately that Noises Off is a really long, really complicated, really big, really, really complicated show? It's also really funny. But because I'm in the planning stages, and not the fun rehearsal part of directing, I'm not noticing the funny as much as the panic-attack-inspiring complications. I'm sure I'll feel 1,000 times better after the show has been cast. Once we start rehearsing, I'm sure it will all come together. But all this prep work is torture.

Tallulah's skin condition is coming back, so I had to give her a medicated bath today. You can imagine how she responded to that. Her desperate yowling is amusing, but I also pity her. That's probably how people should respond to me when I start whining about how hard directing is. They should be like, "Oh, poor Aneurysm Kellie..." *snicker, snicker.*

Erosion had its first rehearsal. Only about half the cast was there, though. A bunch of people couldn't make it for some reason. We are still looking for a 20s/30s male, if anyone wants to sign up. I really like my role. I play a psychic pot-head.

The Stack of Books

2009-09-14T16:07:00.003-05:00

It looks like I will probably be co-directing Noises Off for Dickinson Community Players this semester. It somehow isn't quite real to me yet - but I'm starting to do some of the prep work, and that's nice.

I got my books to review this month, a book about nine famous hypochondriacs and a poetry collection. My stack of Books-To-Read on my dresser is now so huge and precarious that it threatens to overtake the room.

I spent most of my day yesterday at a backyard get-together at Mike's, just enjoying the last little bit of summer. I have a weirdly busy week coming, and two plays to see this weekend.

If you haven't seen it, Revolutionary Road is really an interesting movie. I think what I like most is how comfortable Leonardo DiCaprio's character seems in the 50s suburbs, and how out of place Kate Winslet seems by comparison. Whenever she does make an effort to fit in, she seems like a Stepford Wife. Or is it just me?

Pissy

2009-09-09T22:17:00.003-05:00

I was very irritable today. Here are some of the things I was irritable about:

* A car drove straight, even though he was in the right-turn-only lane. I cursed him out until I was blue in the face.
* There was a car in front of me while I was driving up a steep hill. They were driving so slowly that I was concerned that my (stick-shift) car was going to start rolling uncontrollably down the hill. I called this driver a fuck-wit and then realized that they live across the street from me. (They probably didn't hear me.)
* I sent back two Netflix movies on the same day - but received their replacements a day apart. What the fuck is that about, Netflix?
* Some dude was being a dick at the HPC Pitch Meeting. I will refrain from elaborating, just in case.
* Morons were standing around, blocking the exit of the parking lot. They saw me, but instead of moving to one side or another, they spread out to form an Impenetrable Wall of Moron. I yelled at them to "pick a side!" and then sped off into the night.

I swear, I'm usually not like this.

I'm just sayin'

2009-09-08T18:45:00.004-05:00

I happened to come across this article about Suicide Prevention Week. The article includes several helpful (and original!) recommendations for dealing with suicidal feelings (such as "don't be alone" and "Remove dangerous objects from the home.") Then I read this one:

9. Do things that you enjoy, and don't do things you find unpleasant until the suicidal feelings have passed.

The worst symptom of depression, in my mind, is the anhedonia - the persistent inability to enjoy anything. If I were capable of enjoying things, and doing those things that I enjoy... Then I'm probably not suicidal.

Also, if I didn't do anything unpleasant while suicidal... I would never get anything done.

"Bargaining" on Art International Radio

2009-08-31T15:38:00.003-05:00

The radio version of my play, Bargaining is now available on the Art International Radio website. To listen, visit:
http://www.artonair.org/archives/j/content/view/2707/160/

This version stars Amanda White and Ross Iosefson, with narration by Ava Rosenblatt and original music composed by Shane Thorn. I hope you will all listen and enjoy, and let me know what you think.

"Put yourself in my shoes."

2009-08-30T15:40:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I rode the bus to New York to see Amanda's show. I had already read and adored the script, and I had seen Amanda read Jane in Act I of the show when it was first presented at the RCL Workshop, so I knew she was going to be phenomenal. The script, "Like We Wasn't People" by Chelsea Peluso, is mind-blowing and the writing is amazing.

The story follows Jane, who is fifteen at the beginning of the show, and her years in a residential facility for "troubled" children and teenagers and then in a long-term psychiatric hospital. Jane spends most of the first act terrorizing her fellow inmates and trying to reason with her mother, who seems pretty much indifferent to Jane's imprisonment. The language is pretty shocking and there's a fair amount of violence. And it's all horrifyingly realistic. What struck me most while watching it, more than when I read it, was that the only time you ever see a patient - and these are children - being comforted, it is by another patient. The staff never speaks, except over a loudspeaker. They are never onstage, except to break up fights and administer sedative injections. The only people who care about the patients are the other patients. It flies in the face of the conventional wisdom, that "You can't take care of someone else until you can take care of yourself." I felt really inspired watching it, and riding the bus home, I just hoped that someday I would write something as powerful as that.

I hope that Amanda is able to return to her blogging now that the show is over.

The Borrowers

2009-08-26T19:24:00.002-05:00

I've been frustrated this week because I cannot find many of my things. Things I cannot find include: my headphones, the charger for my Nintendo DS, and my digital camera. I have no idea where these things vanished to - my living space is not that big. Yes, I checked under the bed.

When you were a kid, did you ever read or watch "The Borrowers"? The premise is simple, that there are tiny people who live in your house, secretly, and steal your things. This is a good way to explain why you can never find tape or scissors, but not a plausible explanation for why I can't find my electronics. A digital camera is of no use to someone less than an inch high... or is it?

Science!

2009-08-21T16:40:00.002-05:00

So, the folks from the depression study let me back in! The interviewer talked to her supervisor, said, "That was dumb," and they agreed, and called me, and I got back in. I went to the first of the two-hour evaluation sessions today.

First, they hooked electrodes to my fingers and chest. Then, I filled out some surveys. You know the kind. They ask about your feelings and thoughts, and you fill in one of the circles with numbers to represent "Never" "Sometimes" "Often" "Always." Those things. Then, I stared at a computer screen, and every time an O appeared, I hit the space bar. When a Q appeared, I was not supposed to hit the space bar. I did this for something like ten minutes. Most boring game ever. Then I filled out more forms.

Then, they put on some music, dimmed the lights, left the room, and I was instructed to relive events from my life that made me exceptionally sad. I had to sit for seven minutes and try to be sad. This is what I discovered: It's actually kind of hard to be sad for seven straight minutes. At this point in my life, I have trained myself to avoid, rationalize, analyze, and compensate for sad thoughts and feelings. My behavior isn't always successful, but it's hard to shut that off and just say, "No, keep thinking about sad things." It was easy to make myself feel sad - I even cried - but it was hard to fight my learned behavior, which is to attempt to make myself feel better - for seven minutes.

Then I played the O vs. Q game some more. Then I filled out some more forms. Then they let me take the electrodes off. Then they scheduled the next evaluation, eight weeks from now. Then they gave me a check for $25. Yay!

Outlier

2009-08-05T13:55:00.004-05:00

Binghamton University is having a study on preventing depression relapse. They give you cognitive behavior therapy and also pay you cash money. I called about a month ago to see if I qualified. They finally called me back yesterday to interview me. I thought, if anything, I wouldn't qualify because I probably meet criteria for dysthymia (which blurs the line between "depressed" and "recovered" considerably).

I was disqualified, but not because of dysthymia. I was disqualified because they began to suspect that I might have suffered from PTSD in the past - specifically, when I was seven. I was hit with frustration when they told me this. The interviewer actually said, "Because you have experienced symptoms of PTSD in the past, you are unlikely to benefit from CBT."

It's not that big a deal, the money would have been nice and I might have gotten something out of the CBT, but whatever. The thing that bugs me is the idea that because I was traumatized by a dog attack when I was seven, these people are comfortable writing me off - saying that CBT is unlikely to help me prevent a depression relapse. I just want to be like, "Well, what will help me prevent a relapse?" Bastards.

Trip, Trip

2009-07-27T15:40:00.002-05:00

I went to the city on Friday to meet with the Art International Radio folks. We will be working together on a radio version of Bargaining. My meeting was scheduled for 2pm, so I took the 8:40am bus from Binghamton. We got stuck in traffic for a long time. I fell asleep at one point, and had a bad dream. In it, I went to visit Brandon Ashinoff, who offered to show me some crazy creature. I got stuck in a holding cell (closet) with two doors, neither of which would open, and then something furry flew at my face. I woke up with a scream, which startled several of the other bus passengers. I didn't know quite how to explain myself. They stared, and I said, "Sorry, sorry... I... uh... sorry."

Anyway, I barely made it to Port Authority at 2pm. Then I walked around for twenty minutes looking for the downtown Q train. I rode it, and then walked right past the building I was looking for because I had been hiding, for years, the fact that I don't actually know what scaffolding is. I had to take off my belt to make it through the metal detector, and then I got in an elevator that didn't go up to the 13th floor. I thought maybe there were two sets of elevators, so I got off, only to be told I had to go to 12 and walk up. (I felt dumb for not thinking of this.) The meeting actually went great, and I had a great time in the city.

Ava, Chelsea, Nick and I had some pizza and wine at a great Time Square place called Carbone, then Nick and I went to a free outdoor screening of short animated films. There, I discovered the phenomenon known as Notebook Babies. Nick and I chatted about our lives, post-Beacon, watched Casino Royale, and I slept in his armchair - and on his floor. In the morning, he showed me his neighborhood, and then I headed back to catch the bus home. I was sad because there was someone I wanted to see while I was in the area, but I hadn't heard from them in time. Five minutes after I boarded the bus, I got a text from them. I kicked myself all the way back to Binghamton.

My brother picked me up from the bus station, and his car died on the way home. Standing on a sidewalk, watching my brother curse his vehicle, I started to wonder if I were in some way cursed when it comes to transportation. I was very happy when I was finally home and could shower.

In days since, I have finally finished my review of Portland Noir, watched Nightwatch again, and resumed rehearsal for The Merry Wives of Windsor, which opens August 6. The radio play recording session is going to be on August 10, so I'll be going back to the city for that. It looks like I may be able to travel with some friends from Merry Wives who are also headed down that day. I feel like I have a lot to do, but most of the tasks are kind of boring. But I have things to look forward to, and that's a nice feeling.

Walk the Fine Line...

2009-07-19T16:50:00.003-05:00

The mental health musical had its last show on Friday night. John volunteered to make Will drive me home, so I got fairly thrashed at the cast party at Mosquito. John introduced me to a drink called Swedish Fish. I ordered doubles, couldn't taste the alcohol, and went from sober to pink-faced and loud in less than an hour. Sang "Tainted Love" with John, "My Own Worst Enemy" with Jen, and "Mother, Mother" all on my own. Had an interesting discussion with a group of guys on the patio about the paradox of time travel. I don't get drunk very often, but sometimes, I do enjoy it. Sometimes, you get that wobbly, weak-kneed feeling that everything is awesome... and I wish I could feel that way more often. Not that I want to be drunk more often, necessarily, just that it would be nice to feel, well, good more often.

In the Summer of 2004...

2009-07-14T10:58:00.002-05:00

Amanda posted today about her psych ward experience, and it made me want to share my experiences. I don't think my experience is as terrible as Amanda's, but it did include deception - and I don't think it is at all uncommon.

The first time I was hospitalized began with a visit to the ISU counseling center. It was for an assessment appointment. I did not in the least expect to be hospitalized. But, after telling the counselor in question that I felt joyless, hopeless, and trapped, and that I often took late night walks to a bridge over Main Street and contemplated jumping off just as a car drove by, she told me I needed to go see someone at a hospital. I had engaged in some parasuicidal behavior at this point, standing on the edge of the bridge, and some very tentative cutting. I wanted a way out, yes, but I was still rooted enough in life to be afraid of myself.

The counselor from ISU CC sat was with me during the assessment at the hospital, and to my amazement, she actually exaggerated my symptoms to the nurse. She claimed that I had told her I "fantasized about slitting my wrists and watching the blood flow." I said, "I didn't say that," but of course, they wouldn't believe me, I was a hysterical crying person.

They offered to admit me into the psych ward overnight, so that I could see a psychiatrist in the morning. That was how they explained "voluntary admission" to me: They said I could stay overnight, and go home as soon as I was feeling better. But what they don't tell you about voluntary admission is: You don't get to be the judge of when you're "feeling better." A doctor you've never met before is the one who decides when you're "better."

I agreed to be admitted, believing that I could stay the night, talk to a psychiatrist, maybe try out an antidepressant (I had never been on any), and then go home. Instead, I spent ten days there, trying to convince a doctor that I wanted to live, when really all I wanted to do was to get the hell out of the psych ward.