There are times in your life when you see fit to end it. When solutions don't present themselves, and problems become insurmountable. There are times in your life when you want to die.

There are times in your life when you want to fit in, and also times when you don't. There are times you try not to fit in just to fit in. There are times in your life when you are confused.

I made it to my birthday. For this, I am glad. I tried not to.

They call it a problem with codependency. They point to my childhood and defense stances and cultural upbringing. I blame fairytales.

Sample fairy tale:

Once upon a time there was a girl who had a father that loved her very much and gave her anything she wanted. They lived happily in their kingdom where they had a large and expansive castle made of sugar crystals and chocolate. The little girl had a pony and a play house, and every toy she could imagine. Her days were filled with endless play and make-believe and joy. She grew up to be very lovely, and never had problems with acne or teenage atrociousness. She went to college, became an artist and historian, and married the eligible bachelor in the neighboring kingdom who took care of her and fit her personality perfectly. They lived together until the end of their days, which happened to have happened together, in their sleep. They went to heaven and lived happily ever after, the end.

As children we are force fed fairy tales to make us shut up and put us to bed, and expand our imaginations. The world is fair, the bad guy always loses, and the girl always marries the most handsome and kind man in the kingdom. Bullshit.

They force feed us these fairy tales because who in their right mind would tell a child that in a few years they would face bills, work, monotony, boredom, unfairness, hostility, and a bunch of other words ending in "y" that I can't think of right now. What child would have the courage to face the next day? To look forward to the next birthday? To have the will to survive?

Adulthood is a disappointment. If that is what I can call this state I am in right now.

Disappointment leads to boredom. Boredom leads to apathy. Apathy leads to sadness, sadness leads to the psychiatric ward at Amalpa Regional Hospital.

You think of these wards as being something like out of a movie, people in straight jackets, forced meds, padded walls, no hope of escape.

I think my stay in the psych ward was worse. Worse because they were kind. They were strict. They were oh so annoying and somehow stereotypical.

Day one: In group session, we watched an hour video of a comedian with a heart... a grand purpose. There was a nun in the audience for Christ's sake. Please. This is supposed to cure everything? This is supposed to make me a mentally healthy person? I don't think so. It did have one benefit. For all of us who had slept fitfully the night before, plagued by our inefficiencies and self loathing, we were finally able to drop off peacefully to sleep, to the sounds of an Italian Billy Graham.

Day two: Groups.

Group leader: "Is there anything that anyone would like to share with us today?"

....... silence........

So I'm thinking about Death Becomes Her, the movie with Goldie Hawn and Meryl Streep. I see the fat version of Goldie sitting in a psych ward that feels very similar to mine, and I can't help but say...

Me: "I'd like to talk about Madeline Ashton"

Group leader: "And who is Madeline Ashton, Marcie?"

Me: "It's from the movie, Death Becomes Her. Has anyone seen it? She is sitting in the psych ward and they are in group and she says ‘"I'd like to talk about Madeline Ashton,"' and everyone goes nuts and starts screaming."

There is a long silence while everyone seems to soak up this little tidbit of mine... or at least appear to, the meds can make you kinda spacey, then:

Group leader: "Marcie, did you feel the need to break the silence?"

At this point I know that I've landed in hell. Yes, the knife cut deep enough. Yes, the sleeping pills put me to sleep permanently, and because of this dreadful sin, I've died and gone straight to hell. And Satan? Satan is a smartly dressed black lady in a vivid purple suit and too much perfume.

It's hard to spill out your life's story to a group of people you don't know. Especially if one of them has this annoying nasal problem and constantly sounds like he's about to die of an asthma attack. Or if the lady sitting next to you keeps rocking back and forth and staring at the clock on the wall. And they get mad if you exhibit any kind of anti-social behavior like "not sharing." I was so bored of watching WCW wrestling and having the computer squash me at chess that I just stayed in my room one day and immersed in a book. This got me several stern looks from the nurses, and a tape player in my room the next day with several tapes on dealing with such problems. That's right. Hell.

There are times in your life when you are confused. So confused that you lose the self you were before completely, and something new and a little scary starts to peek its head. There are times in your life when you are confused, but you still know the difference between Heaven and Hell.

Hell is the psych ward at Amalpa Regional Hosptial. Heaven is... heaven is something I'm not sure about yet.

It's that siesta time. When we don't have anything to do that has to be done, or late night fights kept us awake until early morning. We sleep when there is nothing to do. To make up for that sleep lost during papers and test tomorrows and such. My two best friends are in bed together but I have had my fill of heavy head today.

I decide this week I like the room clean and tidy, so I make my bed. Pillow a quarter turn right, blanket only folded once.

Tonight is Christmas, and I imagine they sleep to get it here faster. I haven't really thought about caring yet, so I don't sleep. It's only December 10th, however, but this is the only good time before the holidays really take over. Bank accounts suffering- but always money for a pizza- check won't go through till Monday.

Relationships that don't need to be this complicated but are anyway. Gotta put that education to use... five thousand dollars a semester to learn how to screw up the mind of the other. Over analyize, over compromise, overtly realize. My quiet times.

I think a neat room keeps order in my life. Probably why my life is pretty much disorderly. I'm not a neat person by nature. That takes influence.

My limbs are heavy. They want siesta. My eyelids, too, wouldn't mind a rest. I've felt pretty weak lately. The christmas lights wink me to sleep. Winter hibernation.