I wish I was in the hospital, gently restrained, and being fed a consistent stream of anxiolytics.
I do not wish I was home, to be honest. Because it is not a hospital and there are no anxiolytics hanging off the IV pole.
I see the chair, the table, the pillar, the dog, and the doors of the lift in their place. They are not spinning. But all it takes for this to change is a slower blink of my eye, or the silhoutte of a person approaching my peripheral vision.
I know I am lonely, but the alternative is equally, if not more, terrible. I wish there were world-cancelling headphones too—my noise cancelling headphones fit just my ears.
I notice how I begin all of my sentences with ‘I’. I remember reading that people who use a lot of ‘I’ in their writing are suicide-prone. I don’t believe in that, but it is a trivial piece of information that does not budge from your head.