cv (ephemeras) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-07-13 21:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | gwen stacy |
Who: Sam
What: Narrative
Where: SNAMHS
When: Recently
Warnings/Rating: Triggery topics
Sam walked out of Circus Circus the day after her coffee meeting with Toby.
The exterior of Southern Nevada Adult Mental Health Services looked like a prison. Cream stone and with barbed wire fencing off to one side, Sam got out of the car and looked at the structure with trepidation. She'd already been inside once, and Neil had sprung her, but this time she was going to walk through the doors on her own steam, and she knew that meant she wouldn't be coming out until they thought she was ok to. It was public, for people without money, or for people with seriously dangerous shit going on. It was more jail than hospital, but after a restless night spent pacing her shitty room at Circus Circus, she knew she had no fucking choice. She wasn't going to end up at the end of a needle again over this shit, and she knew the shit with Ian had left her fucked up enough that she needed someone professional to talk to. She'd put it off. She'd hidden in Aria. But shit came to a head, the way shit always fucking did.
She knew they wouldn't turn her away, not with her record. Not if she walked in and told them the fucking truth. Hey, I'm so fucking depressed that I can't stop fucking crying, and all I can think of is downing an entire bottle of fucking Xannies to keep from calling for a hit. Maybe there was something healthy about being able to actually come out and say what was going on with her, but it didn't make the place with the barbed wire fence any less terrifying.
And yeah, sure, someplace nice and private would have been better. Future Hope, or some other place with pretty rooms and patients that didn't slam their heads against the hallway walls, but she was fucking tired of mooching. She was tired of asking Neil for money for her shit, and it wasn't fair to Daniel for her to only pop up with she needed a donation for her nutjob treatment. And she wanted to do this shit herself, for once. No ER, no hospital admittance because she'd slit her fucking wrists beforehand or ODed on too much smack. She was being proactive, yeah? She knew that was a good thing, but that didn't make it any less terrifying.
She told the driver (and security guard) that she'd taken when she'd left Neil's to bounce. After all, even Ian couldn't get into this fucking place. This place was getting frisked to get inside, and nothing delivered, and one hour of public visitation a day. It was no buttons or zippers or drawstrings, nothing that someone could use to fucking hang themselves or choke on when an orderly wasn't looking. No one accidentally died here, not in this place, and no one died on purpose, either.
She already knew the drill, and she walked inside in sweatpants and a t-shirt, with her bag containing only more of the same. Her phone was in her pocket, and she'd left everything else in the car when she'd sent the driver away with the message that she was fucking fine. She didn't actually expect Neil to ask, though. Halfway house, mental health facility, no fucking difference. No, she was on her fucking own, yeah? And maybe that was good. Maybe she'd need to get used to that shit, because she had no fucking faith that Neil would be around when she walked back out of this place.