Memories from a treatment center

 I remain convinced that my 26-year-old treatment center counselor is Prince Myshkin, from Dostoyevsky's "The Idiot." He is Ukrainian and taught me "Privet" (привет).

The head of this facility used to be the night watchman and is now taking not only coffee away from us, but also my highly needed and highly treasured naps. They all hayte me. Hayte follows me. Hayte stalks me, like a Komodo Dragon, waiting to bite me in the ass with that soupy cocktail of bacteria in its mouth that will fester into a giant sore on my ass cheek, filled with blood and stinky pus, causing sepsis, from which I will die a slow, horrible death.


December, 2019

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