mortius

i was getting drunk and a house two doors down (a known crack dealer's house) was having a very loud party...i live in a nice quiet suburb and they have cars coming and going at all hours of the day and night, but this night something clicked in my head and i got really pissed and yelled "shut the fuck up" out my window. at that point my dad came upstairs to calm me down, which didn't work but redirected my rage. he asked me if i wanted them coming over and vandalizing the house to which i said "if they do that I'll kill'em and do it with a smile on my face. he said i wasn't going to do anything and i asked him if he was going to do anything about it and he said no...so i called him names and started packing shit up to leave. now i collect knives and swords, medieval stuff, and i threw one of my knives into the floor (which i do regularly just playing around...even when i'm sober and sane). he was frightened for my well being and that of the family so he called the cops and they took me to the hospital where i sat in a very sparse room till my alcohol level went down low enough to transport me to the CRU which was like a dorm for 8 people all with mental illness. there were people pacing the hall and talking to themselves and saying nonsense things over and over...they even had to actually take one patient out in hand cuffs to a real mental hospital. so mostly i stayed in my room reading and playing free cell (which is very difficult without a computer) today, after five days of "observation" and "therapy" (therapy for disorders that had nothing to do with my personal problems) they finally released me and are requiring me to see a psychiatrist again, which i hate because i hate talking about myself and usually my weeks are uneventful and i really have nothing to talk about...so i'm back where i was 3 years ago when i had to ramble on for an hour about my feelings weather i'm having any or not.