Dr. Gessler greets me with a handshake and a smile. He knows that I’m causing trouble in the ranks. I can just tell. That, plus the chart nurse told him I was difficult. His first question is a tough one. “You wanted to kill people with a box cutter?” he says in a thick Russian accent. I fended it off with the “No” argument combined with the “That’s crazy” line of reasoning. Apparently he has heard this before.
“Fuck,” I think to myself – or so I thought. I actually said it out loud. But he agreed with me.
“Why would you want to do something so messy.” he said. He was right. I hate seeing blood. I told him it was only a theatrical flourish of words, and any due harm was only pointed at me.
“Why do you want to hurt yourself?” He asked.
“Dude,” was my witty retort.
Let me explain. I’m not exactly quick on my feet at this point. I’m so pumped full of pills I can hear my eyeballs sloshing in their sockets. The world is moving at normal speed, but my brain is going 50% at best. I’m like the Mad Scientist in the Bugs Bunny cartoon saying “Come back here you rabbit” in a slurred, slow baritone.
Dr. Gessler asks me a battery of questions that hit way to close to home. When it seems that he’s done, I ask him flat out, “Can I go home now?”
He looks up and smiles. “No. We need to watch you here for a few days.”
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