I should be dead. One day I decided it would be a good idea to hop myself up on a bunch of barbituates and go for a walk. They tried committing me saying I was suicidal afterward, but the reality was I was in a fog in my mind and tried walking across the street without looking. And BAM! One somersault in mid-air and a feeble attempt to run off from the scene of an accident, my adrenaline flatlined and the next thing I know the driver of the car was standing over me panicking, asking questions. one of which was if I was a Christian. Of course, I said I was. (Not having a clue what that even meant)
After the ambulance ride and stretched out on a gurney in an isolation room at the hospital they finally gave me a room (after not attending to me for at least two hours.) Next thing I know I was being visited by a deputy and was soon cuffed and stuffed in the back of a police car to be hauled off to the local insane asylum. Remember, I was "suicidal". The fight I gave the mental ward workers was epic though. I did not want that Thorazine shot in my butt. And I put up everything I had to prevent myself from getting it. In the end, I lost. But thankfully, no lasting effects of stiffness or involuntary jerking of body parts do I experience. See?