Kettle

Here's the thing. If you come in and tell a young clinician you intentionally haven't eaten in several days, that your recent medication change has caused you to experience persistent suicidal thoughts, and that yesterday you were planning to write a suicide note, you're probably not going home with your boyfriend. That's how it works. Risk management. It's tricky and far from perfect, this business of suicide prevention. It often means differing opinions, consulting with a psychiatrist who doesn't even see the person, and someone being told they have to do something they don't want to do. Someone often ends up angry. I'm waking up with the leftovers of that mess. Paul and Art are singing, "Blessed are the spat upon, vagabonds, ratted on. Oh Lord, why have you forsaken me?" And as I put the kettle on to heat the water for my caffeine and head toward the shower, Sting promises to send an SOS to the world. On my behalf?

Or is that for someone else? No matter, we'll all need one sooner or later. The sound of the kettle boiling.