Dear the mental asylum,
I wouldn’t say that I’m done with living, but I’d like to take a wee hiatus on this whole “being an adult” thing. I’d therefore like to check myself into your establishment, please.
I’m not sure how long I want to stay, so let’s start small and just book me in for an initial 4 months and see how I get on.
You may think that I’m not mentally disturbed enough to utilise your facilities, and you’d be right.
But I hope you’ll agree with me when I say that the best form of medicine is prevention.
Let’s not wait until I start smacking my face through the TV because the people on it won’t stop sending me messages. Just pop me in one of those foam rooms for a bit, so I can return to peak sanity and emerge a picture of wellness, looking like the women in skincare adverts.
Worrying about the plumpness of my cheeks rather than the crippling void that penetrates my soul sounds like an absolute dream.
I don’t know much about your facilities. Is there a pool? (I promise I won’t drown myself in it.) And what about a hot tub? (No, I can’t promise I won’t piss in it.) And a massage suite where the masseuse doesn’t require a tip? (Yes, I promise I’ll tip, but only if they touch me inappropriately.)
I know I’ll be in my luxury penthouse (or “cell” if that’s what you call it), but what’s actually in there besides soft bouncy walls? Will there be a TV? Books? A framed picture of Kate Winslet above my bed?
Also, something that really concerns me is this whole straight jacket business. Is there a gay version? I don’t really like the word “straight”, it’s triggering. I’ll tell you what else is triggering:
- Employment of any kind
- BMW drivers
- Life
Soooo, I think I’ve declared everything that I need to. Oh, hang on, what about food? I’ve been eating for two since the womb, so I’ll need double portions along with a constant supply of refined sugar, saturated fat and the odd bottle of Kombucha.
Gotta keep that gut bacteria happy!
Naturally, the asylum’s weekly visit of support puppies is a must, as is daily tennis practice, and a three-hour therapy session every four hours.
I think that’s it…
Oh, talking about my ability to “think”, I’d really like a pill that stops me from doing that. It’s awfully tedious and I really think my life would be better without it.
And lastly; I’m currently a bit slim in the finance department so don’t be adding any bollocking single supplement onto the bill otherwise I’ll take my psycho pennies elsewhere.
See you soon!
Jenna