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I am awake, but not really.  There is a gray fog wrapped about my head, twirling in my eyes.  And my eyes are itching, watering a little.  My tongue and my teeth are absent, though I have a vague idea they're still there in my mouth.  Missing in action too, my ability to vocalize appropriately.  I test my speech and manage a breath and then "gug gug."  

I see the ceiling above my head, white with the one little crack, or is it a crack?  Crack?  Where did that word come from?  The ceiling sure looks bright.  I like bright.  Bride?  In white.  Like the ceiling.  Where am I?

"Home."  I think, and I might slur it aloud.   "Machine."  

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There's an old saying about leading a horse to water but not being able to make him drink. I've been trying to make a certain horse in my life drink water for some time now.
 

I recognized the signs a long time ago. I knew she needed to see a mental health professional. I begged, I pleaded, I guilted. I tried to reason with her. But it's hard to do that long-distance. And over e-mail.
 

I consider myself a good listener. Someone who can listen to someone non-judgementally and offer advice. But there comes a point when experience isn't good enough.
 

It's hard to watch other people suffer. And this person was suffering. There were so many issues that need to be addressed and she always said she was too busy. It's even harder to watch someone suffer when I have experienced the benefits and relief that come from professional mental health help.
 

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I say it, but I don't believe it.

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