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6 августа 2014 г., 17:21
She jots my answers down on a pad of paper, sighs, and says she won’t admit me to the hospital if I’ll sign a contract saying I won’t hurt myself. I actually laugh out loud at the thought that anyone depressed enough to kill himself would be stopped by a piece of paper. It’s like slitting your wrists over a sink so you won’t make a mess.
