I’m standing in the parking lot outside the E.R. I have been discharged after being examined, but before I could be admitted. They have no room. Thirty beds are full, and another cannot be opened for me. If I had hurt myself, if I had hurt another, I would be welcomed in. The papers they gave me say to go to the E.R. if you are suicidal. I did. I am. The beds are full. Where do I go? What do I do if I’m sick enough to need treatment but not sick enough to receive it? I imagine drinking hard alcohol with my meds so I can finally lose consciousness. I asked the doctor to drug me so I could finally sleep. They agree that I’m manic, but the beds are full. I asked if I could lay in the hallway but that’s not a thing. I’ve never had to fight the urge to cry so hard in my life. There is no room at the inn. The beds are full.