I"m to dumb to understand that diagnosis

"Fuck off" said Peter. I moved suddenly, catching Peter off guard. I grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. "Don't ever speak to me like that again Peter, or you'll be real sorry" I snarled. "You can't do that to me. I'm a patient. You're fucked" he managed to gasp. I replied by slamming his head against the wall, "Let's find out if you're right, eh."

The phone began ringing. I woke from my daydream. I reached over and answered the phone.

We do have a patient called Peter. The doctor thinks he has a Personality Disorder. I don't understand this diagnosis. To me he's the bastard who got caught drug dealing in the paediatric ward just after his wife had given birth. He's also the only patient who does tell me to "Fuck off" on a regular basis.

He's never been admitted to a psychiatric ward before, but after being caught by the Police he tried to kill himself. Ten paracetamol is not enough to kill, but his liver has got to be suffering. I'm sure he knew it wouldn't kill, but he probably didn't know he'd damage his liver.

Maybe I'm insensitive. Maybe unprofessional. But I'm allowed to dream.