Please note, this post is being written by a seriously doped K.
Today I have been in this psych hospital for 14 days. It is strange to imagine that only 13 mornings ago I woke up so terrified that my entire body was shaking. In these 14 days I have met some lovely people, who have, of course gone home. I’ve nearly finished making a boxy thing in the craft room - the box is covered in dirt and sticks. I’ve had many sessions with my psychiatrist; a family meeting which revealed the nasty truth to one member; I’ve had less and less contact with my loved one, who I have accepted I will never get back – and I don’t want him back. I’ve been put on a new drug, which seems to be working really well. I’m still a hermit, I spend most of my time in my room writing these silly posts, spying on people through facebook and watching the gazillions of TV shows I have on my hard drive. I know I should be using this time to read, I still have five sixths of the Iliad waiting for me; but my brain is just too mushy to focus – I can’t even absorb a whole newspaper article, usually I can get through everything that catches my eye on The Age’s website. I’ve seen my lovely Chantelle more in this last fortnight than I usually see in a few months. And, I think I’m getting better. Perfection is miles away and I know I will never get there, but here is better than where I was. The main reason for my admission is still a problem, so I don’t think discharge is around the corner, but we’ll see. As you may have read in my previous post, going home is not without its own problems.
Conclusion of post is ummm it’s day 14!
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