Own Feet

I’m most likely leaving on Monday; it will be two days shy of a four week stay. In some ways I am much better, in others not so. The new drug regime is working as much as you can expect it to short of a miracle, side effects are plentiful, but I’m most annoyed by the shaky hands – dry mouth previously mentioned is improving. I’ve attended art nearly every day, and completed 6 pieces / projects and have two on the go. Art provides three hours a day to get sucked into something other than my head, it’s good. The studio is very well stocked here, in the previous hospital you could tell art therapy (and open studio) was the poor cousin to the other groups on offer. Art therapy here is very unstructured, the art is the therapy, at my old hospital we had only one hour, half of which was spent making art with set materials and a subject, and then we had to talk about it; that was a chore, this is enjoyable. Random internet folk have taught me how to knit and crochet in the last fortnight, though it took a human (R) to show me how to cast on. I’ve now knitted a headband and lots of other stuff I’ve torn apart because it was just practise.

There was a new admission this evening, has to be a first timer! I couldn’t tell who the patient was because the whole family was here – parents in their 50’s, their adult and teenage children, partners of children (evident by baby bump and proximity of partner), everyone was crying and fussing. My guess is there was a little incident at family lunch, it shocked everyone except the sufferer (mum is my guess) who has been hiding well, they went to ED and because they’re insured ended up here, I think that’s how it works when there are actually beds available and you’re not on a blacklist! They all looked so uneasy, mummy joined the freak show and now they have to visit her and hope not to be contaminated by the other more freaky freaks she’s been dumped with. That’s my interpretation of what they were thinking based on 20 minutes of spying over dinner. I remember my first few days in psych hospital; I was terrified and very alone. She’ll settle in.

I’m a bit scared about going home, I’m definitely not fine, but I can’t live in hospital, a part of me would like to. I’m looking forward to hanging with Rico again and being in my own house, though this week will be spent at my parents’. I’m not sure I’m looking forward to anything else; I’m lonely at home and most people my age work, I can’t put the friendship burden on too few people, history shows they sink.