So… I spent a week in a psychiatric hospital.
I went voluntarily for the first time ever.
Oh boy did I regret it.
I came back home today, well, actually it’s tomorrow already 2:00 am
This time was different.
I knew what to expect.
It was worse.
I knew all the therapies already.
They included religious themes…
And there were a lot of aggressive and impulsive patients, most heard voices.
This made me anxious at first, but then I just … sat there and read while they randomly screamed or started talking to themselves.
It also made me think, shit, I hope I don’t get there.
I puked in front of the door of my room because no one would open it …. and no one believed how bad my gastritis was.
It was pretty humiliating.
It got worse and now my stomach is really fragile and I’m back on the pills for my stomach.
I also became quite unstable for a couple of days because they took my Seroquel off.
One night I had, for the first time, a pychotic episode (or at least that’s what I found on the internet because no one explained to me what the fuck happened.)
They gave me some pills and it didn’t happen again.
Other weird shit happened… Maybe someday I’ll write about that…
But …. Somehow I have come stronger and weaker at the same time.
I was able to handle myself by myself in there.
There wasn’t enough staff for the quantity of patients there were.
They also had no empathy towards us, the patients.
I finally did what I felt like, not suffering through stupid therapies.
I read… tried to get my stomach well by eating, showered everyday, woke up everyday early.
Tried to be as social as I could…
As my last day came I really thought about what I felt had changed… I don’t feel my depression has gotten better, but I feel a in some way stable.
I feel… my mind, in some way, a little bit clearer.
I’m thinking more rationally.
And fucking stopped doing coke.
And I come out.
This time I just smile.
Because I’m fucking out, I made it.
But, how long will this feeling last.
I’m scared it will go away.
I’m scared I’ll get like I was before.
I get to my apartment.
Which was filled with flies…
And I read The Flies by Sartre while I was hospitalized.
Which is fucking weird.
My mom helped me get my room organized.
She left, and I felt really strange, like I was somewhere I didn’t belong.
I had… the choice of what to do next… and I didn’t know what to do with it.
My housemate wasn’t here… so I had no one to talk to.
I felt as if I had been in a bubble and now it wasn’t there to protect me.
I just sat in my bed, not knowing what to do.
So, I decided to distract myself by smoking weed and watching series.
I had planned to do this for a couple of days… going outside everyday a little more time that the day before.
One friend calls me and I answer.
She asks me how I am, then proceeds to tell me she broke up with her boyfriend.
He was horrible to her and hurt her feelings a lot.
But then, I start feeling the problems… everyone’s problems that make me have less hope of ever feeling better.
Then I remember my own problems.
Then my cousin visits me… and he starts saying life is shit, that he’s mad… and well, tells me his problems.
How he doesn’t know what to do with his life, what to study.
So… My housemate gets here and asks me if I want to go out drinking.
I am an alcoholic, I have told her a million times.
Just mentionin drinking makes me want to drink.
She says she’s sorry, that she forgets.
But mentioning beer… that’s enough for the thought to be invading my mind.
I just sat on my bed, listening to them about how shit life is… and I’m so overwhelmed… I don’t know how to react.
And they seem to have no consideration about the fact that I just came out of the psychiatric hospital…
Then… I get anxious and grab a beer.
No one stops me.
Then another… then another.
Then I took like 10 klonos.
I did everything I wasn’t supposed to do.
I should have gone to my parents house for a couple of days… but I thought people would at least pretend to talk about happy shit… or news… or whatever the fuck.
But this is reality. We all have problems. There is no break.
And me being locked up and turned into a zombie for a week didn’t stop the rest of the world from continuing being shit.
I expected at least a day of tranquility.
“You cannot find peace by avoiding life. ” — Virginia Woolf