How weird (…crazy?) is it that the last post I wrote before flying into the cuckoo’s nest was about the Psych Museum? It was over a month before and, no, it wasn’t planned. If someone had told me in March that I’d be in inpatient treatment end of April, I would’ve been taken aback but I can’t say surprised.
It’s been a rough couple of years.
I love how the euphemisms for mental health treatment have changed. Depending on what era I pick, I like to say either “I went to the country for some rest,” or “I went mad,” or “I was locked away in a sanitarium,” or “I had a nervous breakdown,” or “I went to rehab.”
One counselor, alluding to the fact that active addicts end up incarcerated, institutionalized, or dead, periodically would say to us: “Welcome to the institution!”
My favorite is what I heard my ex-boss said about me: “She’s delicate.” I just think it sounds cute, but frankly, it was accurate.
Remember the schizophrenic’s embroidery project from the museum? Little Miss “Love Me I Am Crazy?”
There was also “Wait for me I am lonely.” And “Hair on fire.” And “Because you mine and I saw you in the purse house.”
I can relate to that. Really all of them. And I rather liked being “the sick girl” – delicate… helpless… needy. It was what I knew.
Doesn’t matter what I’m comfortable with anymore, though, because the pain from that type of comfort became greater than the pain of change. Whoo boy do I plan to keep changing. Then one day I’ll embroider a phrase for myself: The Strong Girl. Fool.