I don't like it here. It has a bad feel about it. I am detoxing hard. The place is like Mrs Havisham's house or some other Dickensian/Bronte sisters business. You have to say what you want to eat the next day. I don't know what i will want to eat tomorrow. Do you know what you will want to eat tomorrow? What a load of bullish*t. They seem nice enough though. Today I advised that tomorrow I will feel like eating salmon. I have several swear words I could use, in many different orders, to describe how I feel about that situation. Should I write them down? There is that fine line between art and gratuitous profanity let's dance at the border.
They have politely declined to comment on the fact that I am acting like a mad person. My room is like a decent hotel room with a big window thats lets in a gentle breeze, overlooking a pretty garden. The library has a couple of good books. But still I don't like it.
I came, yesterday, three sheets to the wind and they sent me off to some place that stuck needles in my arm and tubes in my face and said big words with the letter 'x' in them. The Lover came to get mef me. "Where I am from," I tried to explain "no one checks into those places straight. One requires a bit of dutch courage." I told the story of Nikki. I was looking out the window and some car pulled up. A man pushed a very pretty 36 yearold woman out, leaned over to rip off her wedding ring and threw a few cards in her face. Medicare, health care, bank cards. They took her inside and checked her in. Nikki was beautiful and I liked her a lot. Once she straightened out she was amazing again. That was just how you arrived at those places.
One day someone spray-painted the word "SCUM" out the front. We all looked at it from the balcony, curiously, whilst enjoying some peppermint tea on a Sunday morning. "Who didn't pay their dealer?" said Ricky. "I paid mine" said Craig. Ricky was in for perfectionism. Technically he was in for cocaine but he had some bizarre light-bulb moment when describing how he didn't like others to use his swimming pool and had his car cleaned every 3 days. He one told me I was blunt and apologised for using the term. I actually thought it was a compliment.
I don't want to be here and I've not yet decided if I'm staying. It's here or the final catastrophe though.
My friend, my very good friend, said that he understood and I believed him. He said there are options, possibilities beyond this head-space. His story resonated with mine and his serenity was something to aspire to. He's is smart and good, has never lied to me. He is also an example of what it means to live well. He made me laugh with his honesty and he left the office as the most popular chap of all. After being asked to leave every other job and receiving memos about his appearance.
I feel like I am in a jail for rich mad women who wish to smash back the benzos and take some time out.
No one checked my bags. That is unusual.
The doctor had spikie hair and cool earrings and tattoos. Until she arrived I had half decided to fly to Eithioipia and see what was going on there. Maybe I'll give this place a chance.
The halls feel haunted and the other people are haunted also.
TELL ME GOD DOES IT GET BETTER??????
"Be still. I've got your back" he says to me. He is big and mean and scary. There are tattoos on his knuckles. We sit on the edge of the fountain. I look at the asylum and drink decaf. He makes some weird old man noise which reminds me of dads. There is nothing scary or predatory to me about him and he is gentle. I find that nice.
"I am 33. I am no child."
"Yes you are."
It will be okay. People who have traveled rough have often traveled the same road. My overwhelming emotions at the moment are love and desperate hope. And anger at myself. If this doesn't work The Lover walks.
What will you feel like eating next Tuesday?
