Crazy Daycare II
I’m done. They let me loose. Graduated Stigma cum Loud.
Chair of the Bored
Can you believe they just GIVE this stuff away?
One of the few spots of colour were works from former patients. Some were pretty good.
Translation: Don’t spread your crazy around!
The Triplets.
They saved the good stuff for staff.
I’d like to think they didn’t want people harming themselves with dried goods and instant coffee…but I’m pretty sure there’s just issues with theft.
The Kitchen a.k.a. Where the Snacks Live.
Sara wuz here
Now I have to DO SOMETHING. Get work, or apply for financial assistance, or start a counterfeit operation. Gotta find a hobby. Gotta leave the house more. Gotta start reintegrating. Emphasis on “grating”. Gotta make and keep my therapy appointments. Gotta stay on top of meds. Gotta shower, eat, and exercise regularly. Sitting alone in the dark is frowned upon. Rocking and whimpering more so.
To be fair, Day Hospital wasn’t bad. I even grew fond of a few people and really enjoyed Occupational Therapy. I learned a few things. I unlearned a few things. I may not be ready to take on the world, but I am ready to take my place in it.
What’s your story?
*roaring, thunderous cheering from my section of seats*
*bows* THANK YOU!
Yay!
All the “gottas” sound so achievable in isolation. When you put them together, they can get overwhelming. Just take ‘em one at a time.
Reintegrating, I’m going to have to work on that one too – after sitting at my desk by myself for the last 6+ months, I’m a bit cut off from the outside world. There are weeks when I interact with only my husband and a grocery clerk. There are times when I don’t leave the house for over 48 hours. It’s all in the name of work, but hardly healthy habits.
I might be starting up Crazy Class in a little while. Made an appointment to interview for a spot next week. We’ll see how it goes. It will doubtless be blog-worthy if it does go.
I wish you the best, DeeDee.
Leave some for us, too.
CoF
Yeah…language is a funny thing. One of the p-docs was always reminding us that the “have tos” can be dangerous and overwhelming. One thing at a time is right. Though the temptation to fallback into old habits is strong. I like staying in PJ’s all day. I like not having to fake my way through a normal conversation…
You’re close to seeing the outside world again. I hope it goes smoothly for you. Crazy Class might help with that if you’re forced to leave the den every once in a while ;)
Can’t wait to hear all about it.
I just don’t know where to begin. Again, another spot on post, Sara. I’m glad you did this part II. The flip side. With pretty pictures. The sanitizer, self-portrait, and no color contrast are my favorites.
My story: It was a year ago next month when I went to Crazy Camp. My mother and doctors applied for my financial assistance with a lawyer (rare) when I was “inside the big house.” I got SSDI the first time (rarer). Being alone, I had no choice. We chose not to apply for welfare, but applied for a loan against my social security benefits. The program has better back-to-work programs, and as most of my trail-of-trauma was in the workplace, we all that that was a good option. You know, just in case I freak out again when the docs say I am ready to go back to work.
Without having to think about the base level of Lazlo’s Hierarchy of Needs, I’ve been able to focus on getting better. Rooting out the childhood trauma, that left me vulnerable to the recent traumas, doing hard work in therapy on managing the BP diagnosis, making my back strong again. I want to get “out there” as well, Sara. I sometimes force it, and it sounds like you may too. My Psychiatrist told me to focus on “getting better,” rather than “getting out there,” back into the world. That, in itself, has removed much of the anxiety.
Love it, Uncle. Getting better is the highest priority. It’s stressful because we have kids, and they need to eat (apparently. Who knew?)
I think you wrote once that SSDI helped take care of your financial triggers. I need to take care of it too.
Dreading it al, but dread more the relentless brokeness.
I just feel like I’ve been “away” so long…
Feeling “away… ” Feeling like a Shadow of your former self.. ” I know.
I have to feed my cats. Sometimes that’s even hard. I can’t imagine having kiddos with this. I’d be Mommie Dearest. “Clleeeeeaaaannnnnn… !!!” I had an outside day, yesterday, or the other day. It was great, but the next day, I was wracked with anxiety. Weird.
I don’t get it. I want to get it. Sometimes I think I get it. Then it slips away…
Uncle
Outside Day. LooooooOOOove it (i’m using your sing songy voice when I say that).
I guess getting it sometimes is better than none times.
Love the sing-song voice!
Reblogged this on A Clown On Fire and commented:
Se(ro)quel to Crazy Daycare.
Just got here and don’t know the backstory – however, I myself went through a couple of periods of intensive out patient therapy where I was in crazy day care for a couple of weeks. So, nice to meet a fellow traveller.
Travelling down the rabbit hole….
Welcome back, Sara. I hope it’s not a violation of the rules of the blogosphere to borrow the words of others that, somehow, seem appropriate to the situation and my state of mind.
Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
But Gregory’s wood and one bare hill
Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind.
Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;
And for an hour I have walked and prayed
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.
I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour
And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower,
And-under the arches of the bridge, and scream
In the elms above the flooded stream;
Imagining in excited reverie
That the future years had come,
Dancing to a frenzied drum,
Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.
W.B. Yeats
” A Prayer for my Daughter”
By the way, there’s more. Lots more. Look it up.
And now that you’ve got one of your own… or two, actually… welcome not only back, but to the larger crazy house: the one full of monkeys throwing their poop.
I am not at all surprised you are fond of such melancholic and dramatic words. We are related, after all.
My monkeys don’t throw poop….yet. Eric, on the other hand….but he’s got a good arm and it usually makes it into the neighbour’s yard.
p.s. I’m so touched that you stop by and read whatever the shit this is. xo