I was going to write this as if it were a story of someone else, because I felt like someone else. Not the person I thought I was. I also have to hurry because my time is limited. I will be without internet service for a while, but look forward to catching up on all your blog posts I’ve missed.
Today, was my visit to my Pill Pusher (Psychologist).
His office is located in a place with Institute included in the name. It’s a huge complex in Suburbia. There is a huge sign stating that the premises are monitored 24-hours a day.
I have to pass by the “Day Hospital” section, to reach my doctor’s office.
Past the lovely little bridge over a small creek.
It’s a lush looking place when all the leaves are on the trees.
There are many different buildings in the style of 1970’s architecture. I swear, I could hear chimes and soft music playing in my mind, as I wound my way around the parking lot. It’s one of those zen places for the mentally ill.
The parking lots were quite full, and that made me sad, but good at the same time. The people from those cars are getting the help they needed today.
And that’s when I realized that I am there because I suffer from mental illness. I felt a tear fall down my cheek.
I don’t ever want to be a visitor at the Day Hospital, or the long-term care facility. I will do as my doctor says, even if I think I’m flattening out. There always has to be a solution for me, and I am determined to find it.
I don’t belong there.