Today was the two staff members at day treatment’s last day. I was expecting it to be hard, but it was harder than I was really ready for. I’ve been in my room since I got back and every time I hear footsteps I silently panic that somebody is going to knock on my door and demand that I share my deepest feelings. It’s no fun sharing your deepest feelings when you have no choice in the matter and the other person is going to be mad if you don’t open up enough. It’s also hard because I’m not allowed to share just any feelings; like, being incredibly frustrated with the group home isn’t really an option. The fact that I was thrown in here and the first thing that happened was nobody had any plan for how I was going to get my medications and it took three days and a DMH complaint for that to be worked out didn’t help. Being belittled constantly ever since hasn’t helped. But they’re not looking for me to complain about them. I feel like if they really wanted to know my deepest feelings they could read my blog, but they also don’t have time to actually really understand; they just want the TLDR version. I feel like I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t and all I want is to get through the day in the most diplomatic way possible.
Anyway. I’m severely behind in my classes due to taking a week and a half off unexpectedly, so I was trying to decide whether to go to bed because it was a hard day full of grief and loss, or force myself to work. If I don’t work, I’ll fall even farther behind. But if I push myself too hard, I’m afraid The Two Percent will come back. So I stared at my phone and wondered if it would be okay to call the hospital where I was inpatient for over a year. I did and talked to an amazing nurse (honestly they were all amazing) who knows me so very well and she proposed a “middle path” in which I do a little bit of work and then call it a night. It felt so good to hear her voice. Even if I can’t be there, at least there is a place in the world that feels like it was my home.